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The Metaphysical Poets
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Source: Project Gutenberg/CCEL component poet files Source URL: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48688 ; https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48772 ; https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/28375 ; https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38549 ; https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38550 ; https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/61586 Public domain basis: Public-domain poet collections published before 1931. Coverage: Donne, Vaughan, Crashaw, and Traherne component collections. George Herbert and Andrew Marvell were checked but not imported as safe plain-text files in this pass.
# Project Gutenberg #48688
The Poems Of John Donne Edited From The Old Editions And Numerous Manuscripts,
THE POEMS OF JOHN DONNE
EDITED FROM THE OLD EDITIONS AND NUMEROUS MANUSCRIPTS, WITH INTRODUCTIONS & COMMENTARY
BY
HERBERT J. C. GRIERSON M.A.
CHALMERS PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE IN THE UNIVERSITY OF ABERDEEN
VOL. I
THE TEXT OF THE POEMS WITH APPENDIXES
OXFORD AT THE CLARENDON PRESS 1912
HENRY FROWDE, M.A.
PUBLISHER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD
LONDON, EDINBURGH, NEW YORK TORONTO AND MELBOURNE
PREFACE
The present edition of Donne's poems grew out of my work as a teacher. In the spring of 1907, just after I had published a small volume on the literature of the early seventeenth century, I was lecturing to a class of Honours students on the 'Metaphysical poets'. They found Donne difficult alike to understand and to appreciate, and accordingly I undertook to read with them a selection from his poems with a view to elucidating difficult passages and illustrating the character of his 'metaphysics', the Scholastic and scientific doctrines which underlie his conceits. The only editions which we had at our disposal were the modern editions of Donne's poems by Grosart and Chambers, but I did not anticipate that this would present any obstacle to the task I had undertaken. About the same time the Master of Peterhouse asked me to undertake the chapter on Donne, as poet and prose-artist, for the _Cambridge History of English Literature_. The result was that though I had long been interested in Donne, and had given, while at work on the poetry of the seventeenth century, much thought to his poetry as a centre of interest and influence, I began to make a more minute study of the text of his poems than I had yet attempted.
The first result of this study was the discovery that there were several passages in the poems, as printed in Mr. Chambers' edition, of which I could give no satisfactory explanation to my class. At the close of the session I went to Oxford and began in the Bodleian a rapid collation of the text of that edition with the older copies, especially of 1633. The conclusion to which I came was that, excellent in many ways as that edition is, the editor had too often abandoned the reading of 1633 for the sometimes more obvious but generally weaker and often erroneous emendations of the later editions. As he records the variants this had become clear in some cases already, but an examination of the older editions brought out another fact,--that by modernizing the punctuation, while preserving no record of the changes made, the editor had corrupted some passages in such a manner as to make it impossible for a student, unprovided with all the old editions, to recover the original and sometimes quite correct reading, or to trace the error to its fountainhead.
My first proposal to the Delegates of the Clarendon Press was that I should attempt an edition of Donne's poems resting on a collation of the printed texts; that for all poems which it contains the edition of 1633 should be accepted as the authority, to be departed from only when the error seemed to be obvious and certain, and that all such changes, however minute, should be recorded in the notes. In the case of poems not contained in the edition of 1633, the first edition (whether 1635, 1649, 1650, or 1669) was to be the authority and to be treated in the same fashion. Such an edition, it was hoped, might be ready in a year. I had finished my first collation of the editions when a copy of the Grolier Club edition came into my hands, and I included it in the number of those which I compared throughout with the originals.
While the results of this collation confirmed me in the opinion I had formed as to the superiority of the edition of 1633 to all its successors, it showed also that that edition was certainly not faultless, and that the text of those poems which were issued only in the later editions was in general very carelessly edited and corrupt, especially of those poems which were added for the first time in 1669. This raised the question, what use was to be made of the manuscript copies of the poems in correcting the errors of the edition? Grosart had based his whole text on one or two manuscripts in preference to the editions. Mr. Chambers, while wisely refusing to do this, and adopting the editions as the basis of his text, had made frequent reference to the manuscripts and adopted corrections from them. Professor Norton made no use of the manuscripts in preparing the text of his edition, but he added in an Appendix an account of one of these which had come into his hands, and later he described some more and showed clearly that he believed corrections were to be obtained from this source. Accordingly I resolved to examine tentatively those which were accessible in the British Museum, especially the transcript of three of the _Satyres_ in Harleian MS. 5110.
A short examination of the manuscripts convinced me that it would be very unsafe to base a text on any single extant manuscript, or even to make an eclectic use of a few of them, taking, now from one, now from another, what seemed a probable emendation. On the other hand it became clear that if as wide a collation as possible of extant manuscripts were made one would be able to establish in many cases what was, whether right or wrong, the traditional reading before any printed edition appeared.
A few experiments further showed that one, and a very important, result of this collation would be to confirm the trustworthiness of 1633, to show that in places where modern editors had preferred the reading of some of the later editions, generally 1635 or 1669, the text of 1633 was not only intrinsically superior but had the support of tradition, i.e. of the majority of the manuscripts. If this were the case, then it was also possible that the traditional, manuscript text might afford corrections when 1633 had fallen into error. At the same time a very cursory examination of the manuscripts was sufficient to show that many of them afforded an infinitely more correct and intelligible text of those poems which were not published in 1633 than that contained in the printed editions.
Another possible result of a wide collation of the manuscripts soon suggested itself, and that was the settlement of the canon of Donne's poems. One or two of the poems contained in the old editions had already been rejected by modern editors, and some of these on the strength of manuscript ascriptions. But on the one hand, no systematic attempt had been made to sift the poems, and on the other, experience has shown that nothing is more unsafe than to trust to the ascriptions of individual, unauthenticated manuscripts. Here again it seemed to the present editor that if any definite conclusion was to be obtained it must be by as wide a survey as possible, by the accumulation of evidence. No such conclusion might be attainable, but it was only thus that it could be sought.
The outcome of the investigation thus instituted has been fully discussed in the article on the _Text and Canon of Donne's Poems_ in the second volume, and I shall not attempt to summarize it here. But it may be convenient for the student to have a quite brief statement of what it is that the notes in this volume profess to set forth.
Their first aim is to give a complete account of the variant readings of the original editions of 1633, 1635, 1639, 1649-50-54 (the text in these three is identical), and 1669. This was the aim of the edition as originally planned, and though my opinion of the value of many of the variants of the later editions has undergone considerable abatement since I was able to study them in the light afforded by the manuscripts, I have endeavoured to complete my original scheme; and I trust it may be found that nothing more important has been overlooked than an occasional misprint in the later editions. But I know from the experience of examining the work of my precursors, and of revising my own work, that absolute correctness is almost unattainable. It has been an advantage to me in this part of the work to come after Mr. Chambers and the Grolier Club editors, but neither of these editions records changes of punctuation.
The second purpose of the notes is to set forth the evidence of the manuscripts. I have not attempted to give anything like a full account of the variant readings of these, but have recorded so much as is sufficient for four different purposes.
(1) To vindicate the text of 1633. I have not thought it necessary to detail the evidence in cases where no one has disputed the 1633 reading. If the note simply records the readings of the editions it may be assumed that the manuscript evidence, so far as it is explicit (the manuscripts frequently abound in absurd errors), is on the side of 1633. In other cases, when there is something to be said for the text of the later editions, and especially when modern editors have preferred the later reading (though I have not always called attention to this) I have set forth the evidence in some detail. At times I have mentioned each manuscript, at others simply _all the MSS._, occasionally just _MSS._ This last means generally that all the positive evidence before me was in favour of the reading, but that my collations were silent as to some of the manuscripts. My collators, whether myself or those who worked for me, used Mr. Chambers' edition because of its numbered lines. Now if Mr. Chambers had already adopted a 1635 or later reading the tendency of the collator--especially at first, before the importance of certain readings had become obvious--was to pass over the agreement of the manuscript with this later reading in silence. In all important cases I have verified the reading by repeated reference to the manuscripts, but in some of smaller importance I have been content to record the general trend of the evidence. I have tried to cite no manuscript unless I had positive evidence as to its reading.
(2) The second use which I have made of the manuscript evidence is to justify my occasional departures from the text of the editions, whether 1633 (and these are the departures which call for most justification) or whatever later edition was the first to contain the poem. In every such case the reader should see at a glance what was the reading of the first edition, and on what authority it has been altered. My aim has been a true text (so far as that was attainable), not a reprint; but I have endeavoured to put the reader in exactly the same position as I was myself at each stage in the construction of that text. If I have erred, he can (in a favourite phrase of Donne's) 'control' me. This applies to spelling and punctuation as well as to the words themselves. But two warnings are necessary. When I note a reading as found in a number of editions, e.g. 1635 to 1654 (1635-54), or in _all_ the editions (1633-69), it must be understood that the spelling is not always the same throughout. I have generally noted any variation in the use of capitals, but not always. The spelling and punctuation of each poem is that of the _first_ edition in which it was published, or of the manuscript from which I have printed, all changes being recorded. Again, if, in a case where the words and not the punctuation is the matter in question, I cite the reading of an edition or some editions followed by a list of agreeing manuscripts, it will be understood that any punctuation given is that of the editions. If a list of manuscripts only is given, the punctuation, if recorded, is that of one or two of the best of these.
In cases where punctuation is the matter in question the issue lies between the various editions and my own sense of what it ought to be. Wherever it is not otherwise indicated the punctuation of a poem is that of the first edition in which it appeared or of the manuscript from which I have printed it. I have not recorded every variant of the punctuation of later editions, but all that affect the sense while at the same time not manifestly absurd. The punctuation of the manuscripts is in general negligible, but of a few manuscripts it is good, and I have occasionally cited these in support of my own view as to what the punctuation should be.
(3) A third purpose served by my citation of the manuscripts is to show clearly that there are more versions than one of some poems. A study of the notes to the _Satyres_, _The Flea_, _The Curse_, _Elegy XI: The Bracelet_, will make this clear.
(4) A fourth, subordinate and occasional, purpose of my citation of the manuscripts is to show how Donne's poems were understood or misunderstood by the copyists. Occasionally a reading which is probably erroneous throws light upon a difficult passage. The version of _P_ at p. 34, ll. 18-19, elucidates a difficult stanza. The reading of Q in _The Storme_, l. 38,
Yea, and the Sunne
for the usual
I, and the Sunne
suggests, what is probably correct but had not been suspected by any editor, that 'I' here, as often, is not the pronoun, but 'Aye'.
The order of the poems is that of the editions of 1635 onwards with some modifications explained in the Introduction. In Appendix B I have placed all those poems which were printed as Donne's in the old editions (1633 to 1669), except Basse's _Epitaph on Shakespeare_, and a few found in manuscripts connected with the editions, or assigned to Donne by competent critics, all of which I believe to be by other authors. The text of these has been as carefully revised as that of the undoubted poems. In Appendix C I have placed a miscellaneous collection of poems loosely connected with Donne's name, and illustrating the work of some of his fellow-wits, or the trend of his influence in the occasional poetry of the seventeenth century.
The work of settling the text, correcting the canon, and preparing the Commentary has been done by myself. It was difficult to consult others who had not before them all the complex mass of evidence which I had accumulated. On some five or six places in the text, however, where final question to be decided was the intrinsic merits of the readings offered by the editions and by the manuscripts, or the advisability of a bolder emendation, I have had the advantage of comparing my opinion with that of Sir James Murray, Sir Walter Raleigh, Dr. Henry Bradley, Mr. W. A. Craigie, Mr. J. C. Smith, or Mr. R. W. Chapman.
For such accuracy as I have secured in reproducing the old editions, in the text and in the notes, I owe much to the help of three friends, Mr. Charles Forbes, of the Post Office, Aberdeen, who transcribed the greater portion of my manuscript; Professor John Purves, of University College, Pretoria, who during a visit to this country read a large section of my proofs, comparing them with the editions in the British Museum; and especially to my assistant, Mr. Frederick Rose, M.A., now Douglas Jerrold Scholar, Christ Church, Oxford, who has revised my proofs throughout with minute care.
I am indebted to many sources for the loan of necessary material. In the first place I must acknowledge my debt to the Carnegie Trust for the Universities of Scotland for allowing me a grant of £40 in 1908-9, and of £30 in 1909-10, for the collation of manuscripts. Without this it would have been impossible for me to collate, or have collated for me, the widely scattered manuscripts in London, Petworth, Oxford, Cambridge, Manchester, and Boston. Some of my expenses in this connexion have been met by the Delegates of the Clarendon Press, who have also been very generous in the purchase of necessary books, such as editions of the Poems and the Sermons. At the outset of my work the Governing Body of Christ Church, Oxford, lent me the copy of the edition of 1633 (originally the possession of Sir John Vaughan (1603-1674) Chief Justice of the Common Pleas) on which the present edition is based, and also their copies of the editions of 1639, 1650, and 1654. At the same time Sir Walter Raleigh lent me his copy of the edition of 1669. At an early stage of my work Captain C. Shirley Harris, of 90 Woodstock Road, Oxford, communicated with me about Donne's use of the word 'Mucheron', and he was kind enough to lend me both his manuscript, _P_, and the transcript which he had caused to be made. By the kindness of Lord Ellesmere I was permitted to collate his unique copy of the 1611 edition of the _Anatomy of the World_ and _Funerall Elegie_. While I was doing so, Mr. Strachan Holme, the Librarian, drew my attention to a manuscript collection of Donne's poems (_B_), and with his kind assistance I was enabled to collate this at Walkden, Manchester, and again at Bridgewater House. Mr. Holme has also furnished a photograph of the title-page of the edition of 1611. To the authorities of Trinity College, Dublin, and of Trinity College, Cambridge, I am indebted not only for permission to collate their manuscripts on the spot, but for kindly lending them to be examined and compared in the Library at King's College, Aberdeen; and I am indebted for a similar favour to the authorities of Queen's College, Oxford. In Dublin I met Professor Edward Dowden, and no one has been a kinder friend to my enterprise. He put at my disposal his interesting and valuable manuscript (_D_) and all his collection of Donne's works. He drew my attention to a manuscript (_O'F_) in Ellis and Elvey's catalogue for 1903. Mr. Warwick Bond was good enough to lend me the notes he had made upon this manuscript, which ultimately I traced to Harvard College Library. With Professor Dowden, Mr. Edmund Gosse has given me the most generous and whole-hearted assistance. He lent me, as soon as ever I applied to him, his valuable and unique Westmoreland MS., containing many poems which were not included in any of the old editions. Some of these Mr. Gosse had already printed in his own delightful _Life and Letters of John Donne_ (1899), but he has allowed me to reprint these and to print the rest of the unpublished poems for the first time. From his manuscript (_G_) of the _Progresse of the Soule_, or _Metempsychosis_, I have also obtained important emendations of the text. This is the most valuable manuscript copy of this poem. It will be seen that Mr. Gosse is a very material contributor to the completeness and interest of the present edition.
To the Marquess of Crewe I am indebted for permission to examine the manuscript _M_, to which a note of Sir John Simon's had called my attention; and to Lord Leconfield for a like permission to collate a manuscript in his possession, of which a short description is given in the _Hist. MSS. Commission, Sixth Report_, p. 312, No. 118. With Mr. Whitcomb's aid I was enabled to do this carefully, and he has subsequently verified references. Another interesting manuscript (_JC_) was lent me by Mr. Elkin Mathews, who has also put at my disposal his various editions of the _Lives_ of Walton and other books connected with Donne. Almost at the eleventh hour, Mr. Geoffrey Keynes, of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, discovered for me a copy of the 1612 edition of the _Anniversaries_, for which I had asked in vain in _Notes and Queries_. I owe to him, and to the kind permission of Mr. Edward Huth and the Messrs. Sotheby, a careful collation and a photograph of the title-page.
For the Commentary Dr. Norman Moore supplied me with a note on the Galenists and Paracelsians; and Dr. Gaster with the materials for a note on Donne's use of Jewish Apocrypha. Professor Picavet, of the Sorbonne, Paris, was kind enough to read in proof my notes on Donne's allusions to Scholastic doctrines, and to make suggestions. But I have added to these notes as they passed through the Press, and he must not be made responsible for my errors. Mr. W. Barclay Squire and Professor C. Sanford Terry have revised my transcripts and proofs of the music.
I desire lastly to express my gratitude to the officials of the Clarendon Press for the care with which they have checked my proofs, the patience with which they have accepted my changes and additions, and the trouble they have taken to secure photographs, music, and other details. Whatever faults may be found--and I doubt not they will be many--in my part of the work, I think the part for which the Press is responsible is wellnigh faultless.
H. J. C. Grierson. Langcroft, Dinnet, Aberdeenshire.
H. J. C. GRIERSON.
LANGCROFT, DINNET, ABERDEENSHIRE.
_July 15, 1912._
NOTE
The typography of the edition of 1633 has been closely followed, in its use for example of 'u' and 'v'; and of long 's', which is avoided in certain combinations, e.g. 'sk' (but P. 12, l. 27. 'askes' 1633) and frequently 'sb'; nor is it generally used when the letter following 's' is elided; but there are one or two exceptions to this.
In the following places I have printed a full 'and' where 1633 contracts to '&' owing to the length of the line:
Page 12, l. 4. & whõ; P. 15, l. 40. & drove; P. 65, l. 8. & nought; P. 153, l. 105. & almes; P. 158, l. 101. & name; do., l. 107. & rockes, &; P. 159, l. 30. & black; P. 171, l. 83. & lawes; P. 183, l. 18. & Courts; P. 184, l. 29. & God; P. 205, l. 2. & pleasure; P. 240, l. 288. & sinke; P. 254, l. 107. & thinke; do., l. 113. & think; P. 280, l. 24. & Mines; P. 297, l. 56. & lands; do., l. 62. & brow; P. 306, l. 290. & lents; P. 327 (xii), l. 8. & feed; P. 337, l. 35. & thou; P. 360, l. 188. & turn'd; P. 384, l. 78. & face.
In the following places 'm' or 'n', indicated by a contraction, has been printed in full: Page 12, l. 4. Her whõ; do. & whõ; P. 37, 1. 17. whẽ (_bis_); P. 82, l. 46. thẽ; P. 90, l. 2. frõ; P. 128, l. 28. Valẽtine; P. 141, l. 8. whẽ; P. 150, l. 16. thẽ; P. 159, l. 30. strãge; P. 169, l. 31. whõ; P. 257, l. 210. successiõ; P. 266, l. 513. anciẽt; P. 305, l. 255. thẽ; P. 336, l. 10. whẽ; P. 343, l. 126. Frõ; P. 345, l. 169. thẽ; P. 387, l. 71. Pẽbrooke.
There are a few examples of the same changes in the poems printed from the later editions, but I have not reproduced any of these editions so completely as 1633, every poem in which, with the exception of Basse's _An Epitaph upon Shakespeare_ (1633. p. 149 i.e. 165) has been here reprinted.
Contents Of Vol. I Source Page
CONTENTS OF VOL. I
SOURCE PAGE
1633 THE PRINTER TO THE UNDERSTANDERS 1
1633 HEXASTICHON BIBLIOPOLAE 3
1635 HEXASTICHON AD BIBLIOPOLAM 3
1650 DEDICATION TO THE EDITION OF 1650 4
1650 TO JOHN DONNE 5
1650 TO LUCY, COUNTESSE OF BEDFORD, WITH M. DONNES SATYRES 6
1650 TO JOHN DONNE 6
Songs And Sonets
SONGS AND SONETS
1633 195 The good-morrow 7 196-7 Song 8 197-8 Womans constancy 9 198-9 The undertaking 10 199-200 The Sunne Rising 11 200-1 The Indifferent 12 201-2 Loves Vsury 13 202-4 The Canonization 14 204-5 The triple Foole 16 205-6 Lovers infiniteness 17 206-8 Song 18 208-9 The Legacie 20 209-10 A Feaver 21 211-12 Aire and Angels 22 212 Breake of day 23 213-14 The Anniversarie 24 214-17 A Valediction: of my name, in the window 25 218-19 Twicknam garden 28 219-21 A Valediction: of the booke 29 222 Communitie 32 223-4 Loves growth 33 224-5 Loves exchange 34 226 Confined Love 36 227 The Dreame 37 228-9 A Valediction: of weeping 38 229-30 Loves Alchymie 39 230-1 The Flea 40 231-2 The Curse 41 186 The Message 43 187-8 A nocturnall upon S. Lucies day, Being the shortest day 44 189 Witchcraft by a picture 45 190-1 The Baite 46 191 The Apparition 47 192-3 The broken heart 48 193-4 A Valediction: forbidding mourning 49 277-80 The Extasie 51 280-1 Loves Deitie 54 281-2 Loves diet 55 283-5 The Will 56 285-6 The Funerall 58 286-7 The Blossome 59 288-9 The Primrose, being at Montgomery Castle, upon the hill, on which it is situate 61 289-90 The Relique 62 290-1 The Dampe 63 291-2 The Dissolution 64 292-3 A Ieat Ring sent 65 293 Negative love 66 294 The Prohibition 67 295 The Expiration 68 295 The Computation 69 302 The Paradox 69 1635 63-4 Farewell to love 70 66-7 A Lecture upon the Shadow 71 1650 264-5 Sonnet. The Token 72 391-2 <Selfe Love> He that cannot chuse but love 73
Epigrams
EPIGRAMS
1633 40 Hero and Leander 75 40 Pyramus and Thisbe 75 40 Niobe 75 41 A burnt ship 75 41 Fall of a wall 76 41 A lame begger 76 Westmoreland MS. Cales and Guyana 76 " MS. Sir Iohn Wingefield 76 1633 41 A selfe accuser 76 42 A licentious person 77 42 Antiquary 77 42 Disinherited 77 42 Phryne 77 42 An obscure writer 77 42 Klockius 77 43 Raderus 78 43 Mercurius Gallo-Belgicus 78 43 Ralphius 78 Westmoreland MS. The Lier 78
ELEGIES
1633 44-5 I. Iealosie 79 45-7 II. The Anagram 80 47-8 III. Change 82 49-51 IV. The Perfume 84 51-2 V. His Picture 86 53-5 VI. Oh, let mee not 87 55-6 VII. Natures lay Ideot 89 149-50 VIII. The Comparison 90 151-2 IX. The Autumnall 92 153 X. The Dreame 95 1635 89-93 XI. The Bracelet 96 1669 86-9 XII. His parting from her 100 1635 96-7 XIII. Iulia 104 98-100 XIV. A Tale of a Citizen and his Wife 105 1633 300-2 XV. The Expostulation 108 1635 269-70 XVI. On his Mistris 111 1650 388-90 XVII. Variety 113 1669 94-7 XVIII. Loves Progress 116 97-9 XIX. Going to Bed 119 Westmoreland MS. XX. Loves Warr 122
1633 166-8 HEROICALL EPISTLE: Sapho to Philænis 124
Epithalamions, Or Marriage Songs
EPITHALAMIONS, OR MARRIAGE SONGS
1633 118-22 An Epithalamion, Or marriage Song on the Lady Elizabeth, and Count Palatine being married on St. Valentines day 127 123-27 Eclogue. 1613. December 26 131 127-35 Epithalamion 135 135-8 Epithalamion made at Lincolnes Inne 141
SATYRES
1633 325-8 Satyre I 145 329-32 Satyre II 149 333-6 Satyre III 154 337-45 Satyre IIII 158 346-9 Satyre V 168 1650 262-4 Vpon Mr. Thomas Coryats Crudities 172 _Coryats Crudities_ In eundem Macaronicon 174
Letters To Severall Personages
LETTERS TO SEVERALL PERSONAGES
1633 56-9 The Storme 175 59-61 The Calme 178 61-3 To S^r Henry Wotton. Sir, more then kisses 180 72-4 To S^r Henry Goodyere. Who makes the Past 183 74-5 To M^r Rowland Woodward. Like one who 185 76-7 To S^r Henry Wootton. Here's no more newes 187 Burley MS. H: W: in Hiber: belligeranti 188 1633 77-9 To the Countesse of Bedford. Madame, Reason is 189 79-82 To the Countesse of Bedford. Madame, You have refin'd 191 82-4 To S^r Edward Herbert, at Iulyers. Man is a lumpe 193 84-7 To the Countesse of Bedford. T'have written then 195 87-90 To the Countesse of Bedford. This twilight of 198 90-3 To the Countesse of Huntingdon. Madame, Man to Gods image 201 93-4 To M^r T. W. All haile sweet Poët 203 95 To M^r T. W. Hast thee harsh verse 205 95-6 To M^r T. W. Pregnant again 206 96 To M^r T. W. At once, from 206 Westmoreland MS. To M^r R. W. Zealously my Muse 207 " MS. To M^r R. W. Muse not that by 207 1633 97 To M^r C. B. Thy friend, whom 208 Westmoreland MS. To M^r E. G. Even as lame things 208 1633 100-1 To M^r R. W. If, as mine is 209 Westmoreland MS. To M^r R. W. Kindly I envy 210 1633 98 To M^r S. B. O Thou which 211 101 To M^r I. L. Of that short 212 99-100 To M^r B. B. Is not thy sacred 212 102 To M^r I. L. Blest are your 213 104-5 To Sir H. W. at his going Ambassador to Venice 214 106-8 To M^rs M. H. Mad paper stay 216 108-10 To the Countesse of Bedford. Honour is so 218 111 To the Countesse of Bedford. Though I be dead 220 112-13 A Letter to the Lady Carey, and M^rs Essex Riche, From Amyens. Madame, Here where 221 115-18 To the Countesse of Salisbury. August. 1614 224 298-9 To the Lady Bedford. You that are she 227
An Anatomie Of The World
AN ANATOMIE OF THE WORLD
1633 233-5 To the praise of the dead 229 235-51 The first Anniversary 231 252-5 A Funerall Elegie 245
Of The Progresse Of The Soule
OF THE PROGRESSE OF THE SOULE
1633 257-9 The Harbinger to the Progresse 249 260-77 The second Anniversarie 251
Epicedes And Obsequies Upon The Deaths Of Sundry Personages
EPICEDES AND OBSEQUIES UPON THE DEATHS OF SUNDRY PERSONAGES
1633 154-7 Elegie upon the untimely death of the incomparable Prince Henry 267 139 To the Countesse of Bedford. _Letter introducing_ 270 140-8 Obsequies to the Lord Harrington, brother to the Lady Lucy, Countesse of Bedford 271 66-8 Elegie on the Lady Marckham 279 69-71 Elegie on M^{ris} Boulstred 282 296-8 Elegie. Death 284 52-3 Elegie on the L. C. 287 162-3 An hymne to the Saints, and to Marquesse Hamylton 288
Epitaphs
EPITAPHS
1635 271 On himselfe 291 386-7 Omnibus 292
1633 before p. 1 INFINITATI SACRUM
Epistle 293 1-27 The Progresse of the Soule 295
Divine Poems
DIVINE POEMS
1633 103 To E. of D. with six holy Sonnets 317 Walton's _Life of }To the Lady Magdalen Herbert: of St. Mary M^r George Herbert_} Magdalen 317
Holy Sonnets
HOLY SONNETS
1633 28 _La Corona_ 318 28-9 Annunciation 319 29 Nativitie 319 30 Temple 320 30-1 Crucifying 320 31 Resurrection 321 31-2 Ascention 321 _Holy Sonnets_ 1635 331-2 I. Thou hast made me 322 1633 32 II. As due by many titles 322 1635 333 III. O might those sighes and teares 323 1633 33 IV. Oh my blacke Soule 323 1635 334 V. I am a little world 324 1633 33-4 VI. This is my playes last scene 324 34 VII. At the round earths imagin'd corners 325 1635 336 VIII. If faithfull soules be alike glorifi'd 325 1633 35 IX. If poysonous mineralls 326 35-6 X. Death be not proud 326 36 XI. Spit in my face you Jewes 327 37 XII. Why are wee by all creatures waited on? 327 37-8 XIII. What if this present were the worlds last night? 328 38 XIV. Batter my heart 328 39 XV. Wilt thou love God, as he thee! 329 39-40 XVI. Father, part of his double interest 329 Westmoreland MS. XVII. Since she whom I lov'd hath payd her last debt 330 " MS. XVIII. Show me deare Christ, thy spouse 330 " MS. XIX. Oh, to vex me, contraryes meet in one 331 1633 64-6 The Crosse 331 161-2 Resurrection, imperfect 333 168-9 The Annuntiation and Passion 334 170-1 Goodfriday, 1613. Riding Westward 336 172-85 THE LITANIE 338 1635 366-8 Vpon the translation of the Psalmes by Sir Philip Sydney, and the Countesse of Pembroke his Sister 348 368 Ode: Of our Sense of Sinne 350 369-70 To M^r Tilman after he had taken orders 351 1633 304-5 A Hymne to Christ, at the Authors last going into Germany 352 306-23 The Lamentations of Ieremy, for the most part according to Tremelius 354 1635 387-8 Hymne to God my God, in my sicknesse 368 1633 350 A Hymne to God the Father 369 Trinity College, Dublin, MS. To Christ 370
ELEGIES UPON THE AUTHOR 371
Appendix A Latin Poems And Translations
APPENDIX A
LATIN POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS
1635 278 De libro cum mutuaretur &c. 397 278 <Epigramma> 397 1650 370-1 Amicissimo, & meritissimo, Ben Jonson 398 378 To M^r George Herbert, with one of my Seals 398 379 A sheafe of Snakes used 399 385 Translated out of Gazæus 401
Appendix B Poems Attributed To John Donne In The Old Editions
APPENDIX B
POEMS ATTRIBUTED TO JOHN DONNE IN THE OLD EDITIONS (1633-1669) AND THE PRINCIPAL MS. COLLECTIONS,
Appendix C
APPENDIX C
Addl. MS. 25707 A Letter written by S^r H: G: and J: D: alternis vicibus 433 Addl. MS. 25707 O Frutefull Garden 434 To my Lord of Pembroke 435 Of a Lady in the Black Masque 436 Burley MS. <Life.> 437 <My Love.> 437 <O Eyes!> 438 <Silence Best Praise.> 439 <Beauty in Little Room.> 440 <Loves Zodiake.> 440 <Fortune, Love, and Time.> 440 <Life a Play.> 441 A Kisse 441 Epi: B: Jo: 443 Epi: Hen: Princ: Hug^o Holland 443 O'Flaherty MS. <The Annuntiation. Additional Lines.> 443 Elegy. To Chast Love 445 Upon his scornefull Mistresse. Elegy 446 Lansdowne MS. 740 <Absence.> 447 <Tongue-tied Love.> 447 O'Flaherty MS. <Love, if a God thou art.> 448 <Great Lord of Love.> 448 <Loves Exchange.> 449 Song. Now y'have killd 450 Stowe MS. 961 Love, bred of glances 450 Bridgewater MS. To a Watch restored to its Mystres<se> 451 Egerton MS. <Ad Solem.> 451 Stephens MS. <If She Deride.> 452 <Fortune Never Fails.> 453 To His Mistress 455 Stowe MS. 961 A Paradoxe of a Painted Face 456 Sonnett. Madam that flea 459 Addl. MS. 11811 On Black Hayre and Eyes 460 Phillipps MS. Fragment of an Elegy 462 Walton's _Compleat Angler_ <Farewel, ye guilded follies.> 465
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 469
PLATES
John Donne, from the engraving prefixed to the _Poems_, 1635 _face page_ 7
John Donne, 1613, from an engraving prefixed to the prose _Letters &c._, 1651 _face page_ 175
John Donne, from the frontispiece to _Death's Duel_, 1632 _face page_ 369
List Of Editions Regularly Cited In Notes.
LIST OF EDITIONS REGULARLY CITED IN NOTES.
_1633_, _1635_, _1639_, _1650_, _1654_, _1669_.
Contractions: _1633-54_ i.e. All editions between and including these dates. _1633-69_ i.e. All the editions. Etc.
Editions Occasionally Cited.
EDITIONS OCCASIONALLY CITED.
_1649_, in lists of editions and MSS. appended to poems first published in that edition. Textually it is identical with _1650-54_.
_1719_, Tonson's edition.
_1855_, The Boston edition of that year--cited once.
_Grosart_, A. B. Grosart's edition of 1872-3.
_Grolier_, The Grolier Club edition of Professor Norton and Mrs. Burnett, 1895.
_Chambers_, Mr. E. K. Chambers' edition of 1896.
List Of Ms. Sigla
LIST OF MS. SIGLA
_A10_ Additional MS. 10,309, British Museum. _A11_ " " 11,811, " _A18_ " " 18,646, " _A23_ " " 23,229, " _A25_ " " 25,707, " _A34_ " " 34,744, " _Ash 38_ Ashmole MS. 38, Bodleian Library. _B_ Bridgewater MS., Bridgewater House. _Bur_ Burley MS., formerly at Burley-on-the-Hill House, Rutland. _C_ Cambridge University Library MS. _Cy_ Carnaby MS., Harvard College. _D_ Dowden MS., belonging to Professor Edward Dowden. _E20_ Egerton MS. 2013, British Museum. _E22_ " " 2230, " _G_ Gosse MS. of _Metempsychosis_, belonging to Mr. Edmund Gosse. _H39_ Harleian MS. 3910, British Museum. _H40_ " " 4064, " _H49_ " " 4944, " _H51_ " " 5110, " _HN_ Hawthornden MS., Library of Society of Antiquaries, Edinburgh. _JC_ John Cave MS., belonging to Mr. Elkin Mathews. _L74_ Lansdowne MS. 740, British Museum. _L77_ " " 777, " _Lec_ Leconfield MS., at Petworth House. _M_ Monckton-Milnes MS., belonging to the Marquis of Crewe. _N_ Norton MS., Harvard College. _O'F_ O'Flaherty MS., Harvard College. _P_ Phillipps MS., belonging to Captain C. Shirley Harris. _Q_ Queen's College MS., Queen's College, Oxford. _RP31_ Rawlinson Poetical MS. 31, Bodleian Library, Oxford. _RP61_ " " " 61 " " " _S_ Stephens MS., Harvard College. _S96_ Stowe MS. 961, British Museum. _TCC_ Trinity College, Cambridge, MS. _TCD_ Trinity College, Dublin, MS. G. 2. 21. _TCD_ (II) A second collection of poems in the same MS. _W_ Westmoreland MS., belonging to Mr. Edmund Gosse.
The following groups are important:--
_D_, _H49_, _Lec_,
and
_A18_, _N_, _TC_, where _TC_ represents _TCC_ and _TCD_
The Printer To The Understanders.
THE PRINTER
TO THE
UNDERSTANDERS.
For this time I must speake only to you: at another, _Readers_ may perchance serve my turne; and I thinke this a way very free from exception, in hope that very few will have a minde to confesse themselves ignorant.
If you looke for an Epistle, as you have before ordinary publications, I am sory that I must deceive you; but you will not lay it to my charge, when you shall consider that this is not ordinary, for if I should say it were the best in this kinde, that ever this Kingdome hath yet seene; he that would doubt of it must goe out of the Kingdome to enforme himselfe, for the best judgments, within it, take it for granted.
You may imagine (if it please you) that I could endeare it unto you, by saying, that importunity drew it on; that had it not beene presented here, it would have come to us from beyond the Seas; (which perhaps is true enough,) That my charge and paines in procuring of it hath beene such, and such. I could adde hereto, a promise of more correctnesse, or enlargement in the next Edition, if you shall in the meane time content you with this. But these things are so common, as that I should profane this Peece by applying them to it; A Peece which who so takes not as he findes it, in what manner soever, he is unworthy of it, sith a scattered limbe of this Author, hath more amiablenesse in it, in the eye of a discerner, then a whole body of some other; Or, (to expresse him best by himselfe)
[Sidenote: _In the Storme._]
--_A hand, or eye, By_ Hilyard _drawne, is worth a history By a worse Painter made_;--
If any man (thinking I speake this to enflame him for the vent of the Impression) be of another opinion, I shall as willingly spare his money as his judgement. I cannot lose so much by him as hee will by himselfe. For I shall satisfie my selfe with the conscience of well doing, in making so much good common.
Howsoever it may appeare to you, it shall suffice mee to enforme you, that it hath the best warrant that can bee, publique authority, and private friends.
There is one thing more wherein I will make you of my counsell, and that is, That whereas it hath pleased some, who had studyed and did admire him, to offer to the memory of the Author, not long after his decease, I have thought I should do you service in presenting them unto you now; onely whereas, had I placed them in the beginning, they might have serv'd for so many Encomiums of the Author (as is usuall in other workes, where perhaps there is need of it, to prepare men to digest such stuffe as follows after,) you shall here finde them in the end, for whosoever reades the rest so farre, shall perceive that there is no occasion to use them to that purpose; yet there they are, as an attestation for their sakes that knew not so much before, to let them see how much honour was attributed to this worthy man, by those that are capable to give it. _Farewell._
[The Printer _&c._ _1633-49:_ _om. 1650-69, which substitute Dedication_ To the _&c._ (_p._ 4)]
[2 you: _1635-49:_ you, _1633_]
[The Printer to the Vnderstanders. _1635-69:_ The Printer to the Reader. _1633. See note_]
[28 here _1635-69: om. 1633_ (... you shall here finde them in the end,...)]
_Hexastichon Bibliopolae._
I see in his last preach'd, and printed Booke, His Picture in a sheet; in _Pauls_ I looke, And see his Statue in a sheete of stone, And sure his body in the grave hath one: Those sheetes present him dead, these if you buy, You have him living to Eternity.
Jo. Mar.
JO. MAR.
[Hexastichon Bibliopolae. _1633-69_]
Hexastichon ad Bibliopolam.
Incerti.
_In thy Impression of_ Donnes _Poems rare, For his Eternitie thou hast ta'ne care: 'Twas well, and pious; And for ever may He live: Yet shew I thee a better way; Print but his Sermons, and if those we buy, He, We, and Thou shall live t' Eternity._
[Hexastichon ad Bibliopolam. _1635-69_]
_Dedication to the Edition of 1650._
To the Right Honourable _William_ Lord _Craven_ Baron of _Hamsted-Marsham_.
_My Lord_,
Many of these Poems have, for severall impressions, wandred up and down trusting (as well they might) upon the Authors reputation; neither do they now complain of any injury but what may proceed either from the kindnesse of the Printer, or the curtesie 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 & 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 royall Amphitheatre to build a stage for a countrey show. Amongst all the monsters this unlucky age has teemed with, I finde none so prodigious, as the Poets of these later times, wherein men as if they would level understandings too as well as estates, acknowledging no inequality of parts and Judgements, pretend as indifferently to the chaire of wit as to the Pulpit, & conceive themselves no lesse inspired with the spirit of Poetry then with that of Religion: so it is not onely the noise of Drums and Trumpets which have drowned the Muses harmony, or the feare that the Churches ruine wil destroy their Priests likewise, that now frights them from this Countrey, where they have been so ingenuously received, but these rude pretenders to excellencies they unjustly own who profanely rushing into _Minervaes_ Temple, with noysome Ayres blast the lawrell w^{ch} thunder cannot hurt. In this sad condition these learned sisters are fled over to beg your L^{ps}. protection, who have been so certain a patron both to arts and armes, and who in this generall confusion have so intirely preserved your Honour, that in your Lordship we may still read a most perfect character of what _England_ was in all her pompe and greatnesse, so that although these poems were formerly written upon severall occasions, and to severall persons, they now unite themselves, and are become one pyramid to set your Lordships statue upon, where you may stand like Armed _Apollo_ the defendor of the Muses, encouraging the Poets now alive to celebrate your great Acts by affording your countenance to his poems that wanted onely so noble a subject.
My Lord,
_Your most humble servant_
John Donne.
JOHN DONNE.
[To the _&c._ _1650-69_]
To John Donne.
TO JOHN DONNE.
Donne, _the delight of Phoebus, and each Muse, Who, to thy one, all other braines refuse; Whose every work, of thy most early wit, Came forth example, and remaines so, yet: Longer a knowing, than most wits doe live; And which no'n affection praise enough can give! To it, thy language, letters, arts, best life, Which might with halfe mankind maintain a strife; All which I mean to praise, and, yet, I would; But leave, because I cannot as I should_!
B. Jons.
B. JONS.
[To John Donne. _1650-69, following the_ Hexastichon ad Bibliopolam.]
To LUCY, COUNTESSE OF BEDFORD, with M. DONNES Satyres.
_Lucy_, you brightnesse of our Spheare, who are Life of the _Muses_ day, their morning Starre! If works (not th'Authors) their own grace should look Whose poems would not wish to be your book? But these, desir'd by you, the makers ends Crown with their own. Rare Poems ask rare friends. Yet, _Satyres_, since the most of mankind bee Their unavoided subject, fewest see: For none ere took that pleasure in sins sense, But, when they heard it tax'd, took more offence. They, then, that living where the matter is bred, Dare for these Poems, yet, both ask, and read, And like them too; must needfully, though few, Be of the best: and 'mongst those best are you; _Lucy_, you brightnefle of our Spheare, who are The _Muses_ evening, as their morning-Starre.
B. Jon. To John Donne.
B. JON.
TO JOHN DONNE.
Who shall doubt, _Donne_, where I a _Poet_ bee, When I dare send my _Epigrammes_ to thee? That so alone canst judge, so'alone do'st make: And, in thy censures, evenly, dost take As free simplicity, to dis-avow, As thou hast best authority, t'allow. Read all I send: and, if I finde but one Mark'd by thy hand, and with the better stone, My title's seal'd. Those that for claps doe write, Let punees, porters, players praise delight, And, till they burst, their backs, like asses load: A man should seek great glory, and not broad.
B. Jon.
B. JON.
[To Lucy _&c._ To John Donne _&c._ _1650-69, in sheets added 1650_. _See_ Text and Canon _&c._]
[Illustration: JOHN DONNE
From the engraving prefixed to the Poems in the Editions of 1635, 1639, 1649, 1650, 1654]
SONGS _AND_ SONETS.
_The good-morrow._
I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I Did, till we lov'd? were we not wean'd till then? But suck'd on countrey pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the seaven sleepers den? T'was so; But this, all pleasures fancies bee. 5 If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desir'd, and got, t'was but a dreame of thee.
And now good morrow to our waking soules, Which watch not one another out of feare; For love, all love of other sights controules, 10 And makes one little roome, an every where. Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone, Let Maps to other, worlds on worlds have showne, Let us possesse one world, each hath one, and is one.
My face in thine eye, thine in mine appeares, 15 And true plaine hearts doe in the faces rest, Where can we finde two better hemispheares Without sharpe North, without declining West? What ever dyes, was not mixt equally; If our two loves be one, or, thou and I 20 Love so alike, that none doe slacken, none can die.
[SONGS AND SONETS. _1635-69: no division into sections, 1633_]
[The good-morrow. _1633-69_, _A18_, _L74_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ _no title_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _S:_ Elegie. _S96_]
[2 lov'd? _1639-69:_ lov'd, _1633-35_]
[3 countrey pleasures, childishly? _1633-54_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec:_ childish pleasures seelily? _1669_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_]
[4 snorted _1633-54_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _S96:_ slumbred _1669_, _A18_, _A25_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _TC_ seaven sleepers _1633:_ seven-sleepers _1635-69_]
[5 this,] as _1669_]
[10 For _1633-69_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec:_ But _rest of MSS_.]
[13 to other, worlds on _1633-54:_ to other worlds our _1669:_ to others, worlds on _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _and other MSS_.]
[14 one world _1633-69_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ our world _rest of MSS_.]
[17 better _1633_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec:_ fitter _1635-69_, _and rest of MSS_.]
[19 was not] is not _1669_]
[20-1 or, thou and I ... can die. _1633_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec:_ or, thou and I ... can slacken, ... can die. _Chambers:_
both thou and I Love just alike in all, none of these loves can die.
_1635-69_, _JC_, _O'F_, _P:_ or thou and I Love just alike in all, none of these loves can die.
_A18_, _A25_, _B_, _L74_, _S96_, _TC_
As thou and I _&c._
_H40:_
And thou and I _&c._
_S_]
_Song._
Goe, and catche a falling starre, Get with child a mandrake roote, Tell me, where all past yeares are, Or who cleft the Divels foot, Teach me to heare Mermaides singing, 5 Or to keep off envies stinging, And finde What winde Serves to advance an honest minde.
If thou beest borne to strange sights, 10 Things invisible to see, Ride ten thousand daies and nights, Till age snow white haires on thee, Thou, when thou retorn'st, wilt tell mee All strange wonders that befell thee, 15 And sweare No where Lives a woman true, and faire.
If thou findst one, let mee know, Such a Pilgrimage were sweet; 20 Yet doe not, I would not goe, Though at next doore wee might meet, Though shee were true, when you met her, And last, till you write your letter, Yet shee 25 Will bee False, ere I come, to two, or three.
[Song. _1633-69:_ Song, A Songe, _or no title_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[3 past yeares] times past _1669:_ past times _P_]
[11 to see] go see _1669_, _S_, _S96:_ see _most other MSS_.]
[20 sweet; _1669:_ sweet, _1633-54_]
[24 last, till] last so till _O'F_, _S_, _S96_]
[27 False, ... three] False, ere she come to two or three. _1669_]
_Womans constancy._
Now thou hast lov'd 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? 5 Or, that oathes made in reverentiall feare Of Love, and his wrath, any may forsweare? Or, as true deaths, true maryages untie, So lovers contracts, images of those, Binde but till sleep, deaths image, them unloose? 10 Or, your owne end to Justifie, For having purpos'd change, and falsehood; you Can have no way but falsehood to be true? Vaine lunatique, against these scapes I could Dispute, and conquer, if I would, 15 Which I abstaine to doe, For by to morrow, I may thinke so too.
[Womans constancy. _1633-69_, _A18_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ _no title_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec_, _P_, _S_]
[8 Or, _1633_, _1669:_ For, _1635-54_ (_ll._ 8-10 _in brackets_)]
_The undertaking._
I have done one braver thing Then all the _Worthies_ did, And yet a braver thence doth spring, Which is, to keepe that hid.
It were but madnes now t'impart 5 The skill of specular stone, When he which can have learn'd the art To cut it, can finde none.
So, if I now should utter this, Others (because no more 10 Such stuffe to worke upon, there is,) Would love but as before.
But he who lovelinesse within Hath found, all outward loathes, For he who colour loves, and skinne, 15 Loves but their oldest clothes.
If, as I have, you also doe Vertue'attir'd in woman see, And dare love that, and say so too, And forget the Hee and Shee; 20
And if this love, though placed so, From prophane men you hide, Which will no faith on this bestow, Or, if they doe, deride:
Then you have done a braver thing 25 Then all the _Worthies_ did; And a braver thence will spring, Which is, to keepe that hid.
[The undertaking. _1635-69:_ _no title_, _1633_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _S:_ Platonique Love. _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[2 _Worthies_] _worthies_ _1633_]
[3 And yet] Yet _B_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_]
[7-8 art ... it, _1669:_ art, ... it _1633-54_]
[16 their] her _B_]
[18 Vertue'attir'd in _1633_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _TC:_ Vertue in _1635-69_, _O'F_, _Chambers_]
[26 did; _Ed:_ did. _1633-39:_ did, _1650-69_]
[27 spring,] spring _1633-39_]
_The Sunne Rising._
Busie old foole, unruly Sunne, Why dost thou thus, Through windowes, and through curtaines call on us? Must to thy motions lovers seasons run? Sawcy pedantique wretch, goe chide 5 Late schoole boyes, and sowre prentices, Goe tell Court-huntsmen, that the King will ride, Call countrey ants to harvest offices; Love, all alike, no season knowes, nor clyme, Nor houres, dayes, moneths, which are the rags of time. 10
Thy beames, so reverend, and strong Why shouldst thou thinke? I could eclipse and cloud them with a winke, But that I would not lose her sight so long: If her eyes have not blinded thine, 15 Looke, and to morrow late, tell mee, Whether both the'India's of spice and Myne Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with mee. Aske for those Kings whom thou saw'st yesterday, And thou shalt heare, All here in one bed lay. 20
She'is all States, and all Princes, I, Nothing else is. Princes doe but play us; compar'd to this, All honor's mimique; All wealth alchimie. Thou sunne art halfe as happy'as wee, 25 In that the world's contracted thus; Thine age askes ease, and since thy duties bee To warme the world, that's done in warming us. Shine here to us, and thou art every where; This bed thy center is, these walls, thy spheare. 30
[The Sunne Rising. _1633-69:_ Sunne Rising. _A18_, _L74_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ Ad Solem. _A25_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96:_ To the Sunne. _Cy_, _Lec_, _O'F (as a second title):_ _no title_, _B_]
[3 call] look _1669_]
[6 and] or _1669_
sowre] slowe _B_, _Cy_, _P_]
[8 offices;] offices, _1633_]
[11-14 Thy beames, ... so long: _1633 and all MSS.:_
Thy beames so reverend, and strong Dost thou not thinke I could eclipse and cloude them with a winke, But that I would not lose her sight so long? _1635-69_ ]
[17 spice] space _1650-54_]
[18 leftst _1633:_ left _1635-69_]
[23 us;] us, _1633_]
[24 wealth] wealth's _A25_, _C_, _P_
alchimie. _Ed:_ alchimie; _1633-69_]
[26 thus; _Ed:_ thus. _1633-69_]
_The Indifferent._
I can love both faire and browne, Her whom abundance melts, and her whom want betraies, Her who loves lonenesse best, and her who maskes and plaies, Her whom the country form'd, and whom the town, Her who beleeves, and her who tries, 5 Her who still weepes with spungie eyes, And her who is dry corke, 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? 10 Wil it not serve your turn to do, as did your mothers? Or have you all old vices spent, and now would finde out others? Or doth a feare, that men are true, torment you? Oh we are not, be not you so, Let mee, and doe you, twenty know. 15 Rob mee, but binde me not, and let me goe. Must I, who came to travaile thorow you, Grow your fixt subject, because you are true?
_Venus_ heard me sigh this song, And by Loves sweetest Part, Variety, she swore, 20 She heard not this till now; and that it should be so no more. She went, examin'd, and return'd ere long, And said, alas, Some two or three Poore Heretiques in love there bee, Which thinke to stablish dangerous constancie. 25 But I have told them, since you will be true, You shall be true to them, who'are false to you.
[The Indifferent. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ A Songe, Songe, _or no title_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96:_ Sonnet. _P_]
[3 lonenesse] lovers _1669_
maskes] sports _1669_, _S_
and _1669:_ & _1633-39:_ _om._ _1650-54_]
[12 spent] worn _1669_]
[15 mee, _1633:_ me; _1635-69_]
[17 travaile] _spelt_ travell, travel _1635-69_]
[19 sigh] sing _1669_]
[20 sweetest Part,] sweetest sweet, _1669_, _P_, _S_]
[21 and that it _1633_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _S:_ it _1635-69_, _H40_, _P:_ and it _A18_, _JC_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TC_]
_Loves Vsury._
For every houre that thou wilt spare mee now, I will allow, Usurious God of Love, twenty to thee, When with my browne, my gray haires equall bee; Till then, Love, let my body raigne, and let 5 Mee travell, sojourne, snatch, plot, have, forget, Resume my last yeares relict: thinke that yet We'had never met.
Let mee thinke any rivalls letter mine, And at next nine 10 Keepe midnights promise; mistake by the way The maid, and tell the Lady of that delay; Onely let mee love none, no, not the sport; From country grasse, to comfitures of Court, Or cities quelque choses, let report 15 My minde transport.
This bargaine's good; if when I'am old, I bee Inflam'd by thee, If thine owne honour, or my shame, or paine, Thou covet most, at that age thou shalt gaine. 20 Doe thy will then, then subject and degree, And fruit of love, Love I submit to thee, Spare mee till then, I'll beare it, though she bee One that loves mee.
[Loves Vsury. _1633-69_, _L74:_ _no title_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _S:_ Elegie. _S96_]
[5 raigne, _1633_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _P_, _S:_ range, _1635-69_, _O'F_, _S96_. _See note_]
[6 snatch, _1633_, _1669:_ match, _1635-54_]
[7 relict] relique _1669_]
[12 that] her _1669_]
[13 sport; _1669:_ sport _1633-54:_ sport, _most MSS._]
[15 let report _1633_, _1669_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _P_, _S:_ let not report _1635-54_, _O'F_, _S96_, _Chambers_. _See note_]
[19 or paine _1633, 1669, and most MSS.:_ and paine _1635-54_, _O'F_]
[22 fruit] fruites _B_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _S96_]
[24 loves _1633, 1669 and all the MSS.:_ love _1635-54_]
_The Canonization._
For Godsake hold your tongue, and let me love, Or chide my palsie, or my gout, My five gray haires, or ruin'd fortune flout, With wealth your state, your minde with Arts improve, Take you a course, get you a place, 5 Observe his honour, or his grace, Or the Kings reall, or his stamped face Contemplate, what you will, approve, So you will let me love.
Alas, alas, who's injur'd by my love? 10 What merchants ships have my sighs drown'd? Who saies my teares have overflow'd his ground? When did my colds a forward spring remove? When did the heats which my veines fill Adde one more to the plaguie Bill? 15 Soldiers finde warres, and Lawyers finde out still Litigious men, which quarrels move, Though she and I do love.
Call us what you will, wee are made such by love; Call her one, mee another flye, 20 We'are Tapers too, and at our owne cost die, And wee in us finde the'Eagle and the Dove. The Phœnix ridle hath more wit By us, we two being one, are it. So to one neutrall thing both sexes fit, 25 Wee dye and rise the same, and prove Mysterious by this love.
Wee can dye by it, if not live by love, And if unfit for tombes and hearse Our legend bee, it will be fit for verse; 30 And if no peece of Chronicle wee prove, We'll build in sonnets pretty roomes; As well a well wrought urne becomes The greatest ashes, as halfe-acre tombes, And by these hymnes, all shall approve 35 Us _Canoniz'd_ for Love:
And thus invoke us; You whom reverend love Made one anothers hermitage; You, to whom love was peace, that now is rage; Who did the whole worlds soule contract, and drove 40 Into the glasses of your eyes (So made such mirrors, and such spies, That they did all to you epitomize,) Countries, Townes, Courts: Beg from above A patterne of your love! 45
[The Canonization. _1633-39_, _A18_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ Canonization. _1650-69_, _S:_ Canonizatio. _S96:_ _no title_, _B_, _H40_, _JC_]
[3 five _1633_, _1669:_ true _1635-54_
fortune] fortunes _1669_]
[4 improve, _1650-69:_ improve _1633-39_]
[7 reall] Roiall _Lec_]
[14 veines] reynes _1669_]
[15 more, _1633-54_, _Lec:_ man _1669_, _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_]
[17 which] whom _1669_]
[18 Though] While _1669_]
[22 Dove. _Ed:_ dove, _1633-69_]
[24 are it. _1633-69:_ are it; _Chambers and Grolier_]
[25 So _1650-69:_ So, _1633-39_. _See note_
fit, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ fit. _1633-69_. _See note_]
[29 tombes and _1633-54:_ tomb or _1669_]
[30 legend] legends _1633_]
[35 these _1633:_ those _1635-69_]
[36 Love:] Love. _1633_]
[39 rage; _Ed:_ rage, _1633-69_]
[40 contract] extract _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_]
[41 eyes _1633-69:_ eyes; _Chambers_]
[42-3 _brackets_, _Ed_]
[44 Courts: Beg] Courts Beg _1669:_ courts beg _Chambers_. _See note_
from] frow _1633_]
[45 your _1669_, _A18_, _B_, _H40_, _JC_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TC:_ our _1633-54_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_
love! _Ed:_ love. _1633-69_]
_The triple Foole._
I am two fooles, I know, For loving, and for saying so In whining Poëtry; But where's that wiseman, that would not be I, If she would not deny? 5 Then as th'earths inward narrow crooked lanes Do purge sea waters fretfull salt away, I thought, if I could draw my paines, Through Rimes vexation, I should them allay, Griefe brought to numbers cannot be so fierce, 10 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 paine, And, by delighting many, frees againe 15 Griefe, which verse did restraine. To Love, and Griefe 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, 20 And I, which was two fooles, do so grow three; Who are a little wise, the best fooles bee.
[The triple Foole. _1633-69_, _A18_, _L74_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ Song _or no title_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_]
[4 the wiser man, _1669_]
[5 If he should not deny? _P_]
[6 narrow _om._ _P:_ crooked _om._ _B_
lanes] vaines _Cy_, _P_]
[9 allay, _1633-39:_ allay. _1650-69_, _Chambers_]
[10 numbers] number _1669_]
[11 For, he tames it] He tames it much _B_]
[13 and] or _1669_]
_Lovers infinitenesse._
If yet I have not all thy love, Deare, I shall never have it all, I cannot breath one other sigh, to move, Nor can intreat one other teare to fall, And all my treasure, which should purchase thee, 5 Sighs, teares, and oathes, and letters I have spent. Yet no more can be due to mee, Then at the bargaine made was ment, If then thy gift of love were partiall, That some to mee, some should to others fall, 10 Deare, I shall never have Thee All.
Or if then thou gavest mee all, All was but All, which thou hadst then; But if in thy heart, since, there be or shall, New love created bee, by other men, 15 Which have their stocks intire, and can in teares, In sighs, in oathes, and letters outbid mee, This new love may beget new feares, For, this love was not vowed by thee. And yet it was, thy gift being generall, 20 The ground, thy heart is mine, what ever shall Grow there, deare, I should have it all.
Yet I would not have all yet, Hee that hath all can have no more, And since my love doth every day admit 25 New growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store; Thou canst not every day give me thy heart, If thou canst give it, then thou never gavest it: Loves riddles are, that though thy heart depart, It stayes at home, and thou with losing savest it: 30 But wee will have a way more liberall, Then changing hearts, to joyne them, so wee shall Be one, and one anothers All.
[Lovers infinitenesse. _1633-69:_ Mon Tout. _A25_, _C:_ _no title_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _S:_ Elegie. _S96_
_Query_ Loves infinitenesse.]
[3 move, _Ed:_ move; _1633-69_]
[4 fall, _Ed:_ fall. _1633:_ fall; _1635-69_]
[6 teares,] teares _1633_
spent. _Ed:_ spent, _1633-69 and Grolier:_ spent; _Chambers_]
[8 Then _1633-35_, _1669:_ That _1639-54_]
[9 were] was _1669_
partiall] generall _A25_, _C_]
[11 Thee _1633:_ It _1635-69_ (it _1669_)]
[12 gavest] givest _1669_]
[13 then; _1635-54:_ then, _1633_]
[17 and letters _1633:_ in letters _1635-69_]
[19 thee. _1639-69:_ thee, _1633-35_]
[20 it] is _1633_]
[21 is _1633_, _1669:_ was _1635-54_]
[25-6 And since my heart doth every day beget New love, _&c._ _A25_.]
[29-30
Except mine come when thine doth part And in such giving it, thou savest it: _A25_, _C_
Perchance mine comes, when thine doth parte, And by such losing it, _&c._ _JC_ ]
[31 have] love _1669:_ find _A25_, _C_]
[32 them] us _1669_]
_Song._
Sweetest love, I do not goe, For wearinesse of thee, Nor in hope the world can show A fitter Love for mee; But since that I 5 Must dye at last, 'tis best, To use my selfe in jest Thus by fain'd deaths to dye;
Yesternight the Sunne went hence, And yet is here to day, 10 He hath no desire nor sense, Nor halfe so short a way: Then feare not mee, But beleeve that I shall make Speedier journeyes, since I take 15 More wings and spurres then hee.
O how feeble is mans power, That if good fortune fall, Cannot adde another houre, Nor a lost houre recall! 20 But come bad chance, And wee joyne to'it our strength, And wee teach it art and length, It selfe o'r us to'advance.
When thou sigh'st, thou sigh'st not winde, 25 But sigh'st my soule away, When thou weep'st, unkindly kinde, My lifes blood doth decay. It cannot bee That thou lov'st mee, as thou say'st, 30 If in thine my life thou waste, Thou art the best of mee.
Let not thy divining heart Forethinke me any ill, Destiny may take thy part, 35 And may thy feares fulfill; But thinke that wee Are but turn'd aside to sleepe; They who one another keepe Alive, ne'r parted bee. 40
[Song. _1633-69:_ Song. _or no title_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ _in A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _this with_ Send home my long stray'd eyes _and_ The Bait _are given as_ Songs which were made to certain ayres which were made before.]
[1-4 _In most MSS. these lines are written as two long lines, and so with ll._ 9-12, 17-20, 25-28, 33-36]
[4 mee; _1650-69:_ mee, _1633-39_]
[5-8 But since ... dye; _1633_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_
At the last must part 'tis best, Thus to use my selfe in jest By fained deaths to dye; _1635-54_, _O'F:_ Must dye at last, 'tis best, Thus to use my self in jest By fained death to dye; _1669_ ]
[15 Speedier] Hastier _1669_]
[20 recall! _Ed:_ recall? _1633-69_]
[25 not wind _1633:_ no wind _1635-69_]
[32 Thou _1633 and MSS. generally:_ That _1635-54:_ Which _1669_
best _1633-54:_ life _1669_]
[36 may _1633-35_, _1669:_ make _1639-54_
fulfill; _Ed:_ fulfill, _1633-69_]
[38 turn'd] lai'd _1669_]
_The Legacie._
When I dyed last, and, Deare, I dye As often as from thee I goe, Though it be but an houre agoe, And Lovers houres be full eternity, I can remember yet, that I 5 Something did say, and something did bestow; Though I be dead, which sent mee, I should be Mine owne executor and Legacie.
I heard mee say, Tell her anon, That my selfe, (that is you, not I,) 10 Did kill me, and when I felt mee dye, I bid mee send my heart, when I was gone, But I alas could there finde none, When I had ripp'd me,'and search'd where hearts did lye; It kill'd mee againe, that I who still was true, 15 In life, in my last Will should cozen you.
Yet I found something like a heart, But colours it, and corners had, It was not good, it was not bad, It was intire to none, and few had part. 20 As good as could be made by art It seem'd; and therefore for our losses sad, I meant to send this heart in stead of mine, But oh, no man could hold it, for twas thine.
[The Legacie. _1633-69:_ Legacie. _L74:_ Song. _or no title_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96:_ Elegie. _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[1 When I dyed last,] When last I dyed, _1669_]
[1-4 (and deare ... eternity) _Grolier_.]
[7 sent _1633_, _1669:_ meant _1635-54_
should be] might be _1669_]
[10 that is _1635-69:_ that's _1633:_ _brackets from A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[13 none, _1633-69:_ none. _Chambers and Grolier_]
[14 When ... did _1633_, _A25_ (doe), _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec_, _S_, _S96:_ When I had ripp'd, and search'd where hearts should _1635-69_, _A18_, _L74_, _N_, _TC_ lye; _Ed:_ lye, _1633-69_, _Chambers and Grolier_. _See note_]
[18 But] For _1650-69_]
[20 part. _1633-39:_ part: _1650-69_]
[22 seem'd; _Ed:_ seem'd, _1633-69_, _Grolier, and Chambers_
our losses sad, _1633-54_, _A18_, _A25_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TC:_ our loss be sad, _1669:_ our loss be ye sad. _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec_, _S:_ our losses sad; _Grolier:_ our loss be sad. _Chambers_]
[23 meant] thought _A18_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_
this _1633:_ that _1635-69_]
_A Feaver._
Oh doe 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; 5 To leave this world behinde, is death, But when thou from this world wilt goe, The whole world vapors with thy breath.
Or if, when thou, the worlds soule, goest, It stay, tis but thy carkasse then, 10 The fairest woman, but thy ghost, But corrupt wormes, the worthyest men.
O wrangling schooles, that search what fire Shall burne this world, had none the wit Unto this knowledge to aspire, 15 That this her feaver might be it?
And yet she cannot wast by this, Nor long beare this torturing wrong, For much corruption needfull is To fuell such a feaver long. 20
These burning fits but meteors bee, Whose matter in thee is soone spent. Thy beauty,'and all parts, which are thee, Are unchangeable firmament.
Yet t'was of my minde, seising thee, 25 Though it in thee cannot persever. For I had rather owner bee Of thee one houre, then all else ever.
[A Feaver. _1633-69_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec_, _S96:_ Of a fever. _L74:_ The Fever. _B_, _Cy_, _O'F_, _P:_ Fever. _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ _no title_, _JC_]
[5 know; _Ed:_ know, _1633-69_]
[8 with] in _1669_]
[16 might] must _TCC_]
[18 beare] endure _1669_
torturing] tormenting _JC_, _O'F_ (_corr. from_ torturing)]
[19 For much _1633_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ For more _1635-69_, _O'F:_ Far more _Cy_, _P_]
[22 is soon] soon is _1669_]
[24 Are] Are an _1669_, _P_, _S96_]
[25 Yet 'twas of _1633-54:_ And here as _1669_]
[27 For] Yet _1669_]
_Aire and Angels._
Twice or thrice had I loved thee, Before I knew thy face or name; So in a voice, so in a shapelesse flame, _Angells_ affect us oft, and worship'd bee; Still when, to where thou wert, I came, 5 Some lovely glorious nothing I did see. But since my soule, whose child love is, Takes limmes of flesh, and else could nothing doe, More subtile then the parent is, Love must not be, but take a body too, 10 And therefore what thou wert, and who, I bid Love aske, and now That it assume thy body, I allow, And fixe it selfe in thy lip, eye, and brow.
Whilst thus to ballast love, I thought, 15 And so more steddily to have gone, With wares which would sinke admiration, I saw, I had loves pinnace overfraught, Ev'ry thy haire for love to worke upon Is much too much, some fitter must be sought; 20 For, nor in nothing, nor in things Extreme, and scatt'ring bright, can love inhere; Then as an Angell, face, and wings Of aire, not pure as it, yet pure doth weare, So thy love may be my loves spheare; 25 Just such disparitie As is twixt Aire and Angells puritie, 'Twixt womens love, and mens will ever bee.
[Aire and Angels. _1633-69_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ _no title_, _B_, _H40_]
[4 bee; _Ed:_ bee, _1633-69_]
[5 came,] came _1633_]
[6 I did] did I _1669_
see. _Ed:_ see, _1633-69_]
[7 since _Ed:_ since, _1633-69_]
[11 who, _Ed:_ who _1633-69_]
[14 lip, eye,] lips, eyes, _1669_, _Chambers_]
[19 Ev'ry thy _1633-39_, _A18_, _B_ (Even), _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_ (Ever), _S96_, _TC:_ Thy every _1650-69_]
[22 scatt'ring _Ed:_ scattring, _1633-35:_ scattering _1639-69_]
[27 Aire _1633-54 and all MSS.:_ Airs _1669_, _Chambers_]
_Breake of day._
'Tis true, 'tis day; what though it be? O wilt thou therefore rise from me? Why should we rise, because 'tis light? Did we lie downe, because 'twas night? Love which in spight of darknesse brought us hether, 5 Should in despight of light keepe us together.
Light hath no tongue, but is all eye; If it could speake as well as spie, This were the worst, that it could say, That being well, I faine would stay, 10 And that I lov'd my heart and honor so, That I would not from him, that had them, goe.
Must businesse thee from hence remove? Oh, that's the worst disease of love, The poore, the foule, the false, love can 15 Admit, but not the busied man. He which hath businesse, and makes love, doth doe Such wrong, as when a maryed man doth wooe.
[Breake of day, _1633-69_, _A18_, _L74_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ _no title or_ Sonnet, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96:_ A Songe. _A25_]
[1 day;] day, _1633_]
[5 in spight of _1633-39_, _1669_, _A25_, _JC_, _S96:_ in dispight _1650-54_, _A18_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _TC_]
[6 in despight _1633_, _1650-69:_ in spight _1635-39_
keepe] holde _A18_, _L74_, _N_, _S96_, _TC_]
[9 were] is _A18_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_ _TC_]
[11 I lov'd] I love _JC_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_]
[12 him, that had them _1633-54_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _S:_ him that had them (_or_ it) _A25_, _B_, _C_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC:_ her, that had them, _1669:_ her that hath them _B_, _JC_ (it), _S96_]
[15 foule,] foole, _H40_]
[18 as when ... doth _1633_, _1669_, _A25_, _C_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec_, _S_, _S96:_ as if ... should _A18_, _B_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC:_ as when ... should _1635-54_]
_The Anniversarie._
All Kings, and all their favorites, All glory of honors, beauties, wits, The Sun it selfe, which makes times, as they passe, Is elder by a yeare, now, then it was When thou and I first one another saw: 5 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 keepes his first, last, everlasting day. 10
Two graves must hide thine and my coarse, If one might, death were no divorce. Alas, as well as other Princes, wee, (Who Prince enough in one another bee,) Must leave at last in death, these eyes, and eares, 15 Oft fed with true oathes, and with sweet salt teares; But soules 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, soules from their graves remove. 20
And then wee shall be throughly blest, But wee no more, then all the rest; Here upon earth, we'are Kings, and none but wee Can be such Kings, nor of such subjects bee. Who is so safe as wee? where none can doe 25 Treason to us, except one of us two. True and false feares let us refraine, Let us love nobly, and live, and adde againe Yeares and yeares unto yeares, till we attaine To write threescore: this is the second of our raigne. 30
[The Anniversarie. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ _no title_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _S:_ Ad Liviam. _S96_]
[3 times, as they passe, _1633_, _1669_ (_which brackets_ which ... pass), _MSS.:_ times, as these pass, _1635-54:_ time, as they pass, _Chambers, who attributes to 1633, 1669_]
[12 divorce. _Ed:_ divorce, _1633-69_]
[17 love _Ed:_ love; _1633-69_]
[20 to their graves] to their grave _1635-39_]
[22 wee _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ now _1633-69_. _See note_
rest; _Ed:_ rest. _1633-69_]
[23 none _om. 1669, D, H40, H49, JC, Lec, S, S96_]
[24 None are such Kings, _1669_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _S_, _S96_]
nor] and _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _S_, _S96_, bee. _Ed:_ bee; _1633-69_]
[27 refraine,] refraine. _1669_]
[30 threescore: _Grolier:_ threescore, _1633-69_]
_A Valediction: of my name, in the window._
I.
My name engrav'd herein, Doth contribute my firmnesse to this glasse, Which, ever since that charme, hath beene As hard, as that which grav'd it, was; Thine eye will give it price enough, to mock 5 The diamonds of either rock.
II.
'Tis much that Glasse should bee As all confessing, and through-shine as I, 'Tis more, that it shewes thee to thee, And cleare reflects thee to thine eye. 10 But all such rules, loves magique can undoe, Here you see mee, and I am you.
III.
As no one point, nor dash, Which are but accessaries to this name, The showers and tempests can outwash, 15 So shall all times finde mee the same; You this intirenesse better may fulfill, Who have the patterne with you still.
IIII.
Or, if too hard and deepe This learning be, for a scratch'd name to teach, 20 It, as a given deaths head keepe, Lovers mortalitie to preach, Or thinke this ragged bony name to bee My ruinous Anatomie.
V.
Then, as all my soules bee, 25 Emparadis'd 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 Veine, Which tile this house, will come againe. 30
VI.
Till my returne, repaire And recompact my scattered body so. As all the vertuous powers which are Fix'd in the starres, are said to flow Into such characters, as graved bee 35 When these starres have supremacie:
VII.
So, since this name was cut When love and griefe their exaltation had, No doore 'gainst this names influence shut; As much more loving, as more sad, 40 'Twill make thee; and thou shouldst, till I returne, Since I die daily, daily mourne.
VIII.
When thy inconsiderate hand Flings ope this casement, with my trembling name, To looke on one, whose wit or land, 45 New battry to thy heart may frame, Then thinke this name alive, and that thou thus In it offendst my Genius.
IX.
And when thy melted maid, Corrupted by thy Lover's gold, and page, 50 His letter at thy pillow'hath laid, Disputed it, and tam'd thy rage, And thou begin'st to thaw towards him, for this, May my name step in, and hide his.
X.
And if this treason goe 55 To an overt act, and that thou write againe; In superscribing, this name flow Into thy fancy, from the pane. So, in forgetting thou remembrest right, And unaware to mee shalt write. 60
XI.
But glasse, and lines must bee, No meanes our firme substantiall love to keepe; Neere death inflicts this lethargie, And this I murmure in my sleepe; Impute this idle talke, to that I goe, 65 For dying men talke often so.
[A Valediction: Of _&c._ _D_, _H49:_ A Valediction of _&c._ _1633-69_, _H40_, _Lec_; Valediction of _&c._ _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ A Valediction of my name in the Glasse Window _Cy:_ A Valediction to _&c._ _B:_ Valediction 4: of Glasse _O'F:_ Valediction in Glasse _P:_ The Diamond and Glasse _S:_ Vpon the ingravinge of his name with a Diamonde in his mistris windowe when he was to travel. _S96_ (_This is added to the title in O'F._): _similarly, JC_]
[4 was; _Ed:_ was, _1633-69_]
[5 eye] eyes _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _JC_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_]
[8 I, _1633-54:_ I _1669_]
[12 am you.] see you. _1669_]
[14 accessaries _1633-69_, _O'F_, _S:_ accessary _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _S96_, _TC_]
[15 tempests _1633_, _1669:_ tempest _1635-54_]
[19 Or, _Ed:_ Or _1633-69_]
[32 so. _1633-35:_ so, _1639-69_, _Chambers_. _See note_]
[34 flow _Ed:_ flow, _1633-69_]
[36 these _1633:_ those _1635-69_
have] had _1669_
supremacie: _1633-69:_ supremacie. _1650-69_. _See note_]
[37 So, _Ed:_ So _1633-69_]
[39 shut; _Ed:_ shut, _1633-69_]
[44 ope _1633-69_, _O'F_, _S96:_ out _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _TC_]
[48 offendst] offends _1669_]
[50 and] or _1669_, _JC_, _O'F_, _S96_]
[52-3
Disputed thou it, and tame thy rage. If thou to him begin'st to thaw for this,
_1669_]
[55 goe] growe _JC_, _O'F_, _S_]
[56 againe; _1633:_ againe: _1635-69_]
[57 this] my _1669_]
[58 pane. _1633:_ Pen, _1635-69_, _O'F_, _S_]
[60 unaware] unawares _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_]
[64 this] thus _1635-69_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_]
_Twicknam garden._
Blasted with sighs, and surrounded with teares, Hither I come to seeke the spring, And at mine eyes, and at mine eares, Receive such balmes, as else cure every thing; But O, selfe traytor, I do bring 5 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.
'Twere wholsomer for mee, that winter did 10 Benight the glory of this place, And that a grave frost did forbid These trees to laugh, and mocke mee to my face; But that I may not this disgrace Indure, nor yet leave loving, Love let mee 15 Some senslesse peece of this place bee; Make me a mandrake, so I may groane here, Or a stone fountaine weeping out my yeare.
Hither with christall vyals, lovers come, And take my teares, which are loves wine, 20 And try your mistresse Teares at home, For all are false, that tast not just like mine; Alas, hearts do not in eyes shine, Nor can you more judge womans thoughts by teares, Then by her shadow, what she weares. 25 O perverse sexe, where none is true but shee, Who's therefore true, because her truth kills mee.
[Twicknam garden. _1633-69:_ _do. or_ Twitnam Garden. _A18_, _L74_ (_in margin_), _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ In a Garden. _B:_ _no title_, _A25_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _P_]
[3 eares] years _1669_]
[4 balms ... cure _1633_, _A25_, _D_, _H49:_ balm ... cures _1635-69_, _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_
thing; _Ed:_ thing, _1633:_ thing: _1635-69_]
[6 spider] spiders _1669_]
[8 thoroughly _1633-39:_ throughly _1650-69_]
[12 did] would _A18_, _A25_, _N_, _TC_]
[13 laugh,] laugh _1633_]
[14 that I may not] since I cannot _1669_]
[15 nor yet leave loving, _1633:_ _om. D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec:_ nor leave this garden, _1635-69_, _A18_, _A25_, _Cy_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_]
[17 groane _A18_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _N_, _TC:_ grow _1633-69_, _B_, _L74_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_]
[18 my yeare, _1633_, _1669_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec:_ the yeare. _1635-54_, _A18_, _A25_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _TC_]
[20 loves] lovers _1639_]
[24 womans _A18_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _L74_, _N_, _TC:_ womens _1633-69_, _Lec_, _P_, _S96_]
_A Valediction: of the booke._
I'll tell thee now (deare Love) what thou shalt doe To anger destiny, as she doth us, How I shall stay, though she Esloygne me thus And how posterity shall know it too; How thine may out-endure 5 Sybills glory, and obscure Her who from Pindar could allure, And her, through whose helpe _Lucan_ is not lame, And her, whose booke (they say) _Homer_ did finde, and name.
Study our manuscripts, those Myriades 10 Of letters, which have past twixt thee and mee, Thence write our Annals, and in them will bee To all whom loves subliming fire invades, Rule and example found; There, the faith of any ground 15 No schismatique 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 Booke, as long-liv'd as the elements, Or as the worlds forme, this all-graved tome 20 In cypher writ, or new made Idiome, Wee for loves clergie only'are instruments: When this booke is made thus, Should againe the ravenous Vandals and Goths inundate us, 25 Learning were safe; in this our Universe Schooles might learne Sciences, Spheares Musick, Angels Verse.
Here Loves Divines, (since all Divinity Is love or wonder) may finde all they seeke, Whether abstract spirituall love they like, 30 Their Soules exhal'd with what they do not see, Or, loth so to amuze Faiths infirmitie, they chuse Something which they may see and use; For, though minde be the heaven, where love doth sit, 35 Beauty a convenient type may be to figure it.
Here more then in their bookes may Lawyers finde, Both by what titles Mistresses are ours, And how prerogative these states devours, Transferr'd from Love himselfe, to womankinde, 40 Who though from heart, and eyes, They exact great subsidies, Forsake him who on them relies, And for the cause, honour, or conscience give, Chimeraes, vaine as they, or their prerogative. 45
Here Statesmen, (or of them, they which can reade,) May of their occupation finde the grounds: Love and their art alike it deadly wounds, If to consider what 'tis, one proceed, In both they doe excell 50 Who the present governe well, Whose weaknesse none doth, or dares tell; In this thy booke, such will their nothing see, As in the Bible some can finde out Alchimy.
Thus vent thy thoughts; abroad I'll studie thee, 55 As he removes farre off, that great heights takes; How great love is, presence best tryall makes, But absence tryes how long this love will bee; To take a latitude Sun, or starres, are fitliest view'd 60 At their brightest, but to conclude Of longitudes, what other way have wee, But to marke when, and where the darke eclipses bee?
[A Valediction: of _&c._ _Ed:_ A Valediction of the Booke _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ Valediction of the booke. _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ Valediction 3: Of the Booke _O'F:_ The Booke _Cy_, _P:_ Valediction to his booke. _1633-69_, _S:_ A Valediction of a booke left in a windowe. _JC_]
[18 Records, _1633-69:_ records, _Grolier_]
[20 tome _1633-35:_ to me _1639-54:_ Tomb. _1669_, _A18_, _Cy_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_]
[21 Idiome, _Ed:_ Idiome; _1633-69_]
[22 instruments: _Ed:_ instruments, _1633-69_. _See note_]
[25 and Goths inundate us, _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _TC:_ and the Goths invade us, _1633-54_, _S:_ and Goths invade us, _1669_, _H40_, _JC_ (or), _O'F_, _P_]
[26 were safe; _1633:_ _rest omit semicolon_.
Universe _1633-39:_ Universe, _1650-69_]
[30 abstract] abstracted _1669_]
[32 Or, ... amuze _Ed:_ Or ... amuze, _1633-69_]
[33 infirmitie,] infirmities, _1669_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_]
[38 titles] titles, _1663_]
[39 these states] those rites _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[40 womankinde, _Ed:_ womankinde. _1633-54:_ womankinde: _1669_]
[43 relies, _Ed:_ relies _1633:_ relies; _1635-69_]
[44 give,] give; _1635-69_]
[46 Statesmen] Tradesmen _Cy_, _P_]
[47 grounds: _Ed:_ grounds, _1633-69_]
[49 'tis, one] 'tis on _1669_]
[53 their nothing _1635-54_, _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_ (nothings), _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TC_ (_but the MSS. waver between_ their _and_ there): there something _1633_, _1669_, _P_]
[55 vent _1633_, _1669:_ went _1635-54_
thoughts; abroad] thoughts abroad: _1669_]
[56 great heights] shadows _O'F_]
[63 _1669 omits_ darke]
_Communitie._
Good wee must love, and must hate ill, For ill is ill, and good good still, But there are things indifferent, Which wee may neither hate, nor love, But one, and then another prove, As wee shall finde our fancy bent. 5
If then at first wise Nature had Made women either good or bad, Then some wee might hate, and some chuse, But since shee did them so create, 10 That we may neither love, nor hate, Onely this rests, All, all may use.
If they were good it would be seene, Good is as visible as greene, And to all eyes it selfe betrayes: 15 If they were bad, they could not last, Bad doth it selfe, and others wast, So, they deserve nor blame, nor praise.
But they are ours as fruits are ours, He that but tasts, he that devours, 20 And he that leaves all, doth as well: Chang'd loves are but chang'd sorts of meat, And when hee hath the kernell eate, Who doth not fling away the shell?
[Communitie. _1635-69:_ _no title_, _1633_, _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[3 there _1635-69_, _A18_, _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TC_, _&c.:_ these _1633_, _D_, _Cy_, _H49_, _Lec_]
[7 had _Ed:_ had, _1633-39_]
[12 All, all _1633-54:_ All men _1669_]
[15 betrayes: _1650-69:_ betrayes, _1633-39_]
[21 well: _Ed:_ well, _1633-69_]
_Loves growth._
I scarce beleeve my love to be so pure As I had thought it was, Because it doth endure Vicissitude, and season, as the grasse; Me thinkes I lyed all winter, when I swore, 5 My love was infinite, if spring make'it more.
But if this medicine, love, which cures all sorrow With more, not onely bee no quintessence, But mixt of all stuffes, paining soule, or sense, And of the Sunne his working vigour borrow, 10 Love's not so pure, and abstract, as they use To say, which have no Mistresse but their Muse, But as all else, being elemented too, Love sometimes would contemplate, sometimes do.
And yet no greater, but more eminent, 15 Love by the spring is growne; As, in the firmament, Starres by the Sunne are not inlarg'd, but showne. Gentle love deeds, as blossomes on a bough, From loves awakened root do bud out now. 20 If, as in water stir'd more circles bee Produc'd by one, love such additions take, Those like so many spheares, but one heaven make, For, they are all concentrique unto thee. And though each spring doe adde to love new heate, 25 As princes doe in times of action get New taxes, and remit them not in peace, No winter shall abate the springs encrease.
[Loves growth. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ The Spring. _or_ Spring. _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96:_ _no title_, _JC_]
[9 paining _1633_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _S96_, _TC:_ vexing _1635-69_, _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_]
[10 working _1633 and MSS. as above:_ active _1635-69 and MSS. as above_]
[11 pure, and] pure an _1669_, _O'F_]
[14 do.] do _1633_]
[18-19 Starres ... showne. Gentle love _Ed:_ Starres ... showne, Gentle love _1633-69:_
Stars are not by the sunne enlarg'd; but showne Greater; Loves deeds
_P_. _See note_]
[24 thee. _Ed:_ thee, _1633-69_]
[28 the _1633_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _S96_, _TC:_ this _1635-69_, _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_]
_Loves exchange._
_Love_, any devill else but you, Would for a given Soule give something too. At Court your fellowes every day, Give th'art of Riming, Huntsmanship, or Play, For them which were their owne before; 5 Onely I have nothing which gave more, But am, alas, by being lowly, lower.
I aske no dispensation now To falsifie a teare, or sigh, or vow, I do not sue from thee to draw 10 A _non obstante_ on natures law, These are prerogatives, they inhere In thee and thine; none should forsweare Except that hee _Loves_ minion were.
Give mee thy weaknesse, make mee blinde, 15 Both wayes, as thou and thine, in eies and minde; Love, let me never know that this Is love, or, that love childish is; Let me not know that others know That she knowes my paines, least that so 20 A tender shame make me mine owne new woe.
If thou give nothing, yet thou'art just, Because I would not thy first motions trust; Small townes which stand stiffe, till great shot Enforce them, by warres law _condition_ not. 25 Such in loves warfare is my case, I may not article for grace, Having put Love at last to shew this face.
This face, by which he could command And change the Idolatrie of any land, 30 This face, which wheresoe'r it comes, Can call vow'd men from cloisters, dead from tombes, And melt both Poles at once, and store Deserts with cities, and make more Mynes in the earth, then Quarries were before. 35
For this, Love is enrag'd with mee, Yet kills not. If I must example bee To future Rebells; If th'unborne Must learne, by my being cut up, and torne: Kill, and dissect me, Love; for this 40 Torture against thine owne end is, Rack't carcasses make ill Anatomies.
[Loves exchange. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ _no title_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_]
[4 or] and _most MSS._
Play _D:_ play _1633-69_]
[9 or sigh, or vow, _1633-54:_ a sigh, a vow, _1669_]
[18 is; _Ed:_ is. _1633-69_]
[20 paines] paine _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _TC_]
[21 _1669 omits_ new]
[28 Love _D:_ love _1633-69_
this] his _1669_]
[36 For this, _Ed:_ For, this _1633-69_
Love _D:_ love _1633-69_]
[37 not. If _Ed:_ not; if _1633-39:_ not: if _1650-69_]
_Confined Love._
Some man unworthy to be possessor Of old or new love, himselfe being false or weake, Thought his paine and shame would be lesser, If on womankind he might his anger wreake, And thence a law did grow, 5 One might but one man know; But are other creatures so?
Are Sunne, Moone, or Starres by law forbidden, To smile where they list, or lend away their light? Are birds divorc'd, or are they chidden 10 If they leave their mate, or lie abroad a night? Beasts doe no joyntures lose Though they new lovers choose, But we are made worse then those.
Who e'r rigg'd faire ship to lie in harbors, 15 And not to seeke new lands, or not to deale withall? Or built faire houses, set trees, and arbors, Only to lock up, or else to let them fall? Good is not good, unlesse A thousand it possesse, 20 But doth wast with greedinesse.
[Confined Love _1635-69:_ _no title_, _1633_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ To the worthiest of all my lovers. _Cy:_ To the of all my loves my virtuous mistriss. _P_]
[3 his] this _1669_
lesser] the lesser _A18_, _Cy_, _JC_, _P_]
[6 might _1633-69:_ should _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _S_, _TC_]
[9 lend] bend _1669_]
[11 mate, _1633-39:_ meate, _1650:_ meat, _1669_
a night (_i.e._ a-night) _1633-54:_ all night _1669_]
[12 Beasts] Beast _1635_]
[15 ship] ships _1669_, _Chambers_]
[16 seeke new lands _1633-35 and MSS.:_ seeke lands _1639-69_, _Chambers, whose note is incorrect_
withall _1633:_ with all _1635-69_]
[17 built _1633-35:_ build _1639-69_]
_The Dreame._
Deare love, for nothing lesse then thee Would I have broke this happy dreame, It was a theame For reason, much too strong for phantasie, Therefore thou wakd'st me wisely; yet 5 My Dreame thou brok'st not, but continued'st it, Thou art so truth, that thoughts of thee suffice, To make dreames truths; and fables histories; Enter these armes, for since thou thoughtst it best, Not to dreame all my dreame, let's act the rest. 10
As lightning, or a Tapers light, Thine eyes, and not thy noise wak'd mee; Yet I thought thee (For thou lovest truth) an Angell, at first sight, But when I saw thou sawest my heart, 15 And knew'st my thoughts, beyond an Angels art, When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st when Excesse of joy would wake me, and cam'st then, I must confesse, it could not chuse but bee Prophane, to thinke thee any thing but thee. 20
Comming and staying show'd thee, thee, But rising makes me doubt, that now, Thou art not thou. That love is weake, where feare's as strong as hee; 'Tis not all spirit, pure, and brave, 25 If mixture it of _Feare_, _Shame_, _Honor_, have. Perchance as torches which must ready bee, Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with mee, Thou cam'st to kindle, goest to come; Then I Will dreame that hope againe, but else would die. 30
[The Dreame. _1633-69:_ _do. or similarly_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _RP31_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[6 brok'st ... continued'st] breakest ... continuest _1669_, _A25_, _C_, _P_, _S_]
[7 so truth, _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TC:_ so true, _1635-69_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_. _See note_]
[10 act] doe _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_]
[14 an Angell,] but an Angell, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TC_]
[16 thoughts,] _om. comma Grolier and Chambers_. _See Note_]
[17 then thou knew'st when _1669_]
[19 must] doe _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _TC_]
[20 Prophane,] Profaness _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _S96_, _TC_]
[24 feare's as strong _1635-54_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _TCC:_ feares are strong _1669_, _B_, _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96:_ feare is strong, _N_, _TCD_]
[26 have. _1669:_ have; _1633-54_]
[29 cam'st] com'st _1669_
Then I] Thus I _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TC_ (_RP31 agrees with this group throughout_)]
_A Valediction: of weeping._
Let me powre forth My teares before thy face, whil'st I stay here, For thy face coines them, and thy stampe they beare, And by this Mintage they are something worth, For thus they bee 5 Pregnant of thee; Fruits of much griefe they are, emblemes of more, When a teare falls, that thou falst which it bore, So thou and I are nothing then, when on a divers shore.
On a round ball 10 A workeman that hath copies by, can lay An Europe, Afrique, and an Asia, And quickly make that, which was nothing, _All_, So doth each teare, Which thee doth weare, 15 A globe, yea world by that impression grow, Till thy teares mixt with mine doe overflow This world, by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolved so.
O more then Moone, Draw not up seas to drowne me in thy spheare, 20 Weepe me not dead, in thine armes, but forbeare To teach the sea, what it may doe too soone; Let not the winde Example finde, To doe me more harme, then it purposeth; 25 Since thou and I sigh one anothers breath, Who e'r sighes most, is cruellest, and hasts the others death.
[A Valediction: of _&c._ _Ed:_ A Valediction of weeping. _1633-69:_ Valediction of Weeping. _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ A Valediction. _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec:_ A Valediction of Teares. _Cy_, _S_, _S96:_ Valediction 2. Of Tears. _O'F:_ _no title_, _JC_]
[3 beare, _1633:_ beare; _1635-69_]
[6 thee; _Ed:_ thee, _1633-69_]
[8 falst _1633-69:_ falls _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _TC_]
[9 shore.] shore, _1633_]
[13 _All_, _1633:_ _All_ _1635:_ _All._ _1639:_ _All:_ _1650-69_]
[16 world] would _1669_]
[20 up seas] thy seas _1669_]
[22 soone; _Ed:_ soone, _1633-69_]
[25 purposeth; _Ed:_ purposeth, _1633-69_]
_Loves Alchymie._
Some that have deeper digg'd loves Myne then I, Say, where his centrique happinesse doth lie: I have lov'd, and got, and told, But should I love, get, tell, till I were old, I should not finde that hidden mysterie; 5 Oh, 'tis imposture all: And as no chymique yet th'Elixar got, But glorifies his pregnant pot, If by the way to him befall Some odoriferous thing, or medicinall, 10 So, lovers dreame a rich and long delight, But get a winter-seeming summers night.
Our ease, our thrift, our honor, and our day, Shall we, for this vaine Bubles shadow pay? Ends love in this, that my man, 15 Can be as happy'as I can; If he can Endure the short scorne of a Bridegroomes play? That loving wretch that sweares, 'Tis not the bodies marry, but the mindes, Which he in her Angelique findes, 20 Would sweare as justly, that he heares, In that dayes rude hoarse minstralsey, the spheares. Hope not for minde in women; at their best Sweetnesse and wit, they'are but _Mummy_, possest.
[Loves Alchymie. _1633-69:_ Mummye. _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_ (or Alchymy. _added in a later hand_), _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ Elegie. _P:_ _no title_, _A25_]
[14 Bubles] Bubless _1669_]
[15 my _1633-69 and MSS.:_ any _S96_, _1855_, _and Grolier_ (_perhaps from some copy of 1633_)]
[23-4 _punctuation from MSS:_
at their best, Sweetnesse, and wit they'are, but, _Mummy_, possest.
_1633-54:_ _1669 omits all punctuation in these lines_]
_The Flea._
Marke but this flea, and marke in this, How little that which thou deny'st me is; It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee, And in this flea, our two bloods mingled bee; Thou know'st that this cannot be said 5 A sinne, nor shame, nor losse of maidenhead, Yet this enjoyes before it wooe, And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two, And this, alas, is more then wee would doe.
Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare, 10 Where wee almost, yea more then maryed are. This flea is you and I, and this Our mariage bed, and mariage temple is; Though parents grudge, and you, w'are met, And cloysterd in these living walls of Jet. 15 Though use make you apt to kill mee, Let not to that, selfe murder added bee, And sacrilege, three sinnes in killing three.
Cruell and sodaine, hast thou since Purpled thy naile, in blood of innocence? 20 Wherein could this flea guilty bee, Except in that drop which it suckt from thee? Yet thou triumph'st, and saist that thou Find'st not thy selfe, nor mee the weaker now; 'Tis true, then learne how false, feares bee; 25 Just so much honor, when thou yeeld'st to mee, Will wast, as this flea's death tooke life from thee.
[The Flea _is placed here in the 1633 edition:_ _1635-69 place it at beginning of_ Songs and Sonets: The Flea. _or no title_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[3 It suckt mee first, _1633-54_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _S96:_ Mee it suck'd first, _1669_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _Cy_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _TC_
and now sucks] and now it sucks _1669_]
[5 Thou know'st that _1633-54_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ Confess it. This cannot be said _1669_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _H40_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_]
[6 nor shame, nor losse _1633-54_ (shame _1633_), _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ or shame, or loss _1669_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _H40_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _TC_]
[9 would] could _1669_]
[11: yea, _1633-54_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ nay, _1669_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _H40_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TC_]
[16 you] thee _A18_, _Cy_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_]
[21 Wherein] In what _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_]
[22 drop] blood _1669_]
_The Curse._
Who ever guesses, thinks, or dreames he knowes Who is my mistris, wither by this curse; His only, and only his purse May some dull heart to love dispose, And shee yeeld then to all that are his foes; 5 May he be scorn'd by one, whom all else scorne, Forsweare to others, what to her he'hath sworne, With feare of missing, shame of getting, torne:
Madnesse his sorrow, gout his cramp, may hee Make, by but thinking, who hath made him such: 10 And may he feele no touch Of conscience, but of fame, and bee Anguish'd, not that'twas sinne, but that'twas shee: In early and long scarcenesse may he rot, For land which had been his, if he had not 15 Himselfe incestuously an heire begot:
May he dreame Treason, and beleeve, that hee Meant to performe it, and confesse, and die, And no record tell why: His sonnes, which none of his may bee, 20 Inherite nothing but his infamie: Or may he so long Parasites have fed, That he would faine be theirs, whom he hath bred, And at the last be circumcis'd for bread:
The venom of all stepdames, gamsters gall, 25 What Tyrans, and their subjects interwish, What Plants, Mynes, Beasts, Foule, Fish, Can contribute, all ill which all Prophets, or Poets spake; And all which shall Be annex'd in schedules unto this by mee, 30 Fall on that man; For if it be a shee Nature before hand hath out-cursed mee.
[The Curse. _1633-69:_ A Curse. _or_ The Curse. _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ Dirae. _P_, _Q_]
[2 curse] course _1669_]
[3 His only, and only his purse _1633-54_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TC:_ Him, only for his purse _1669_, _Chambers:_ His one and his onely purse _P_]
[4 heart _1633-54 and MSS.:_ whore _1669 and Chambers_]
[5 And she yeeld then to _1633-54 and MSS.:_ And then yield unto _1669_, _Chambers_]
[8 getting, _Ed:_ getting _1633-69_
torne: _Ed:_ torne; _1633-54:_ torne. _1669_. _Compare_ 16 _and_ 24]
[9 cramp,] cramps, _1669_, _Chambers_, _and most MSS._]
[10 him _1633-54 and MSS.:_ them _1669_, _Chambers_]
[12 fame,] shame; _A18_, _A25_, _N_, _P_, _TC_]
[14-16 In early and long scarceness ... an heire begot: _1633_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec_, _O'F_ (_which gives alternate version in margin_), _S:_
Or may he for her vertue reverence One that hates him onely for impotence, And equall Traitors be she and his sense.
_1635-69_, _A18_, _A25_, _C_, _JC_, _N_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _TC_]
[18 Meant] Went _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[26 Tyrans, _1633-35:_ Tyrants, _1639:_ tyrants, _1650-69_]
[27 Mynes, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _H40_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _TC:_ Myne, _1633-69_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_]
[28 ill _1669:_ ill, _1633-54_]
_The Message._
Send home my long strayd eyes to mee, Which (Oh) too long have dwelt on thee; Yet since there they have learn'd such ill, Such forc'd fashions, And false passions, 5 That they be Made by thee Fit for no good sight, keep them still.
Send home my harmlesse heart againe, Which no unworthy thought could staine; 10 But if it be taught by thine To make jestings Of protestings, And crosse both Word and oath, 15 Keepe it, for then 'tis none of mine.
Yet send me back my heart and eyes, That I may know, and see thy lyes, And may laugh and joy, when thou Art in anguish 20 And dost languish For some one That will none, Or prove as false as thou art now.
[The Message. _1635-69:_ _no title_, _1633:_ Song. _or no title_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96:_ Sonnet. _P:_ Songes w^{ch} were made to _&c._ (_vid. sup._ _p._ 18) _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[2 thee; _Ed:_ thee, _1633-69_]
[3 But if they there _1669_, _S_]
[10 staine;] staine, _1633-69_]
[11 But _1635-69:_ Which _1633_, _A18_, _A25_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _TC_]
[14 crosse, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ breake _1633-69_]
[16 Keep it still 'tis _1669_]
[19 And may laugh, when that Thou _D_, _H49_, _Lec_]
[24 art now.] dost now. _1669_]
_A nocturnall upon S._ Lucies _day,_
_Being the shortest day._
Tis the yeares midnight, and it is the dayes, _Lucies_, who scarce seaven houres herself unmaskes, The Sunne is spent, and now his flasks Send forth light squibs, no constant rayes; The worlds whole sap is sunke: 5 The generall balme th'hydroptique earth hath drunk, Whither, as to the beds-feet, life is shrunke, Dead and enterr'd; yet all these seeme to laugh, Compar'd with mee, who am their Epitaph.
Study me then, you who shall lovers bee 10 At the next world, that is, at the next Spring: For I am every dead thing, In whom love wrought new Alchimie. For his art did expresse A quintessence even from nothingnesse, 15 From dull privations, and leane emptinesse: He ruin'd mee, and I am re-begot Of absence, darknesse, death; things which are not.
All others, from all things, draw all that's good, Life, soule, forme, spirit, whence they beeing have; 20 I, by loves limbecke, am the grave Of all, that's nothing. Oft a flood Have wee two wept, and so Drownd the whole world, us two; oft did we grow To be two Chaosses, when we did show 25 Care to ought else; and often absences Withdrew our soules, and made us carcasses.
But I am by her death, (which word wrongs her) Of the first nothing, the Elixer grown; Were I a man, that I were one, 30 I needs must know; I should preferre, 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, 35 As shadow, a light, and body must be here.
But I am None; nor will my Sunne renew. You lovers, for whose sake, the lesser Sunne At this time to the Goat is runne To fetch new lust, and give it you, 40 Enjoy your summer all; Since shee enjoyes her long nights festivall, Let mee prepare towards her, and let mee call This houre her Vigill, and her Eve, since this Both the yeares, and the dayes deep midnight is. 45
[A nocturnal _&c._ _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[7 beds-feet,] beds-feet _1633-69_]
[12 every _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_ (_altered to_ a very), _TC:_ a very _1635-69_]
[16 emptinesse: _1719:_ emptinesse; _Chambers and Grolier:_ emptinesse _1633-54:_ emptinesse, _1669_. _See note_]
[20 have; _Ed:_ have, _1633-69_.]
[31 know;] know, _1633_]
[32 beast,] beast; _Grolier_]
[34 love; All, all _Ed:_ love, all, all _1633-69_
invest; _Ed:_ invest, _1633:_ invest _1635-69_]
[37 renew. _1633:_ renew, _1635-69_]
[41 all; _Ed:_ all, _1633-69 and Chambers, who places a full stop after_ festivall]
[44 Eve, _1650-69:_ eve, _1633-39_]
_Witchcraft by a picture._
I fixe mine eye on thine, and there Pitty my picture burning in thine eye, My picture drown'd in a transparent teare, When I looke lower I espie; Hadst thou the wicked skill 5 By pictures made and mard, to kill, How many wayes mightst thou performe thy will?
But now I have drunke thy sweet salt teares, And though thou poure more I'll depart; My picture vanish'd, vanish feares, 10 That I can be endamag'd by that art; Though thou retaine of mee One picture more, yet that will bee, Being in thine owne heart, from all malice free.
[Witchcraft _&c._ _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ The Picture. _or_ Picture. _Cy_, _JC_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96:_ A Songe. _B_]
[4 espie; _Ed:_ espie, _1633-69_]
[6 to kill, _Ed:_ to kill? _1633-39:_ to kill; _1650-69_]
[9 And though] Although _1669_ And though thou therefore poure more will depart; _B_, _H40_]
[10 vanish'd, vanish feares, _1633_, _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _H40_, _JC_, _N_, _P_, _S96_, _TC:_ vanished, vanish all feares _1635-54_, _O'F:_ vanish, vanish fears, _1669_]
[11 that] thy _JC_, _O'F_, _S96_]
[14 all] thy _B_, _H40_, _S96_]
_The Baite._
Come live with mee, and bee my love, And wee will some new pleasures prove Of golden sands, and christall brookes, With silken lines, and silver hookes.
There will the river whispering runne 5 Warm'd by thy eyes, more then the Sunne. And there the'inamor'd fish will stay, Begging themselves they may betray.
When thou wilt swimme in that live bath, Each fish, which every channell hath, 10 Will amorously to thee swimme, Gladder to catch thee, then thou him.
If thou, to be so seene, beest loath, By Sunne, or Moone, thou darknest both, And if my selfe have leave to see, 15 I need not their light, having thee.
Let others freeze with angling reeds, And cut their legges, with shells and weeds, Or treacherously poore fish beset, With strangling snare, or windowie net: 20
Let coarse bold hands, from slimy nest The bedded fish in banks out-wrest, Or curious traitors, sleavesilke flies Bewitch poore fishes wandring eyes.
For thee, thou needst no such deceit, 25 For thou thy selfe art thine owne bait; That fish, that is not catch'd thereby, Alas, is wiser farre then I.
[The Baite. _1635-69:_ _no title_, _1633:_ Song. _or no title_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _Walton's_ Compleate Angler: _Fourth Day:_ _Chap. XII.:_ Songs that were made _&c._ (_vid. sup. p._ 18) _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[2 some new] all the _P_]
[3 brookes, _Ed:_ brookes: _1633-69_]
[5 whispering _1633:_ whispring _1635-69_]
[6 thy] thine _1669_, _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[7 inamor'd] enamelled _Walton_
stay] play _1669_]
[11 to] unto _JC_, _O'F_, _P:_ to see _N:_ Most amoroussly to thee will swim _Walton_]
[15 my selfe] mine eyes _Walton:_ my heart _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[18 with] which _1633_]
[20 snare,] snares, _Walton_
windowie] winding _1669_. _See note_]
[23 Or _1633-69:_ Let _Walton_
sleavesilke _1635:_ sleave silke _1639-69 and Walton:_ sleavesicke _1633_]
[24 To witch poor wandring fishes eyes. _Walton_]
[25 thou needst] there needs _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _S96_]
[26 bait; _Ed:_ bait, _1633-69_]
[27 catch'd _1633-69:_ catch't _Walton:_ caught _P_]
[28 Is wiser far, alas _Walton_]
_The Apparition._
When by thy scorne, O murdresse, I am dead, And that thou thinkst thee free From all solicitation from mee, Then shall my ghost come to thy bed, And thee, fain'd vestall, in worse armes shall see; 5 Then thy sicke taper will begin to winke, And he, whose thou art then, being tyr'd before, Will, if thou stirre, or pinch to wake him, thinke Thou call'st for more, And in false sleepe will from thee shrinke, 10 And then poore Aspen wretch, neglected thou Bath'd in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lye A veryer ghost then I; What I will say, I will not tell thee now, Lest that preserve thee'; and since my love is spent, 15 I'had rather thou shouldst painfully repent, Then by my threatnings rest still innocent.
[The Apparition. _1633-69:_ _do. or_ An Apparition. _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[2 that thou thinkst] thou shalt think _1669_]
[3 solicitation] solicitations _JC_, _O'F_]
[5 thee, ... vestall, _Ed:_ thee ... vestall _1633-39:_ thee ... Vestall _1650-69_]
[7 then] _1669 omits_]
[10 in false sleepe will from _1633_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _S:_ in false sleepe from _1635-54:_ in a false sleepe even from _1669:_ in a false sleepe from _A25_, _P:_ in a false sleepe will from _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[13 I;] I, _1633, some copies_]
[17 rest still] keep thee _A25_, _Cy_, _JC_, _O'F_, _P_]
_The broken heart._
He is starke mad, who ever sayes, That he hath beene in love an houre, Yet not that love so soone decayes, But that it can tenne in lesse space devour; Who will beleeve mee, if I sweare 5 That I have had the plague a yeare? Who would not laugh at mee, if I should say, I saw a flaske of _powder burne a day_?
Ah, what a trifle is a heart, If once into loves hands it come! 10 All other griefes allow a part To other griefes, and aske themselves but some; They come to us, but us Love draws, Hee swallows us, and never chawes: By him, as by chain'd shot, whole rankes doe dye, 15 He is the tyran Pike, our hearts the Frye.
If 'twere not so, what did become Of my heart, when I first saw thee? I brought a heart into the roome, But from the roome, I carried none with mee: 20 If it had gone to thee, I know Mine would have taught thine heart to show More pitty unto mee: but Love, alas, At one first blow did shiver it as glasse.
Yet nothing can to nothing fall, 25 Nor any place be empty quite, Therefore I thinke my breast hath all Those peeces still, though they be not unite; And now as broken glasses show A hundred lesser faces, so 30 My ragges of heart can like, wish, and adore, But after one such love, can love no more.
[The broken heart. _1633-69:_ Broken Heart. _L74:_ Song. _or no title_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ Elegie. _P_, _S96_]
[8 flaske _1633_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _Lec_, _O'F_ (_corrected from_ flash), _P_, _S:_ flash _1635-69_, _A18_, _H49_, _N_, _TC_]
[10 come! _Ed:_ come? _1633-69_]
[12 some; _Ed:_ some, _1633-69_]
[15 chain'd shot] chain-shott _A18_, _A25_, _N_, _TC_]
[16 tyran] Tyrant _1669_
our hearts] and we _1669_]
[17 did] could _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _L74_, _O'F_, _N_, _TC:_ would _B_, _Cy_, _M_, _S_]
[20 mee: _1650-69:_ mee; _1633-39_]
[23 alas,] alas _1633_]
[24 first] fierce _A18_, _B_, _N_, _TC_]
[30 hundred] thousand _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _L74_, _M_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _TC_]
_A Valediction: forbidding mourning._
As virtuous men passe mildly away, And whisper to their soules, to goe, Whilst some of their sad friends doe say, The breath goes now, and some say, no:
So let us melt, and make no noise, 5 No teare-floods, nor sigh-tempests move, T'were prophanation of our joyes To tell the layetie our love.
Moving of th'earth brings harmes and feares, Men reckon what it did and meant, 10 But trepidation of the spheares, Though greater farre, is innocent.
Dull sublunary lovers love (Whose soule is sense) cannot admit Absence, because it doth remove 15 Those things which elemented it.
But we by a love, so much refin'd, That our selves know not what it is, Inter-assured of the mind, Care lesse, eyes, lips, and hands to misse. 20
Our two soules therefore, which are one, Though I must goe, endure not yet A breach, but an expansion, Like gold to ayery thinnesse beate.
If they be two, they are two so 25 As stiffe twin compasses are two, Thy soule the fixt foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if the'other doe.
And though it in the center sit, Yet when the other far doth rome, 30 It leanes, and hearkens after it, And growes erect, as that comes home.
Such wilt thou be to mee, who must Like th'other foot, obliquely runne; Thy firmnes makes my circle just, And makes me end, where I begunne. 35
[A Valediction: forbidding _&c._ _Ed:_ A Valediction forbidding _&c._ _1633-69:_ Valediction forbidding _&c._ _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ Valediction agaynst _&c._ _A25_, _C:_ A Valediction. _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec:_ Vpon the partinge from his Mistris. _O'F_, _S96:_ To his love upon his departure from her. _JC:_ Elegie. _L74_, _P:_ _also in Walton's_ Life of Donne (1675)]
[4 The breath goes now, _1633-54, and all the MSS.:_ Now his breath goes, _1669_, _Chambers_
no: _Ed:_ no. _1633-54:_ No; _1669_]
[30 the other] my other _Walton_]
[31 It] Thine _Walton_]
[32 that] mine _Walton_]
[34 runne; _Ed:_ runne. _1633-69_]
[35 circle] circles _1639-54_]
[36 makes me] me to _Walton_]
_The Extasie._
Where, like a pillow on a bed, A Pregnant banke swel'd up, to rest The violets reclining head, Sat we two, one anothers best. Our hands were firmely cimented 5 With a fast balme, which thence did spring, Our eye-beames twisted, and did thred Our eyes, upon one double string; So to'entergraft our hands, as yet Was all the meanes to make us one, 10 And pictures in our eyes to get Was all our propagation. As 'twixt two equall Armies, Fate Suspends uncertaine victorie, Our soules, (which to advance their state, 15 Were gone out,) hung 'twixt her, and mee. And whil'st our soules negotiate there, Wee like sepulchrall statues lay; All day, the same our postures were, And wee said nothing, all the day. 20 If any, so by love refin'd, That he soules language understood, And by good love were growen all minde, Within convenient distance stood, He (though he knew not which soule spake, 25 Because both meant, both spake the same) Might thence a new concoction take, And part farre purer then he came. This Extasie doth unperplex (We said) and tell us what we love, 30 Wee see by this, it was not sexe, Wee see, we saw not what did move: But as all severall soules containe Mixture of things, they know not what, Love, these mixt soules, doth mixe againe, 35 And makes both one, each this and that. A single violet transplant, The strength, the colour, and the size, (All which before was poore, and scant,) Redoubles still, and multiplies. 40 When love, with one another so Interinanimates two soules, That abler soule, which thence doth flow, Defects of lonelinesse controules. Wee then, who are this new soule, know, 45 Of what we are compos'd, and made, For, th'Atomies of which we grow, Are soules, whom no change can invade. But O alas, so long, so farre Our bodies why doe wee forbeare? 50 They are ours, though they are not wee, Wee are The intelligences, they the spheare. We owe them thankes, because they thus, Did us, to us, at first convay, Yeelded their forces, sense, to us, 55 Nor are drosse to us, but allay. On man heavens influence workes not so, But that it first imprints the ayre, Soe soule into the soule may flow, Though it to body first repaire. 60 As our blood labours to beget Spirits, as like soules as it can, Because such fingers need to knit That subtile knot, which makes us man: So must pure lovers soules descend 65 T'affections, and to faculties, Which sense may reach and apprehend, Else a great Prince in prison lies. To'our bodies turne wee then, that so Weake men on love reveal'd may looke; 70 Loves mysteries in soules doe grow, But yet the body is his booke. And if some lover, such as wee, Have heard this dialogue of one, Let him still marke us, he shall see 75 Small change, when we'are to bodies gone.
[The Extasie. _1633-69:_ _do. or_ Extasie. _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[3 reclining _1633-54:_ declining _1669_]
[4 best. _Ed:_ best; _1633-54_
Sate we on one anothers breasts. _1669_]
[6 With _1633_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _P_, _S_, _TC:_ By _1635-69_, _Chambers_]
[8 string; _Ed:_ string, _1633-69_]
[9 to'entergraft _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _TC:_ to engraft _1635-69_, _A25_, _JC_, _O'F_, _Chambers_]
[11 in _1633-69_, _P:_ on _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TC_]
[15 their _1633 and most MSS.:_ our _1635-69_, _O'F_, _P_]
[18 lay; _Ed:_ lay, _1633-69_]
[25 knew _1635-69_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _N_, _P_, _TC:_ knowes _1633_, _D_, _Lec_]
[29 doth] do _1669_]
[31 sexe, _1669:_ sexe _1633-54_]
[42 Interinanimates _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _TC:_ Interanimates _1633-69_, _D_, _Lec_]
[44 loneliness] loveliness _1669_]
[46 made, _1633-39:_ made: _1650-69_]
[47 Atomies _1633-54:_ Atomes _1669_]
[48 are soules, _1633_, _1669:_ are soule, _1635-54_]
[51 though they are not _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ though not _1633-69_]
[52 spheare. _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ spheares. _1633-69_]
[55 forces, sense, _A18_, _A25_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ senses force _1633-69_]
[59 Soe _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _H40_, _JC_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ For _1633-69_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_]
[64 makes] make _1635-39_]
[72 his] the _1669_]
[76 gone. _1633_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _S_, _TC:_ growne. _1635-69_, _P_, _S96_]
_Loves Deitie._
I long to talke with some old lovers ghost, Who dyed before the god of Love was borne: I cannot thinke that hee, who then lov'd most, Sunke so low, as to love one which did scorne. But since this god produc'd a destinie, 5 And that vice-nature, custome, lets it be; I must love her, that loves not mee.
Sure, they which made him god, meant not so much, Nor he, in his young godhead practis'd it; But when an even flame two hearts did touch, 10 His office was indulgently to fit Actives to passives. Correspondencie Only his subject was; It cannot bee Love, till I love her, that loves mee.
But every moderne god will now extend 15 His vast prerogative, as far as Jove. To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend, All is the purlewe of the God of Love. Oh were wee wak'ned by this Tyrannie To ungod this child againe, it could not bee 20 I should love her, who loves not mee.
Rebell and Atheist too, why murmure I, As though I felt the worst that love could doe? Love might make me leave loving, or might trie A deeper plague, to make her love mee too, 25 Which, since she loves before, I'am loth to see; Falshood is worse then hate; and that must bee, If shee whom I love, should love mee.
[Loves Deitie. _1633-69_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ Elegye. _P_]
[8 much, _1639-69:_ much: _1633:_ much? _1635_]
[9 it; _Ed:_ it. _1633-69_]
[13 subject] _Subject 1669_]
[14 Love, ... mee. _1633_, _1669_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_ (who), _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _S_ (lov'd), _TCD:_ Love, if I love, who loves not me. _1635-54_, _O'F_]
[19 Oh ... wak'ned] Were we not weak'ned _1669_]
[21 That I should love, who loves not me. _A18_, _A25_, _C_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ _O'F reads as these but alters to as in printed edd._]
[24 might make _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ may make _1633-69_, _Lec_]
[26 Which,] Which _1633_]
_Loves diet._
To what a combersome unwieldinesse And burdenous corpulence my love had growne, But that I did, to make it lesse, And keepe it in proportion, Give it a diet, made it feed upon 5 That which love worst endures, _discretion_.
Above one sigh a day I'allow'd him not, Of which my fortune, and my faults had part; And if sometimes by stealth he got A she sigh from my mistresse heart, 10 And thought to feast on that, I let him see 'Twas neither very sound, nor meant to mee.
If he wroung from mee'a teare, I brin'd it so With scorne or shame, that him it nourish'd not; If he suck'd hers, I let him know 15 'Twas not a teare, which hee had got, His drinke was counterfeit, as was his meat; For, eyes which rowle towards all, weepe not, but sweat.
What ever he would dictate, I writ that, But burnt my letters; When she writ to me, 20 And that that favour made him fat, I said, if any title bee Convey'd by this, Ah, what doth it availe, To be the fortieth name in an entaile?
Thus I reclaim'd my buzard love, to flye 25 At what, and when, and how, and where I chuse; Now negligent of sport I lye, And now as other Fawkners use, I spring a mistresse, sweare, write, sigh and weepe: And the game kill'd, or lost, goe talke, and sleepe. 30
[Loves diet. _1633-69_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _TCC_ (_torn out of TCD_): Amoris Dieta. _S96_]
[12 mee. _Ed:_ mee; _1633-35:_ mee: _1639-69_]
[18 For,] Her _1669_]
[19 Whatever ... that, _1633-39_, _1669:_ Whate'er might him distast I still writ that, _1650-54:_ Whatsoever hee would distast I writt that, _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[20 But burnt my letters; When she writ to me, _1633:_ But burnt her letters when she writ to me, _1635:_ But burnt her letters when she writ to me; _1639-54_, _Chambers:_ But burnt my letters which she writ to me; _1669_]
[21 that that _1633:_ if that _1635-69_. _See note_]
[24 name] man _1669_]
[25 reclaim'd _1635-69_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TCC:_ redeem'd _1633_, _Lec_]
[26 chuse] chose _1669_]
[27 sport _1635-69_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC:_ sports, _1633_]
[30 and _1633 and most MSS.:_ or _1635-69_, _Cy_, _O'F_, _S_]
_The Will._
Before I sigh my last gaspe, let me breath, Great love, some Legacies; Here I bequeath Mine eyes to _Argus_, if mine eyes can see, If they be blinde, then Love, I give them thee; My tongue to Fame; to'Embassadours mine eares; 5 To women or the sea, my teares. Thou, Love, hast taught mee heretofore By making mee serve her who'had twenty more, That I should give to none, but such, as had too much before.
My constancie I to the planets give; 10 My truth to them, who at the Court doe live; Mine ingenuity and opennesse, To Jesuites; to Buffones my pensivenesse; My silence to'any, who abroad hath beene; My mony to a Capuchin. 15 Thou Love taught'st me, by appointing mee To love there, where no love receiv'd can be, Onely to give to such as have an incapacitie.
My faith I give to Roman Catholiques; All my good works unto the Schismaticks 20 Of Amsterdam; my best civility And Courtship, to an Universitie; My modesty I give to souldiers bare; My patience let gamesters share. Thou Love taughtst mee, by making mee 25 Love her that holds my love disparity, Onely to give to those that count my gifts indignity.
I give my reputation to those Which were my friends; Mine industrie to foes; To Schoolemen I bequeath my doubtfulnesse; 30 My sicknesse to Physitians, or excesse; To Nature, all that I in Ryme have writ; And to my company my wit. Thou Love, by making mee adore Her, who begot this love in mee before, 35 Taughtst me to make, as though I gave, when I did but restore.
To him for whom the passing bell next tolls, I give my physick bookes; my writen rowles Of Morall counsels, I to Bedlam give; My brazen medals, unto them which live 40 In want of bread; To them which passe among All forrainers, mine English tongue. Thou, Love, by making mee love one Who thinkes her friendship a fit portion For yonger lovers, dost my gifts thus disproportion. 45
Therefore I'll give no more; But I'll undoe The world by dying; because love dies too. Then all your beauties will bee no more worth Then gold in Mines, where none doth draw it forth; And all your graces no more use shall have 50 Then a Sun dyall in a grave. Thou Love taughtst mee, by making mee Love her, who doth neglect both mee and thee, To'invent, and practise this one way, to'annihilate all three.
[The Will. _1633-69:_ _do. or_ A Will. _A25_, _B_, _C_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec_, _M_, _O'F_, _P:_ Loves Will. _L74:_ Loves Legacies. _A18_, _N_, _TCC_ (_torn out of TCD_), _S:_ Testamentum. _S96:_ His Last Will and Testament. _JC_]
[2 Here I _1633-54:_ I here _1669_, _Chambers_]
[6 teares. _Ed:_ teares; _1633-69_]
[8 serve her] love her _1669_]
[10 give; _Ed:_ give, _1633-69_]
[10-27 _These stanzas printed without a break, 1669_]
[14 hath] have _1669_]
[18 an incapacitie.] no good Capacity. _1669_]
[19-27 _omitted_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_ (_added later_), _Lec_, _M_ (_added later_), _N_, _P_, _TCC:_ _given in O'F_, _S_, _and all editions_]
[33 wit. _Ed:_ wit; _1633-69_]
[34 Love, _1650-69:_ love, _1633-39_]
[36 did _1633 and MSS.:_ do _1635-69_, _O'F_]
[45 gifts _1633-35_, _1669:_ gift _1639-54_]
[46 more; But _1633:_ more, but _1635-69_]
[49-51 forth; ... grave. _1669:_ forth ... grave, _1633-39 by interchange:_ forth ... grave. _1650-54_]
[54 all three. _1633-39_, three _being below the line in 1633 and above in 1635-39:_ al. three _1650-54_, _the full stop having fallen from_ three _to_ all _below it:_ annihilate thee. _1669_]
_The Funerall._
Who ever comes to shroud me, do not harme Nor question much That subtile wreath of haire, which crowns my arme; The mystery, the signe you must not touch, For 'tis my outward Soule, 5 Viceroy to that, which then to heaven being gone, Will leave this to controule, And keepe these limbes, her Provinces, from dissolution.
For if the sinewie thread my braine lets fall Through every part, 10 Can tye those parts, and make mee one of all; These haires which upward grew, and strength and art Have from a better braine, Can better do'it; Except she meant that I By this should know my pain, 15 As prisoners then are manacled, when they'are condemn'd to die.
What ere shee meant by'it, bury it with me, For since I am Loves martyr, it might breed idolatrie, If into others hands these Reliques came; 20 As'twas humility To afford to it all that a Soule can doe, So,'tis some bravery, That since you would save none of mee, I bury some of you.
[The Funerall. _1633-69_, _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[3 which ... arme;] about mine arm; _1669_]
[6 then to _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ unto _1633-69_]
[12 These _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _N_, _S_ (The), _S96_, _TC:_ Those _1633-69_, _Lec_, _O'F_ grew, _1633-39:_ grow, _1650-69_]
[16 condemn'd] condem'nd _1633_]
[17 with me, _1635-69 and MSS.:_ by me, _1633_]
[24 save _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _TC:_ have _1633-69_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _S96:_ _om. S_]
_The Blossome._
Little think'st thou, poore flower, Whom I have watch'd sixe or seaven dayes, And seene thy birth, and seene what every houre Gave to thy growth, thee to this height to raise, And now dost laugh and triumph on this bough, 5 Little think'st thou That it will freeze anon, and that I shall To morrow finde thee falne, or not at all.
Little think'st thou poore heart That labour'st yet to nestle thee, 10 And think'st by hovering here to get a part In a forbidden or forbidding tree, And hop'st her stiffenesse by long siege to bow: Little think'st thou, That thou to morrow, ere that Sunne doth wake, 15 Must with this Sunne, and mee a journey take.
But thou which lov'st to bee Subtile to plague thy selfe, wilt say, Alas, if you must goe, what's that to mee? Here lyes my businesse, and here I will stay: 20 You goe to friends, whose love and meanes present Various content To your eyes, eares, and tongue, and every part. If then your body goe, what need you a heart?
Well then, stay here; but know, 25 When thou hast stayd and done thy most; A naked thinking heart, that makes no show, Is to a woman, but a kinde of Ghost; How shall shee know my heart; or having none, Know thee for one? 30 Practise may make her know some other part, But take my word, shee doth not know a Heart.
Meet mee at London, then, Twenty dayes hence, and thou shalt see Mee fresher, and more fat, by being with men, 35 Then if I had staid still with her and thee. For Gods sake, if you can, be you so too: I would give you There, to another friend, whom wee shall finde As glad to have my body, as my minde. 40
[The Blossome. _1633-69_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ _no title_, _A25_]
[9-13 poore heart ... bow:] _in brackets 1650-69_]
[10 labour'st _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ labourest _1635-69:_ labours _1633_]
[15 that Sunne _1633:_ the Sunne _1635-69_]
[18 wilt] will _1669_]
[23 tongue _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TC:_ _om. S:_ tast _1633-69_]
[24 need you a heart? _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ need you have a heart? _JC:_ need your heart? _1633-69_]
[38 I would _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ I will _1633-69_, _Lec_]
_The Primrose, being at Montgomery Castle, upon the hill, on which it is situate._
Vpon this Primrose hill, Where, if Heav'n would distill A shoure of raine, each severall drop might goe To his owne primrose, and grow Manna so; And where their forme, and their infinitie 5 Make a terrestriall Galaxie, As the small starres doe in the skie: I walke to finde a true Love; and I see That'tis not a mere woman, that is shee, But must, or more, or lesse then woman bee. 10
Yet know I not, which flower I wish; a sixe, or foure; For should my true-Love lesse then woman bee, She were scarce any thing; and then, should she Be more then woman, shee would get above 15 All thought of sexe, and thinke to move My heart to study her, and not to love; Both these were monsters; Since there must reside Falshood in woman, I could more abide, She were by art, then Nature falsify'd. 20
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 halfe ten 25 Belonge unto each woman, then Each woman may take halfe us men; Or if this will not serve their turne, Since all Numbers are odde, or even, and they fall First into this, five, women may take us all. 30
[The Primrose. _1633_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ The Primrose, being at _&c._ _1635-69_]
[16 sexe, _1633:_ sexe; _1635-69_]
[17 and not] and _om. 1635-39, A18, N, S, TC_]
[23 women] woman _Chambers_]
[25 number; _Ed:_ number, _1633-69_]
[26 Belonge _all the MSS.:_ Belongs _1633-69_. _See note_]
[27 men; _Ed:_ men, _1633-39:_ men: _1650-69_]
[28 their _1633-39:_ the _1650-69_]
[29 and _1633:_ since _1635-69_]
[30 this, _Ed:_ this _1633_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ _om. 1635-69, O'F, Chambers_]
_The Relique._
When my grave is broke up againe Some second ghest to entertaine, (For graves have learn'd that woman-head To be to more then one a Bed) And he that digs it, spies 5 A bracelet of bright haire about the bone, Will he not let'us alone, And thinke that there a loving couple lies, Who thought that this device might be some way To make their soules, at the last busie day, 10 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 digges us up, will bring Us, to the Bishop, and the King, 15 To make us Reliques; then Thou shalt be a Mary Magdalen, and I A something else thereby; All women shall adore us, and some men; And since at such time, miracles are sought, 20 I would have that age by this paper taught What miracles wee harmelesse lovers wrought.
First, we lov'd well and faithfully, Yet knew not what wee lov'd, nor why, Difference of sex no more wee knew, 25 Then our Guardian Angells doe; Comming and going, wee Perchance might kisse, but not between those meales; Our hands ne'r toucht the seales, Which nature, injur'd by late law, sets free: 30 These miracles wee did; but now alas, All measure, and all language, I would passe, Should I tell what a miracle shee was.
[The Relique. _1633-69_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ _no title, A25_]
[13 mis-devotion _1633-54_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ mass-devotion _1669_, _Chambers_]
[15 and _1633-54 and MSS.:_ or _1669_, _Chambers_]
[17 Thou shalt be] You shal be _A25_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _S_. _See note_]
[20 time] times _JC_, _O'F_]
[21 have that age] that age were _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[25-26 Difference ... doe, _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_
Difference of Sex we never knew, No more then Guardian Angells do, _1635-69:_ Difference of Sex we never knew, More then our Guardian Angells do. _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _S_, _S96_ (No more then our _&c._ _B_, _S96_)]
[26 doe; _Ed:_ doe, _1633-69_]
[27 wee _Ed:_ wee, _1633-69_]
[28 not] yet _1669_
meales; _Ed:_ meales. _1633:_ meales _1635-69, following some copies of 1633_]
[30 sets] set _1669_ free: _1650-69:_ free, _1633-39_]
_The Dampe._
When I am dead, and Doctors know not why, And my friends curiositie Will have me cut up to survay each part, When they shall finde your Picture in my heart, You thinke a sodaine dampe of love 5 Will through all their senses move, And worke on them as mee, and so preferre Your murder, to the name of Massacre.
Poore victories! But if you dare be brave, And pleasure in your conquest have, 10 First kill th'enormous Gyant, your _Disdaine_, And let th'enchantresse _Honor_, next be slaine, And like a Goth and Vandall rize, Deface Records, and Histories Of your owne arts and triumphs over men, 15 And without such advantage kill me then.
For I could muster up as well as you My Gyants, and my Witches too, Which are vast _Constancy_, and _Secretnesse_, But these I neyther looke for, nor professe; 20 Kill mee as Woman, let mee die As a meere man; doe you but try Your passive valor, and you shall finde than, In that you'have odds enough of any man.
[The Dampe. _1633-69_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[4 When] And _1669_
my _1633-39:_ mine _1650-69_]
[9 victories! _1650-69:_ victories; _1633-39_]
[10 your] the _1669_
conquest] conquests _JC_]
[13 and Vandall _1633-54_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ or Vandall _1669_, _Chambers_]
[15 arts] acts _1669_, _JC_]
[20 professe; _Ed:_ professe, _1633-69_]
[24 In that _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ Naked _1635-69_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _JC_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_]
_The Dissolution._
Shee'is dead; And all which die To their first Elements resolve; And wee were mutuall Elements to us, And made of one another. My body then doth hers involve, 5 And those things whereof I consist, hereby In me abundant grow, and burdenous, And nourish not, but smother. My fire of Passion, sighes of ayre, Water of teares, and earthly sad despaire, 10 Which my materialls bee, But neere worne out by loves securitie, Shee, to my losse, doth by her death repaire, And I might live long wretched so But that my fire doth with my fuell grow. 15 Now as those Active Kings Whose foraine conquest treasure brings, Receive more, and spend more, and soonest breake: This (which I am amaz'd that I can speake) This death, hath with my store 20 My use encreas'd. And so my soule more earnestly releas'd, Will outstrip hers; As bullets flowen before A latter bullet may o'rtake, the pouder being more.
[The Dissolution. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[10 earthly _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ earthy _1635-69_]
[12 neere _1635-69_ (But ... securitie _bracketed 1669_): ne'r _1633_]
[24 latter] later _1669_]
_A Ieat Ring Sent._
Thou art not so black, as my heart, Nor halfe so brittle, as her heart, thou art; What would'st thou say? shall both our properties by thee bee spoke, Nothing more endlesse, nothing sooner broke?
Marriage rings are not of this stuffe; 5 Oh, why should ought lesse precious, or lesse tough Figure our loves? Except in thy name thou have bid it say, I'am cheap, and nought but fashion, fling me'away.
Yet stay with mee since thou art come, Circle this fingers top, which did'st her thombe. 10 Be justly proud, and gladly safe, that thou dost dwell with me, She that, Oh, broke her faith, would soon breake thee.
[A Ieat Ring sent. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ To a Jeat Ring sent to me. _W_ (_among the_ Epigrams)]
[7 loves] love _O'F_ say, _Ed:_ say _1633-69_]
_Negative love._
I never stoop'd so low, as they Which on an eye, cheeke, lip, can prey, Seldome to them, which soare no higher Then vertue or the minde to'admire, For sense, and understanding may 5 Know, what gives fuell to their fire: My love, though silly, is more brave, For may I misse, when ere I crave, If I know yet, what I would have.
If that be simply perfectest 10 Which can by no way be exprest But _Negatives_, my love is so. To All, which all love, I say no. If any who deciphers best, What we know not, our selves, can know, 15 Let him teach mee that nothing; This As yet my ease, and comfort is, Though I speed not, I cannot misse.
[Negative love. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ Negative Love: or the Nothing. _O'F:_ The Nothing. _A25_, _C_]
[4 to'admire, _1633-39:_ to'admire; _1650-69_]
[5 For] Both _A25_, _C_]
[11 way] means _1669_, _O'F_]
[16 nothing; _1633:_ nothing. _1635-69_]
_The Prohibition._
Take heed of loving mee, At least remember, I forbade it thee; Not that I shall repaire my'unthrifty wast Of Breath and Blood, upon thy sighes, and teares, By being to thee then what to me thou wast; 5 But, so great Joy, our life at once outweares, Then, least thy love, by my death, frustrate bee, If thou love mee, take heed of loving mee.
Take heed of hating mee, Or too much triumph in the Victorie. 10 Not that I shall be mine owne officer, And hate with hate againe retaliate; But thou wilt lose the stile of conquerour, If I, thy conquest, perish by thy hate. Then, least my being nothing lessen thee, 15 If thou hate mee, take heed of hating mee.
Yet, love and hate mee too, So, these extreames shall neithers office doe; Love mee, that I may die the gentler way; Hate mee, because thy love is too great for mee; 20 Or let these two, themselves, not me decay; So shall I, live, thy Stage, not triumph bee; Lest thou thy love and hate and mee undoe, _To let mee live, O love and hate mee too._
[The Prohibition. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ _no title_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _O'F_, _S96:_ _in B first two verses headed_ J. D., _last verse_ T. R.: _in A18_, _N_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD the last stanza is omitted_]
[3 repaire my'unthrifty wast] repay in unthrifty a wast, _1669_]
[5 By ... wast; _Ed:_ By ... wast, _1635-69_, _B_, _Cy_, _H40_, _O'F_, _P_, _RP31_, _S96_ (mee _for_ thee _B_, _P_): By being to mee then that which thou wast; _1633:_ _om._ _A18_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _N_, _TC_]
[18 neithers _Ed:_ neythers _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC:_ neyther _O'F_, _RP31:_ neyther their _Cy:_ ne'r their _1633-69_, _B_]
[20 thy _1635-69:_ my _1633_ (thy _in some copies_)]
[22 I, live, _Ed:_ I live _1633-69_
Stage, _1635-69_, _B_, _Cy_, _H40_, _O'F:_ stay, _1633_, _JC:_ staye, _D_, _H49_
not] and _H40_]
[23-4
Lest thou thy love and hate and mee undoe _To let mee live, Oh_ (of _in some copies_) _love and hate mee too._
_1633_, _B_
Then lest thou thy love hate, and mee thou undoe _O let me live, yet love and hate me too._
_1635-54_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _O'F_ (_MSS. omitting first_ thou _and some with_ Oh _for_ yet)
Lest thou thy love, and hate, and me thou undo, _O let me live, yet love and hate me too._
_1669_.]
_The Expiration._
So, so, breake off this last lamenting kisse, Which sucks two soules, and vapors Both away, Turne thou ghost that way, and let mee turne this, And let our selves benight our happiest day, We ask'd none leave to love; nor will we owe 5 Any, so cheape a death, as saying, Goe;
Goe; and if that word have not quite kil'd thee, Ease mee with death, by bidding mee goe too. Oh, if it have, let my word worke on mee, And a just office on a murderer doe. 10 Except it be too late, to kill me so, Being double dead, going, and bidding, goe.
[The Expiration. _1633-69:_ An Expiration. _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ Valediction. _B:_ Valedictio. _O'F:_ Valedictio Amoris. _S:_ Valedico. _P:_ _no title_, _A25_, _C_, _JC_]
[1 So, so,] So, go _1669_]
[5 ask'd _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _C_ _JC_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TC:_ aske _1633-69_, _P_, _S_]
[9 Oh, _1633_, _A18_, _A25_, _JC_, _N_, _TC:_ Or, _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_]
_The Computation._
For the first twenty yeares, since yesterday, I scarce beleev'd, thou could'st be gone away, For forty more, I fed on favours past, And forty'on hopes, that thou would'st, they might last. Teares drown'd one hundred, and sighes blew out two, 5 A thousand, I did neither thinke, nor doe, Or not divide, all being one thought of you; Or in a thousand more, forgot that too. Yet call not this long life; But thinke that I Am, by being dead, Immortall; Can ghosts die? 10
[The Computation. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ _no title_, _B_, _O'F_, _S_]
[1 For _1633-54:_ From _1669_
the _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ my _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _S_, _Chambers_]
[3 For] And _1669_]
[6 One thousand I did think nothing nor doe, _S_, _O'F_ (nothing think) doe, _1635-69:_ doe. _1633_]
[7 divide, _1633_, _1669:_ deem'd, _1635-54_, _O'F_]
[8 a] one _O'F_, _S:_ _line dropped_ _A18_, _N_, _TC_
forgot] forget _1669_, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TC_]
_The Paradox._
No Lover saith, I love, nor any other Can judge a perfect Lover; Hee thinkes that else none can, nor will agree That any loves but hee: I cannot say I lov'd, for who can say 5 Hee was kill'd yesterday? Love with excesse of heat, more yong then old, Death kills with too much cold; Wee dye but once, and who lov'd last did die, Hee that saith twice, doth lye: 10 For though hee seeme to move, and stirre a while, It doth the sense beguile. Such life is like the light which bideth yet When the lights life is set, Or like the heat, which fire in solid matter 15 Leaves behinde, two houres after. Once I lov'd and dy'd; and am now become Mine Epitaph and Tombe. Here dead men speake their last, and so do I; Love-slaine, loe, here I lye. 20
[The Paradox. _1635-69_: _no title_, _1633_, _A18_, _H40_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_ _TCC_, _TCD_]
[3 can, nor will agree _A18_, _H40_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TC_: can or will agree, _1633-69_]
[6 yesterday?] yesterday. _1633-39_]
[14 lights life _H40_, _L74_, _RP31_, _S:_ lifes light _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TC_]
[15 which _Ed:_ which, _1633-69_]
[17 lov'd _A18_, _H40_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TC:_ love _1633-69_
dy'd] dyed _1633-69_]
[20 lye. _H40_, _RP31_, _S_, _S96:_ dye. _1633-69_, _A18_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_]
_Farewell to Love._
Whilst yet to prove, I thought there was some Deitie in love So did I reverence, and gave Worship; as Atheists at their dying houre Call, what they cannot name, an unknowne power, 5 As ignorantly did I crave: Thus when Things not yet knowne are coveted by men, Our desires give them fashion, and so As they waxe lesser, fall, as they sise, grow. 10
But, from late faire His hignesse sitting in a golden Chaire, Is not lesse cared for after three dayes By children, then the thing which lovers so Blindly admire, and with such worship wooe; 15 Being had, enjoying it decayes: And thence, What before pleas'd them all, takes but one sense, And that so lamely, as it leaves behinde A kinde of sorrowing dulnesse to the minde. 20
Ah cannot wee, As well as Cocks and Lyons jocund be, After such pleasures? Unlesse wise Nature decreed (since each such Act, they say, Diminisheth the length of life a day) 25 This, as shee would man should despise The sport; Because that other curse of being short, And onely for a minute made to be, (Eagers desire) to raise posterity. 30
Since so, my minde Shall not desire what no man else can finde, I'll no more dote and runne To pursue things which had indammag'd me. And when I come where moving beauties be, 35 As men doe when the summers Sunne Growes great, Though I admire their greatnesse, shun their heat; Each place can afford shadowes. If all faile, 'Tis but applying worme-seed to the Taile. 40
[Farewell to love. _1635-69_ (_following_ Soules joy: _p._ 429), _O'F_, _S96_]
[4 Worship; _Ed:_ Worship, _1635-69_]
[10 sise, _1635-69_, _O'F:_ rise _S96_]
[23 pleasures? _Ed:_ pleasures, _1635-69_]
[26 This, _Ed:_ This; _1635-69_]
[27 sport; _Ed:_ sport, _1635-69_]
[29 to be, _Ed:_ to be _1635-69_]
[30 (Eagers desire) _Ed:_ Eager, desires _1635-69_. _See note_]
[36 summers _1635-69:_ summer _1650-1669_]
_A Lecture upon the Shadow._
Stand still, and I will read to thee A Lecture, Love, in loves philosophy. These three houres that we have spent, Walking here, Two shadowes went Along with us, which we our selves produc'd; 5 But, now the Sunne is just above our head, We doe those shadowes tread; And to brave clearnesse all things are reduc'd. So whilst our infant loves did grow, Disguises did, and shadowes, flow, 10 From us, and our cares; but, now 'tis not so.
That love hath not attain'd the high'st degree, Which is still diligent lest others see.
Except our loves at this noone stay, We shall new shadowes make the other way. 15 As the first were made to blinde Others; these which come behinde Will worke upon our selves, and blind our eyes. If our loves faint, and westwardly decline; To me thou, falsly, thine, 20 And I to thee mine actions shall disguise. The morning shadowes weare away, But these grow longer all the day, But oh, loves day is short, if love decay.
Love is a growing, or full constant light; 25 And his first minute, after noone, is night.
[A Lecture _&c._ _1650-69:_ Lecture _&c_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ Song. _1635-39_ (_following_ Dear Love continue: _p._ 412): The Shadowe. _O'F_, _P:_ Shadowe. _S96:_ Loves Lecture. _S:_ Loves Lecture upon the Shaddow. _L74:_ Loves Philosophy. _JC:_ _no title_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec_]
[4 Walking _1635-69_, _A18_, _A25_, _N_, _TC:_ In walking _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _S96_
here, _1719:_ here; _1635-39:_ here: _1650-69_]
[9 loves _1635-54_, _A18_, _L74_, _N_, _TC:_ love _1669_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _S_]
[12 high'st] least _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_]
[14 loves _1635-69_, _A18_, _A25_, _L74_, _N_, _TC:_ love _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_]
[19 If our loves faint _1635-69_, _A25_, _O'F_ (love), _P_, _S96_ (love), _TC:_ If once love faint _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _S_]
[26 first _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TC:_ short _1635-69_]
_Sonnet. The Token._
Send me some token, that my hope may live, Or that my easelesse thoughts may sleep and rest; Send me some honey to make sweet my hive, That in my passion I may hope the best. I beg noe ribbond wrought with thine owne hands, 5 To knit our loves in the fantastick straine Of new-toucht youth; nor Ring to shew the stands Of our affection, that as that's round and plaine, So should our loves meet in simplicity; No, nor the Coralls which thy wrist infold, 10 Lac'd up together in congruity, To shew our thoughts should rest in the same hold; No, nor thy picture, though most gracious, And most desir'd, because best like the best; Nor witty Lines, which are most copious, 15 Within the Writings which thou hast addrest.
Send me nor this, nor that, t'increase my store, But swear thou thinkst I love thee, and no more.
[Sonnet. The Token. _1649-69_ (_following_ Vpon Mr. Thomas Coryats Crudities. _at close of_ Epicedes): Ad Lesbiam. _S96_: _no title_, _B_, _Cy_: Sonnet. _O'F_: Elegie. _P_]
[1 token _B_, _O'F_, _S96_: Tokens _1650-69_, _P_]
[4 passion _S96_: passions _1650-69_, _B_, _P_]
[5 noe _B_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96:_ nor _1650-69_]
[9 simplicity; _Ed:_ simplicity. _1650-69_]
[11 in _1650-69:_ with _B_, _O'F_, _S96_]
[12 hold; _Ed:_ hold. _1650-69_]
[14 desir'd because ... best; _B_, _O'F_, _S96:_ desired 'cause 'tis like thee best; _1650-54:_ desired 'cause 'tis like the best; _1669_, _Chambers_]
[17 store, _B_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96:_ score, _1650-69_]
<_Selfe Love._>
He that cannot chuse but love, And strives against it still, Never shall my fancy move; For he loves 'gaynst his will; Nor he which is all his own, 5 And can att pleasure chuse, When I am caught he can be gone, And when he list refuse. Nor he that loves none but faire, For such by all are sought; 10 Nor he that can for foul ones care, For his Judgement then is nought: Nor he that hath wit, for he Will make me his jest or slave; Nor a fool, for when others..., 15 He can neither.... Nor he that still his Mistresse payes, For she is thrall'd therefore: Nor he that payes not, for he sayes Within, shee's worth no more. 20 Is there then no kinde of men Whom I may freely prove? I will vent that humour then In mine own selfe love.
[<Selfe Love.> _title given by Chambers:_ _no title, 1650-69_ (_in appendix_), _JC_, _O'F_]
[4 'gaynst _JC_, _O'F:_ against _1650-69_]
[6 And can ... chuse, _JC:_ And cannot pleasure chuse, _1650-69:_ And can all pleasures chuse, _O'F_]
[11 foul ones] fouleness _O'F_]
[14 slave; _1719:_ slave _1650-69_]
[15 fool, _1719:_ fool _1650-69_]
[17 payes, _JC_, _O'F:_ prays, _1650-69_]
[19 payes not,] payes, not, _1650-69_]
[20 Within, _Ed:_ Within _1650-69_]
_The end of the Songs and Sonets._
* * * * *
EPIGRAMS.
_Hero_ and _Leander_.
Both rob'd of aire, we both lye in one ground, Both whom one fire had burnt, one water drownd.
[Hero and Leander. _1633-69_, _A18_, _HN_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W_]
_Pyramus_ and _Thisbe_.
Two, by themselves, each other, love and feare Slaine, cruell friends, by parting have joyn'd here.
[Pyramus and Thisbe. _1633-69_, _A18_, _Cy_, _HN_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W_]
[1: feare] feare, _Chambers, and Grolier_ (_which drops all the other commas_)]
_Niobe._
By childrens births, and death, I am become So dry, that I am now mine owne sad tombe.
[Niobe. _1633-69_, _A18_, _HN_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W_]
[2: mine owne sad tombe. _1633-69:_ mine owne tombe. _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ made mine owne tombe. _HN_, _W_]
_A burnt ship._
Out of a fired ship, which, by no way But drowning, could be rescued from the flame, Some men leap'd forth, and ever as they came Neere the foes 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 drown'd.
[A burnt ship. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ Nave arsa. _W:_ De Nave arsa. _O'F_. _See note_]
_Fall of a wall._
Vnder an undermin'd, and shot-bruis'd wall A too-bold Captaine perish'd by the fall, Whose brave misfortune, happiest men envi'd, That had a towne for tombe, his bones to hide.
[Fall of a wall. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ Caso d'un muro. _O'F_, _W_]
[4 towne _1633 and MSS.:_ towre _1635-69_
bones _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ corpse _B_, _HN_, _O'F_, _W_]
_A lame begger._
I am unable, yonder begger cries, To stand, or move; if he say true, hee _lies_.
[A lame begger. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ A beggar. _HN:_ _no title_, _P:_ Zoppo. _O'F_, _W_]
_Cales_ and _Guyana_.
If you from spoyle of th'old worlds farthest end To the new world your kindled valors bend, What brave examples then do prove it trew That one things end doth still beginne a new.
[Cales and Guyana. _O'F:_ Calez _&c._ _W:_ _first printed in Gosse's_ Life and Letters of John Donne (1899)]
_Sir Iohn Wingefield._
Beyond th'old Pillers many have travailed Towards the Suns cradle, and his throne, and bed: A fitter Piller our Earle did bestow In that late Island; for he well did know Farther then Wingefield no man dares to goe.
[Sir Iohn Wingefield. _Ed:_ Il Cavalliere Gio: Wingef: _W:_ On Cavallero Wingfield. _O'F:_ _first printed in Gosse's_ Life and Letters of John Donne (1899)]
[2 throne _W:_ grave _O'F_]
[4 late _W:_ Lady _O'F_]
_A selfe accuser._
Your mistris, that you follow whores, still taxeth you: 'Tis strange that she should thus confesse it, though'it be true.
[A selfe accuser. _1633-69:_ A Mistrisse. _HN:_ _no title_, _B_, _O'F_, _W_]
[2 that] _om._ _HN_, _O'F_, _W_
thus] _om._ _HN_, _O'F_, _W_
it] _om._ _HN_, _O'F_]
_A licentious person._
Thy sinnes and haires may no man equall call, For, as thy sinnes increase, thy haires doe fall.
[A licentious person. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ Whore. _HN:_ _no title_, _O'F_, _RP31_, _W_]
[1 Thy] His _and so throughout_, _RP31_]
_Antiquary._
If in his Studie he hath so much care To'hang all old strange things, let his wife beware.
[Antiquary. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _P_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W:_ Hammon. _HN:_ _no title_, _Bur_, _Cy_, _O'F:_ Epigram. _S96_]
[1 he hath so much _1633-69:_ he have such _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ Hamon hath such _B_, _Cy_, _HN_ (have), _O'F_, _S96_, _W_]
[2 strange _om._ _B_, _HN_, _O'F_ all _om. Bur_]
_Disinherited._
Thy father all from thee, by his last Will, Gave to the poore; Thou hast good title still.
[Disinherited. _1633-69:_ One disinherited. _HN:_ _no title_, _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_, _W_]
[1 Will, _Ed:_ Will _1633-69_]
_Phryne._
Thy flattering picture, _Phryne_, is like thee, Onely in this, that you both painted be.
[Phryne. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ _no title_, _O'F_]
[1 like thee,] like to thee, _1650-69_]
_An obscure writer._
_Philo_, with twelve yeares study, hath beene griev'd To be understood; when will hee be beleev'd?
[An obscure writer. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ _no title_, _O'F_]
[1 griev'd _Ed:_ griev'd, _1633-69_]
[2 To be _Ed:_ To'be _1633-69_
understood; _Ed:_ understood, _1633-69_
beleev'd?] beleev'd. _1633_]
_Klockius._
_Klockius_ so deeply hath sworne, ne'r more to come In bawdie house, that hee dares not goe home.
[Klockius. _HN:_ _no title_, _1633-69_, _Bur_, _O'F_]
[1 _Klockius_] Rawlings _Bur_]
[2 In bawdie] In a bawdie _HN_]
_Raderus._
Why this man gelded _Martiall_ I muse, Except himselfe alone his tricks would use, As _Katherine_, for the Courts sake, put downe Stewes.
[Raderus. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCD:_ Randerus. _TCC:_ Martial: castrat_us_. _W_]
[1 _Martiall_ I muse, _1633-54:_ _Martiall_, I amuse, _1669_]
_Mercurius Gallo-Belgicus._
Like _Esops_ fellow-slaves, O _Mercury_, Which could do all things, thy faith is; and I Like _Esops_ selfe, which nothing; I confesse I should have had more faith, if thou hadst lesse; Thy credit lost thy credit: 'Tis sinne to doe, In this case, as thou wouldst be done unto, To beleeve all: Change thy name: thou art like _Mercury_ in stealing, but lyest like a _Greeke_.
[Mercurius Gallo-Belgicus. _1633-69_, _A18_, _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W_]
[8 but lyest _1633-69:_ and lyest _B_, _W_]
_Ralphius._
Compassion in the world againe is bred: _Ralphius_ is sick, the broker keeps his bed.
[Ralphius. _HN:_ _no title_, _1633-69_, _O'F_]
_The Lier._
Thou in the fields walkst out thy supping howers, And yet thou swear'st thou hast supp'd like a king: Like Nebuchadnezar perchance with grass and flowers, A sallet worse then Spanish dieting.
[The Lier. _HN:_ _no title_, _B_, _Bur_, _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_, _W_]
[2 swear'st _HN_, _W:_ say'st _B_, _Cy_, _O'F_]
[3 grass] hearbes _Bur_
supp'd like] supp'd and like _HN_]
Elegies. Elegie I.
ELEGIES.
ELEGIE I.
_Iealosie._
Fond woman, which would'st have thy husband die, And yet complain'st of his great jealousie; If swolne with poyson, hee lay in' his last bed, His body with a sere-barke covered, Drawing his breath, as thick and short, as can 5 The nimblest crocheting Musitian, Ready with loathsome vomiting to spue His Soule out of one hell, into a new, Made deafe with his poore kindreds howling cries, Begging with few feign'd teares, great legacies, 10 Thou would'st not weepe, but jolly,'and frolicke bee, As a slave, which to morrow should be free; Yet weep'st thou, when thou seest him hungerly Swallow his owne death, hearts-bane jealousie. O give him many thanks, he'is courteous, 15 That in suspecting kindly warneth us. Wee must not, as wee us'd, flout openly, In scoffing ridles, his deformitie; Nor at his boord together being fatt, With words, nor touch, scarce lookes adulterate. 20 Nor when he swolne, and pamper'd with great fare, Sits downe, and snorts, cag'd in his basket chaire, Must wee usurpe his owne bed any more, Nor kisse and play in his house, as before. Now I see many dangers; for that is 25 His realme, his castle, and his diocesse. But if, as envious men, which would revile Their Prince, or coyne his gold, themselves exile Into another countrie,'and doe it there, Wee play'in another house, what should we feare? 30 There we will scorne his houshold policies, His seely plots, and pensionary spies, As the inhabitants of Thames right side Do Londons Major; or Germans, the Popes pride.
[Elegie I. Iealosie. _1635-54:_ Elegie I. _1633 and 1669:_ _no title or_ Elegie (_numbered variously, according to scheme adopted_) _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W_]
[1 woman,] woman _1633_]
[4 sere-barke _1633-54_, _B_, _Cy_, _H49_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _S_, _W:_ sere-cloth _1669_, _D_, _P:_ sore barke _A18_, _A25_, _JC_, _N_, _TC_]
[10 few] some few _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[12 free; _Ed:_ free, _1633-69:_ free. _D_]
[16 us. _1633-35:_ us, _1639-69_]
[21 great _1633-54_, _A18_, _A25_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _TC_, _W:_ high _1669_, _B_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96:_ his _Cy_
fare, _Ed:_ fare _1633-69_]
[25 Now ... dangers;] Now do I see my danger; _1669_
that _all MSS.:_ it _1633-69_]
[26 diocesse] Diocys _D:_ Diocis _W_]
[27-29 (as envious ... do it there,) _1669_]
[30 another] anothers _1669_ We into some third place retired were _B_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_]
[34 Major; _1650-54:_ Major, _1633-39:_ Mayor; _1669_]
Elegie Ii.
ELEGIE II.
_The Anagram._
Marry, and love thy _Flavia_, for, shee Hath all things, whereby others beautious bee, For, though her eyes be small, her mouth is great, Though they be Ivory, yet her teeth be jeat, Though they be dimme, yet she is light enough, 5 And though her harsh haire fall, her skinne is rough; What though her cheeks be yellow, her haire's red, Give her thine, and she hath a maydenhead. These things are beauties elements, where these Meet in one, that one must, as perfect, please. 10 If red and white and each good quality Be in thy wench, ne'r aske where it doth lye. In buying things perfum'd, we aske; if there Be muske and amber in it, but not where. Though all her parts be not in th'usuall place, 15 She'hath yet an Anagram of a good face. If we might put the letters but one way, In the leane dearth of words, what could wee say? When by the Gamut some Musitions make A perfect song, others will undertake, 20 By the same Gamut chang'd, to equall it. Things simply good, can never be unfit. She's faire as any, if all be like her, And if none bee, then she is singular. All love is wonder; if wee justly doe 25 Account her wonderfull, why not lovely too? Love built on beauty, soone as beauty, dies, Chuse this face, chang'd by no deformities. Women are all like Angels; the faire be Like those which fell to worse; but such as shee, 30 Like to good Angels, nothing can impaire: 'Tis lesse griefe to be foule, then to have beene faire. For one nights revels, silke and gold we chuse, But, in long journeyes, cloth, and leather use. Beauty is barren oft; best husbands say, 35 There is best land, where there is foulest way. Oh what a soveraigne Plaister will shee bee, If thy past sinnes have taught thee jealousie! Here needs no spies, nor eunuches; her commit Safe to thy foes; yea, to a Marmosit. 40 When Belgiaes citties, the round countries drowne, That durty foulenesse guards, and armes the towne: So doth her face guard her; and so, for thee, Which, forc'd by businesse, absent oft must bee, Shee, whose face, like clouds, turnes the day to night, 45 Who, mightier then the sea, makes Moores seem white, Who, though seaven yeares, she in the Stews had laid, A Nunnery durst receive, and thinke a maid, And though in childbeds labour she did lie, Midwifes would sweare, 'twere but a tympanie, 50 Whom, if shee accuse her selfe, I credit lesse Then witches, which impossibles confesse, Whom Dildoes, Bedstaves, and her Velvet Glasse Would be as loath to touch as Joseph was: One like none, and lik'd of none, fittest were, 55 For, things in fashion every man will weare.
[Eleg. II. The Anagram. _1635-54:_ Elegie II. _1633_, _1669:_ Elegie. (_numbered variously_) _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _M_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W_]
[4 they] theirs _1669_, _S96_
teeth be _1633-69_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec:_ teeth are _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _L74_, _M_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TC_, _W_]
[6 hair fall] hair's foul _1669_
is rough _1633_, _1669_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _M_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _TC_, _W:_ is tough _1635-54_, _O'F_, _Chambers_]
[16 an Anagram] the Anagrams _1669_]
[18 the _1633:_ that _1635-69_
words _1633-69_, _A25_, _B_, _L74_, _M_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _TC:_ letters _D_, _Cy_, _H49_, _W_]
[22 unfit. _D:_ unfit; _1633-69_]
[28 deformities.] deformities; _1633_]
[29 faire] fairer _S_, _S96_]
[35 say,] say, _1633_]
[37 bee,] bee _1633_]
[41-2 When Belgiaes ... towne: _1633-54:_ Like Belgia's cities when the Country is drown'd, That ... towns; _1669:_ Like Belgia's cities the round country drowns, That ... towns, _Chambers:_ _MSS._ _agree with 1633-54_, _but before_ countries _read variously_ round (_A18_, _A25_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _M_, _N_, _P_, _TC_, _W_), lowe (_B_), foul (_O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _which read_ country drowns ... towns)]
[49 childbeds _1633-54_, _Lec_, _W:_ childbirths _1669_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_]
[52 confesse, _Ed:_ confesse. _1633-69_]
[53-4 Whom ... Joseph was: _1669 and all MSS_ [or a Velvet _1669_]: _om._ _1633-54_]
Elegie Iii.
ELEGIE III.
_Change._
Although thy hand and faith, and good workes too, Have seal'd thy love which nothing should undoe, Yea though thou fall backe, that apostasie Confirme thy love; yet much, much I feare thee. Women are like the Arts, forc'd unto none, 5 Open to'all searchers, unpriz'd, if unknowne. If I have caught a bird, and let him flie, Another fouler using these meanes, as I, May catch the same bird; and, as these things bee, Women are made for men, not him, nor mee. 10 Foxes and goats; all beasts change when they please, Shall women, more hot, wily, wild then these, Be bound to one man, and did Nature then Idly make them apter to'endure then men? They'are our clogges, not their owne; if a man bee 15 Chain'd to a galley, yet the galley'is free; Who hath a plow-land, casts all his seed corne there, And yet allowes his ground more corne should beare; Though Danuby into the sea must flow, The sea receives the Rhene, Volga, and Po. 20 By nature, which gave it, this liberty Thou lov'st, but Oh! canst thou love it and mee? Likenesse glues love: and if that thou so doe, To make us like and love, must I change too? More then thy hate, I hate'it, rather let mee 25 Allow her change, then change as oft as shee, And soe not teach, but force my'opinion To love not any one, nor every one. To live in one land, is captivitie, To runne all countries, a wild roguery; 30 Waters stincke soone, if in one place they bide, And in the vast sea are more putrifi'd: But when they kisse one banke, and leaving this Never looke backe, but the next banke doe kisse, Then are they purest; Change'is the nursery 35 Of musicke, joy, life, and eternity.
[Eleg. III. Change. _1635-54:_ Elegie III. _1633_, _1669:_ _no title or_ Elegye (_numbered variously_) _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W_]
[1 workes] word _1669_]
[4 Confirme] Confirms _1669_, _A25_, _L74_, _P_]
[5 Women] Women, _1633_
forc'd unto none] forbid to none _B_]
[8 these _1633-54_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ those _1669_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _TC_, _W_]
[11 Foxes and goats; all beasts _1633-54:_ Foxes, goats and all beasts _1669_]
[13 did] bid _1669_]
[17 a plow-land] plow-lands _P_]
[18 corne] seed _P_]
[20 Rhene,] Rhine, _1669_
Po. _1633:_ Po, _1635-69_]
[21 liberty _1633:_ libertie. _1635-69_]
[23 and ... doe,] then if so thou do, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TC_, _W_]
[24 like _i.e._ alike _as in A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[31 bide] abide _1669_]
[32 more putrifi'd _1633-39:_ more purifi'd _1650-54:_ worse purifi'd _1669:_ worse putrifi'd _A18_, _A25_, _Cy_, _D_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_, _W:_ worst putrifi'd _B_, _H49_, _JC_]
Elegie Iv.
ELEGIE IV.
_The Perfume._
Once, and but once found in thy company, All thy suppos'd escapes are laid on mee; And as a thiefe at barre, is question'd there By all the men, that have beene rob'd that yeare, So am I, (by this traiterous meanes surpriz'd) 5 By thy Hydroptique father catechiz'd. Though he had wont to search with glazed eyes, As though he came to kill a Cockatrice, Though hee hath oft sworne, that hee would remove Thy beauties beautie, and food of our love, 10 Hope of his goods, if I with thee were seene, Yet close and secret, as our soules, we'have beene. Though thy immortall mother which doth lye Still buried in her bed, yet will not dye, Takes this advantage to sleepe out day-light, 15 And watch thy entries, and returnes all night, And, when she takes thy hand, and would seeme kind, Doth search what rings, and armelets she can finde, And kissing notes the colour of thy face, And fearing least thou'art swolne, doth thee embrace; 20 To trie if thou long, doth name strange meates, And notes thy palenesse, blushing, sighs, and sweats; And politiquely will to thee confesse The sinnes of her owne youths ranke lustinesse; Yet love these Sorceries did remove, and move 25 Thee to gull thine owne mother for my love. Thy little brethren, which like Faiery Sprights Oft skipt into our chamber, those sweet nights, And kist, and ingled on thy fathers knee, Were brib'd next day, to tell what they did see: 30 The grim eight-foot-high iron-bound serving-man, That oft names God in oathes, and onely than, He that to barre the first gate, doth as wide As the great Rhodian Colossus stride, Which, if in hell no other paines there were, 35 Makes mee feare hell, because he must be there: Though by thy father he were hir'd to this, Could never witnesse any touch or kisse. But Oh, too common ill, I brought with mee That, which betray'd mee to my enemie: 40 A loud perfume, which at my entrance cryed Even at thy fathers nose, so were wee spied. When, like a tyran King, that in his bed Smelt gunpowder, the pale wretch shivered. Had it beene some bad smell, he would have thought 45 That his owne feet, or breath, that smell had wrought. But as wee in our Ile emprisoned, Where cattell onely,'and diverse dogs are bred, The pretious Vnicornes, strange monsters call, So thought he good, strange, that had none at all. 50 I taught my silkes, their whistling to forbeare, Even my opprest shoes, dumbe and speechlesse were, Onely, thou bitter sweet, whom I had laid Next mee, mee traiterously hast betraid, And unsuspected hast invisibly 55 At once fled unto him, and staid with mee. Base excrement of earth, which dost confound Sense, from distinguishing the sicke from sound; By thee the seely Amorous sucks his death By drawing in a leprous harlots breath; 60 By thee, the greatest staine to mans estate Falls on us, to be call'd effeminate; Though you be much lov'd in the Princes hall, There, things that seeme, exceed substantiall; Gods, when yee fum'd on altars, were pleas'd well 65 Because you'were burnt, not that they lik'd your smell; You'are loathsome all, being taken simply alone, Shall wee love ill things joyn'd, and hate each one? If you were good, your good doth soone decay; And you are rare, that takes the good away. 70 All my perfumes, I give most willingly To'embalme thy fathers corse; What? will hee die?
[Eleg. IV. The Perfume. _1635-54:_ Elegie IV. _1633_, _1669:_ Elegie. (_numbered variously_) _A18_, _A25_, _C_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W:_ Discovered by a Perfume. _B:_ _no title_, _Cy_, _HN_]
[2 suppos'd escapes] supposed scapes _1669_, _P_]
[4 By] For _P_]
[7-8 _1635-69 and MSS._ _generally:_ _om._ _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_]
[9 hath] have _A18_, _A25_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _TC_, _W_]
[15 Takes] Take _A18_, _A25_, _N_, _P_, _TC_, _W_]
[21 To trie _&c._ _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _S_ (dost long): And to trie _&c._ _1635-69_, _A18_, _A25_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_ (longest), _TC_
meates, _1635-69:_ meates. _1633_]
[22 blushing _1633-54_, _A18_, _A25_, _JC_, _N_, _TC:_ blushes _1669:_ blushings _B_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _L74_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _W_]
[29 ingled] dandled _1669_]
[30 see: _1635-69:_ see. _1633_]
[31 grim eight-foot-high iron-bound _Ed:_ grim-eight-foot-high-iron-bound _1633-69_]
[37 to _1633-69:_ for _MSS._]
[38 kisse.] kisse; _1633_]
[40 my _1633:_ mine _1635-69_]
[44 Smelt] Smells _1669_ shivered. _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _N_, _TC_, _W:_ shivered; _1633-69:_ shivered, _Chambers and Grolier. See note_]
[46 that smell] the smell _1669_]
[49 monsters _Ed:_ monsters, _1633-69_]
[50 good,] sweet _1669_]
[53 bitter sweet, _1633-39:_ bitter-sweet, _1650-69_]
[60 breath; _1650-69:_ breath, _1633-39_]
[64 substantiall; _Ed:_ substantiall. _1633-69_]
[66 you'were] you'er _1669_
smell; _1635-39:_ smell, _1633_, _1669:_ smel _1650-54_]
[71 All] And _Chambers_]
Elegie V.
ELEGIE V.
_His Picture._
Here take my Picture; though I bid farewell, Thine, in my heart, where my soule dwels, shall dwell. 'Tis like me now, but I dead, 'twill be more When wee are shadowes both, then'twas before. When weather-beaten I come backe; my hand, 5 Perhaps with rude oares torne, or Sun beams tann'd, My face and brest of hairecloth, and my head With cares rash sodaine stormes, being o'rspread, My body'a sack of bones, broken within, And powders blew staines scatter'd on my skinne; 10 If rivall fooles taxe thee to'have lov'd a man, So foule, and course, as, Oh, I may seeme than, This shall say what I was: and thou shalt say, Doe his hurts reach mee? doth my worth decay? Or doe they reach his judging minde, that hee 15 Should now love lesse, what hee did love to see? That which in him was faire and delicate, Was but the milke, which in loves childish state Did nurse it: who now is growne strong enough To feed on that, which to disused tasts seemes tough. 20
[Eleg. V. His Picture. _1635-54:_ Elegie V. _1633_, _1669:_ Elegye. (_numbered variously_) _A18_, _A25_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W:_ The Picture. _P:_ Travelling he leaves his Picture with his mystris. _B_]
[1 Picture; ... farewell, _Ed:_ Picture, ... farewell; _1633:_ _rest semicolon or colon after each_]
[8 With cares rash sodaine stormes, being o'rspread, _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ With cares rash, cruel, sudden storms o'erspread _P:_ With cares rash-sudden cruel-storms o'erprest _B:_ With cares rash sudden storms o'erpressed _S_, _S96:_ With cares rash sudden storms o'erspread _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ With cares rash sodaine horiness o'erspread _A25_, _JC_, _W:_ With cares harsh sodaine horinesse o'rspread, _1635-69_, _O'F_]
[16 now love lesse, _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ like and love less _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _W_]
[19 nurse] nourish _A18_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _TC_
strong] tough _P_]
[20 disused _Ed:_ disus'd _1633-39_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_, _W:_ weake _1650-69_
tough.] rough. _P_]
Elegie Vi.
ELEGIE VI.
Oh, let mee not serve so, as those men serve Whom honours smoakes at once fatten and sterve; Poorely enrich't with great mens words or lookes; Nor so write my name in thy loving bookes As those Idolatrous flatterers, which still 5 Their Princes stiles, with many Realmes fulfill Whence they no tribute have, and where no sway. Such services I offer as shall pay Themselves, I hate dead names: Oh then let mee Favorite in Ordinary, or no favorite bee. 10 When my Soule was in her owne body sheath'd, Nor yet by oathes betroth'd, nor kisses breath'd Into my Purgatory, faithlesse thee, Thy heart seem'd waxe, and steele thy constancie: So, carelesse flowers strow'd on the waters face, 15 The curled whirlepooles suck, smack, and embrace, Yet drowne them; so, the tapers beamie eye Amorously twinkling, beckens the giddie flie, Yet burnes his wings; and such the devill is, Scarce visiting them, who are intirely his. 20 When I behold a streame, which, from the spring, Doth with doubtfull melodious murmuring, Or in a speechlesse slumber, calmely ride Her wedded channels bosome, and then chide And bend her browes, and swell if any bough 25 Do but stoop downe, or kisse her upmost brow; Yet, if her often gnawing kisses winne The traiterous banke to gape, and let her in, She rusheth violently, and doth divorce Her from her native, and her long-kept course, 30 And rores, and braves it, and in gallant scorne, In flattering eddies promising retorne, She flouts the channell, who thenceforth is drie; Then say I; that is shee, and this am I. Yet let not thy deepe bitternesse beget 35 Carelesse despaire in mee, for that will whet My minde to scorne; and Oh, love dull'd with paine Was ne'r so wise, nor well arm'd as disdaine. Then with new eyes I shall survay thee,'and spie Death in thy cheekes, and darknesse in thine eye. 40 Though hope bred 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, 45 What hurts it mee to be'excommunicate?
[Eleg. VI. _1635-69:_ Elegie VII. _1633_ (Elegie VI. _being_ Sorrow who to this house _&c._ _See_ Epicedes _&c._, _p._ 287): Elegie. (_numbered variously_) _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W_]
[2 fatten] flatter _1669_, _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _L74_, _N_, _TC_]
[3 or] and _A18_, _Cy_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _TC_]
[6 stiles, _1633-69_, _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _S96_, _TC_, _W:_ style _A25_, _O'F_, _S_, _Chambers and Grosart_
with _all MSS., Chambers and Grosart:_ which (_probably by confusion of_ w^{ch} _and_ w^{th}) _1633-69_
Realmes] names _1669_]
[7 where] bear _1669_]
[14 constancie: _1635-69:_ constancie. _1633_]
[24 then _1633_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _S_, _S96_, _W:_ there _1635-69_, _A18_, _A25_, _Cy_, _JC_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _TC_, _Chambers_]
[26 upmost _1633 and most MSS:_ utmost _1635-69_, _O'F_, _Chambers_ brow; _Ed:_ brow: _1633-39:_ brow. _1650-69_]
[28 banke _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _N_, _S_, _TC_, _W:_ banks _1633-69_, _Lec_, _O'F_]
[33 the _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ her _1635-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TC_
who _1633_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _JC_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ which _1635-69_, _O'F_]
[37 Oh,] Ah, _1669_]
[39 thee,'] _om. 1669_]
[40 eye. _Ed:_ eye; _1633-54:_ eye: _1669:_ eye, _Chambers_]
[41 Though ... love; _1633:_ Though ... breed ... love: _1635-39:_ Though ... breed ... love _1650-69_ (Through ... _1669_)]
[42 fall. _1633-35:_ fall _1639-69_]
[43 outgrow] o'ergrow _Cy_, _P_]
Elegie Vii.
ELEGIE VII.
Natures lay Ideot, I taught thee to love, And in that sophistrie, Oh, thou dost prove Too subtile: Foole, thou didst not understand The mystique language of the eye nor hand: Nor couldst thou judge the difference of the aire 5 Of sighes, and say, this lies, this sounds despaire: Nor by the'eyes water call a maladie Desperately hot, or changing feaverously. I had not taught thee then, the Alphabet Of flowers, how they devisefully being set 10 And bound up, might with speechlesse secrecie Deliver arrands mutely, and mutually. Remember since all thy words us'd to bee To every suitor; _I_, _if my friends agree_; Since, household charmes, thy husbands name to teach, 15 Were all the love trickes, that thy wit could reach; And since, an houres discourse could scarce have made One answer in thee, and that ill arraid In broken proverbs, and torne sentences. Thou art not by so many duties his, 20 That from the worlds Common having sever'd thee, Inlaid thee, neither to be seene, nor see, As mine: who have with amorous delicacies Refin'd thee'into a blis-full Paradise. Thy graces and good words my creatures bee; 25 I planted knowledge and lifes tree in thee, Which Oh, shall strangers taste? Must I alas Frame and enamell Plate, and drinke in Glasse? Chafe waxe for others seales? breake a colts force And leave him then, beeing made a ready horse? 30
[Elegie VII. _1635-69:_ Elegie VIII. _1633:_ Elegye. (_numbered variously_) _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _M_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W_]
[2 Oh, ... prove] Oh, how ... prove _1669_]
[6 despaire: _1635-69:_ despaire. _1633_]
[7 call _1633_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _M_, _N_, _O'F_ (_corrected from_ know), _P_, _TC_, _W:_ know _1635-69:_ cast _S_, _Chambers and Grosart_]
[10 they devisefully being set] their devise in being set _Cy_, _P_]
[12 arrands _1633:_ errands _1635-69:_ meet errands _B_]
[14 _agree_; _Ed:_ _agree_. _1633-69_]
[21-2 That ... nor see,] _in brackets 1669_]
[24 Paradise] paradise _1633_]
[25 words _1633-54_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _JC_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _W:_ works _1669_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _TC_
bee; _Ed:_ bee, _1633-69_]
[26 thee, _1633:_ thee: _1635-69_]
[28 Glasse? _Ed:_ glasse. _1633-69_]
Elegie Viii.
ELEGIE VIII.
_The Comparison._
As the sweet sweat of Roses in a Still, As that which from chaf'd muskats pores doth trill, As the Almighty Balme of th'early East, Such are the sweat drops of my Mistris breast, And on her <brow> her skin such lustre sets, 5 They seeme no sweat drops, but pearle coronets. Ranke sweaty froth thy Mistresse's brow defiles, Like spermatique issue of ripe menstruous boiles, Or like the skumme, which, by needs lawlesse law Enforc'd, Sanserra's starved men did draw 10 From parboild shooes, and bootes, and all the rest Which were with any soveraigne fatnes blest, And like vile lying stones in saffrond tinne, Or warts, or wheales, they hang upon her skinne. Round as the world's her head, on every side, 15 Like to the fatall Ball which fell on Ide, Or that whereof God had such jealousie, As, for the ravishing thereof we die. Thy _head_ is like a rough-hewne statue of jeat, Where marks for eyes, nose, mouth, are yet scarce set; 20 Like the first Chaos, or flat seeming face Of Cynthia, when th'earths shadowes her embrace. Like Proserpines white beauty-keeping chest, Or Joues best fortunes urne, is her faire brest. Thine's like worme eaten trunkes, cloth'd in seals skin, 25 Or grave, that's dust without, and stinke within. And like that slender stalke, at whose end stands The wood-bine quivering, are her armes and hands. Like rough bark'd elmboughes, or the russet skin Of men late scurg'd for madnes, or for sinne, 30 Like Sun-parch'd quarters on the citie gate, Such is thy tann'd skins lamentable state. And like a bunch of ragged carrets stand The short swolne fingers of thy gouty hand. Then like the Chymicks masculine equall fire, 35 Which in the Lymbecks warme wombe doth inspire Into th'earths worthlesse durt a soule of gold, Such cherishing heat her best lov'd part doth hold. Thine's like the dread mouth of a fired gunne, Or like hot liquid metalls newly runne 40 Into clay moulds, or like to that Ætna Where round about the grasse is burnt away. Are not your kisses then as filthy, and more, As a worme sucking an invenom'd sore? Doth not thy fearefull hand in feeling quake, 45 As one which gath'ring flowers, still feares a snake? Is not your last act harsh, and violent, As when a Plough a stony ground doth rent? So kisse good Turtles, so devoutly nice Are Priests in handling reverent sacrifice, 50 And such in searching wounds the Surgeon is As wee, when wee embrace, or touch, or kisse. Leave her, and I will leave comparing thus, She, and comparisons are odious.
[Eleg. VIII. The Comparison. _1635-54:_ Elegie VIII. _1669:_ Elegie. _1633:_ Elegie. (_numbered variously_) _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _Cy_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W_]
[2 muskats] muskets _1669_]
[4 breast, _1635-69:_ breast. _1633_]
[5 <brow> _Ed: necke 1633-69 and MSS. See note_]
[6 coronets. _1633-69_, _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _L74_, _M_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TC:_ carcanets. _A25_, _C_, _JC_, _S_, _W:_ carolettes. _P_]
[8 boiles, _Ed:_ boiles. _1633-69:_ _in MSS. generally spelt as pronounced_, biles _or_ byles]
[13 vile lying stones _1635-54 and MSS.:_ vile stones lying _1633_, _1669_]
[14 they hang _A18_, _B_, _JC_, _L74_, _M_, _N_, _O'F_ (_altered to_ it), _S_, _TC_, _W:_ it hangs _1633-69_]
[19 a] _om._ _1635-39_]
[26 grave] grav'd _1669_
dust _1633-69_, _W:_ durt _A18_, _A25_, _JC_, _M_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _TC_]
[28 hands. _W:_ hands, _1633-69_]
[34 thy gouty hand. _1635-69_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TC_, _W_ (hand; _1635-69_): her gouty hand; _1633_, _JC_, _S:_ thy mistress hand; _1669_]
[37 durt _1635-69:_ part _1633_, _from next line_]
[46 feares] fear'd _A18_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_, _W_]
[48 when _1635-69 and MSS.:_ where _1633_]
[50 Are Priests ... sacrifice,] A Priest is in his handling Sacrifice, _1669_]
[51 such _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_, _W:_ nice _1633-69_]
Elegie Ix.
ELEGIE IX.
_The Autumnall_
No _Spring_, nor _Summer_ Beauty hath such grace, As I have seen in one _Autumnall_ face. Yong _Beauties_ force our love, and that's a _Rape_, This doth but _counsaile_, yet you cannot scape. If t'were a _shame_ to love, here t'were no _shame_, 5 _Affection_ here takes _Reverences_ name. Were her first yeares the _Golden Age_; That's true, But now shee's _gold_ oft tried, and ever new. That was her torrid and inflaming time, This is her tolerable _Tropique clyme_. 10 Faire eyes, who askes more heate then comes from hence, He in a fever wishes pestilence. Call not these wrinkles, _graves_; If _graves_ they were, They were _Loves graves_; for else he is no where. Yet lies not Love _dead_ here, but here doth sit 15 Vow'd to this trench, like an _Anachorit_. And here, till hers, which must be his _death_, come, He doth not digge a _Grave_, but build a _Tombe_. Here dwells he, though he sojourne ev'ry where, In _Progresse_, yet his standing house is here. 20 Here, where still _Evening_ is; not _noone_, nor _night_; Where no _voluptuousnesse_, yet all _delight_. In all her words, unto all hearers fit, You may at _Revels_, you at _Counsaile_, sit. This is loves timber, youth his under-wood; 25 There he, as wine in _Iune_, enrages blood, Which then comes seasonabliest, when our tast And appetite to other things, is past. _Xerxes_ strange _Lydian_ love, the _Platane_ tree, Was lov'd for age, none being so large as shee, 30 Or else because, being yong, nature did blesse Her youth with ages glory, _Barrennesse_. If we love things long sought, _Age_ is a thing Which we are fifty yeares in compassing. If transitory things, which soone decay, 35 _Age_ must be lovelyest at the latest day. But name not _Winter-faces_, whose skin's slacke; Lanke, as an unthrifts purse; but a soules sacke; Whose _Eyes_ seeke light within, for all here's shade; Whose _mouthes_ are holes, rather worne out, then made; 40 Whose every tooth to a severall place is gone, To vexe their soules at _Resurrection_; Name not these living _Deaths-heads_ unto mee, For these, not _Ancient_, but _Antique_ be. I hate extreames; yet I had rather stay 45 With _Tombs_, then _Cradles_, to weare out a day. Since such loves naturall lation is, may still My love descend, and journey downe the hill, Not panting after growing beauties, so, I shall ebbe out with them, who home-ward goe. 50
[Eleg. IX. The Autumnall. _1635-54:_ Elegie. The Autumnall. _1633:_ Elegie IX. _1669:_ Elegie. _A18, N, TCC, TCD:_ Elegie Autumnall. _D, H40, H49, JC, Lec:_ An autumnall face: On the Ladie S^r Edward Herbart mothers Ladie Danvers. _B:_ On the Lady Herbert afterwards Danvers. _O'F:_ Widdow. _M_, _P:_ A Paradox of an ould Woman. _S:_ Elegie Autumnall on the Lady Shandoys. _S96: no title, L74_]
[1 _Summer 1633: Summers 1635-69_]
[2 face. _Ed:_ face, _1633-69_]
[3 our love, _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _S:_ our Loves, _1669:_ your love, _1635-54_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _H40_, _L74_, _M_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TC_]
[6 _Affection_ ... takes _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _M_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ _Affections_ ... take _1633-69_, _JC_, _O'F_]
[8 shee's _1635-69_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _M_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ they'are _1633_]
[10 tolerable _1633_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec_, _S:_ habitable _1635-69_, _A18_, _A25_, _L74_, _M_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _TC_]
[14 for _1633:_ or _1635-69_]
[15 Love] love _1633_]
[22 Where] Where's _O'F_, _S_]
[23 unto all] to all her _P_]
[24 _Counsaile_, _Ed:_ _counsaile_, _1633-54:_ _counsails_ _1669_]
[26 enrages] bringes _D_, _H49:_ breeds _Lec_]
[27 seasonabliest, _1633:_ seasonablest, _1635-69_]
[28 past.] past; _1633_]
[30 large _1633:_ old _1635-69_]
[37 not] noe _several MSS._]
[38 soules sacke; _1633_, _1669_, _and MSS.:_ fooles sack; _1635-54_]
[40 made; _Ed:_ made _1633-54:_ made, _1669_]
[42 their soules] the soul _1669_]
[43 _Deaths-heads_ _1633:_ _Death-heads_ _1635-69_, _Chambers:_ death-shades _H40_]
[44 _Ancient, ... Antique_ _1633_, _1669_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ Ancients, ... Antiques _1635-54_, _B_, _O'F_, _S:_ ancient ... antiques _A18_, _A25_, _H40_, _L74_, _M_, _N_, _TC_
be. _Ed:_ be; _1633_]
[46 a] the _1669_, _M_, _P_]
[47 naturall lation _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _L74_, _M_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _TC_ (_sometimes thus_, natural-lation): motion naturall _1633:_ naturall station _1635-69_, _Lec_, _O'F_]
[50 ebbe out _1633:_ ebbe on _1635-69_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _M_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _TC_]
Elegie X.
ELEGIE X.
_The Dreame._
Image of her whom I love, more then she, Whose faire impression in my faithfull heart, Makes mee her _Medall_, and makes her love mee, As Kings do coynes, to which their stamps impart The value: goe, and take my heart from hence, 5 Which now is growne too great and good for me: _Honours_ oppresse weake spirits, and our sense Strong objects dull; the more, the lesse wee see. When you are gone, and _Reason_ gone with you, Then _Fantasie_ is Queene and Soule, and all; 10 She can present joyes meaner then you do; Convenient, and more proportionall. So, if I dreame I have you, I have you, For, all our joyes are but fantasticall. And so I scape the paine, for paine is true; 15 And sleepe 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 thankfull Sonnets make, Then if more _honour_, _teares_, and _paines_ were spent. 20 But dearest heart, and dearer image stay; Alas, true joyes at best are _dreame_ enough; Though you stay here you passe too fast away: For even at first lifes _Taper_ is a snuffe. Fill'd with her love, may I be rather grown 25 Mad with much _heart_, then _ideott_ with none.
[Eleg. X. The Dreame. _1635-54:_ Elegie X. _1669:_ Elegie. _1633:_ Picture. _S96:_ Elegie. _or no title_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[7 sense] sense, _1633_]
[8 dull; _1635-69:_ dull, _1633_]
[16 out] up _B_, _P_, _S_]
[17 a such _1633-54:_ such a _1669_]
[22 _dreame_] _dreams_ _1669_]
Elegie Xi.
ELEGIE XI.
_The Bracelet._
_Vpon the losse of his Mistresses Chaine, for which he made satisfaction._
Not that in colour it was like thy haire, For Armelets of that thou maist let me weare: Nor that thy hand it oft embrac'd and kist, For so it had that good, which oft I mist: Nor for that silly old moralitie, 5 That as these linkes were knit, our love should bee: Mourne I that I thy seavenfold chaine have lost; Nor for the luck sake; but the bitter cost. O, shall twelve righteous Angels, which as yet No leaven of vile soder did admit; 10 Nor yet by any way have straid or gone From the first state of their Creation; Angels, which heaven commanded to provide All things to me, and be my faithfull guide; To gaine new friends, t'appease great enemies; 15 To comfort my soule, when I lie or rise; Shall these twelve innocents, by thy severe Sentence (dread judge) my sins great burden beare? Shall they be damn'd, and in the furnace throwne, And punisht for offences not their owne? 20 They save not me, they doe not ease my paines, When in that hell they'are burnt and tyed in chains. Were they but Crownes of France, I cared not, For, most of these, their naturall Countreys rot I think possesseth, they come here to us, 25 So pale, so lame, so leane, so ruinous; And howsoe'r French Kings most Christian be, Their Crownes are circumcis'd most Iewishly. Or were they Spanish Stamps, still travelling, That are become as Catholique as their King, 30 Those unlickt beare-whelps, unfil'd pistolets That (more than Canon shot) availes or lets; Which negligently left unrounded, looke Like many angled figures, in the booke Of some great Conjurer that would enforce 35 Nature, as these doe justice, from her course; Which, as the soule quickens head, feet and heart, As streames, like veines, run through th'earth's every part, Visit all Countries, and have slily made Gorgeous _France_, ruin'd, ragged and decay'd; 40 _Scotland_, which knew no State, proud in one day: And mangled seventeen-headed _Belgia_. Or were it such gold as that wherewithall Almighty _Chymiques_ from each minerall, Having by subtle fire a soule out-pull'd; 45 Are dirtely and desperately gull'd: I would not spit to quench the fire they'are in, For, they are guilty of much hainous Sin. But, shall my harmlesse angels perish? Shall I lose my guard, my ease, my food, my all? 50 Much hope which they should nourish will be dead, Much of my able youth, and lustyhead Will vanish; if thou love let them alone, For thou wilt love me lesse when they are gone; And be content that some lowd squeaking Cryer 55 Well-pleas'd with one leane thred-bare groat, for hire, May like a devill roare through every street; And gall the finders conscience, if they meet. Or let mee creepe to some dread Conjurer, That with phantastique scheames fils full much paper; 60 Which hath divided heaven in tenements, And with whores, theeves, and murderers stuft his rents, So full, that though hee passe them all in sinne, He leaves himselfe no roome to enter in. But if, when all his art and time is spent, 65 Hee say 'twill ne'r be found; yet be content; Receive from him that doome ungrudgingly, Because he is the mouth of destiny. Thou say'st (alas) the gold doth still remaine, Though it be chang'd, and put into a chaine; 70 So in the first falne angels, resteth still Wisdome and knowledge; but,'tis turn'd to ill: As these should doe good works; and should provide Necessities; but now must nurse thy pride. And they are still bad angels; Mine are none; 75 For, forme gives being, and their forme is gone: Pitty these Angels; yet their dignities Passe Vertues, Powers, and Principalities. But, thou art resolute; Thy will be done! Yet with such anguish, as her onely sonne 80 The Mother in the hungry grave doth lay, Vnto the fire these Martyrs I betray. Good soules, (for you give life to every thing) Good Angels, (for good messages you bring) Destin'd you might have beene to such an one, 85 As would have lov'd and worship'd you alone: One that would suffer hunger, nakednesse, Yea death, ere he would make your number lesse. But, I am guilty of your sad decay; May your few fellowes longer with me stay. 90 But ô thou wretched finder whom I hate So, that I almost pitty thy estate: Gold being the heaviest metal amongst all, May my most heavy curse upon thee fall: Here fetter'd, manacled, and hang'd in chains, 95 First mayst thou bee; then chaind to hellish paines; Or be with forraine gold brib'd to betray Thy Countrey, and faile both of that and thy pay. May the next thing thou stoop'st to reach, containe Poyson, whose nimble fume rot thy moist braine; 100 Or libels, or some interdicted thing, Which negligently kept, thy ruine bring. Lust-bred diseases rot thee; and dwell with thee Itching desire, and no abilitie. May all the evils that gold ever wrought; 105 All mischiefes that all devils ever thought; Want after plenty; poore and gouty age; The plagues of travellers; love; marriage Afflict thee, and at thy lives last moment, May thy swolne sinnes themselves to thee present. 110 But, I forgive; repent thee honest man: Gold is Restorative, restore it then: But if from it thou beest loath to depart, Because 'tis cordiall, would twere at thy heart.
[Elegie XI. _&c._ _Ed.:_ Eleg. XII. The Bracelet. _&c._ _1635_ (Eleg. XI. _being_ Death, _for which see p._ 284): Eleg. XII. Vpon _&c._ _1639-54_ (Eleg. IV. _1650-54, a misprint_): Elegie XII. _1669:_ Elegie (_numbered variously_). The Bracelett. _or_ The Chaine. _A25_, _B_, _C_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _M_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_, _W_]
[2 For ... weare:] Armelets of that thou maist still let me weare: _1669_]
[6 were knit, _1635-69:_ are knit _Cy:_ are tyde _A25_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _R212_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_, _W:_ were tyde _L74_
love] loves _1669_]
[11 way _1635-69:_ taynt _S96_, _O'F_, _W:_ taynts _B:_ fault _A25_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _M_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _TCD_]
[15 great] old _1669_]
[16 rise; _Ed:_ rise. _1635-69_]
[22 chains. _Ed.:_ chains: _1635-69_]
[24 these _1635-54:_ them _1669_
their naturall Countreys _Cy_, _O'F:_ their Countreys naturall _1635-54_, _P:_ their naturall Countrey _1669, and rest of MSS._]
[26 ruinous; _Ed:_ ruinous. _1635-69_]
[28 Iewishly. _Ed:_ Iewishly; _1635-69_]
[35 great] dread _1669_]
[36 course; _Ed:_ course. _1635-69_]
[38 streames, _Ed:_ streames _1635-69_]
[40 ruin'd, ragged and decay'd; _1669, and MSS., but end stop varies:_ ruin'd: ragged and decay'd _1635:_ ruin'd: ragged and decay'd, _1639-54_]
[42 _Belgia._ _Ed:_ _Belgia:_ _1635-69_]
[45 soule] Mercury _B_]
[47 they'are in, _1635-69:_ therein, _Cy_, _P:_ they were in, _rest of MSS._]
[51 dead, _Ed:_ dead. _1635-69_]
[52 lustyhead _Ed:_ lusty head _1635-69_]
[53 vanish; _Ed:_ vanish, _1635-69_
if thou love let them alone, _1635-39:_ if thou Love let them alone, _1650-69:_ if thou, Love, let them alone; _Grolier_ (_conjecturing_ atone)]
[54-5 gone; And _Ed:_ gone, And _1635-69_, _Cy_, _P:_ gone. Oh, _rest of MSS._]
[58 conscience, if they meet. _1669 and MSS.:_ conscience, if hee meet. _1635-54_, _JC_, _L74_, _P_]
[60 scheames _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W:_ scenes _1635-69_, _Cy_, _L74_, _P_, _TCD_]
[63 passe] place _1669_]
[65 _new par. 1635-69_ But _1635-69_, _Cy_, _P:_ And _rest of MSS._]
[66 yet _1635-69_, _Cy_, _P:_ Oh _rest of MSS._]
[67 that _1635-54_, _Cy_, _P:_ the _1669 and rest of MSS._]
[70 chaine; _Ed:_ chaine, _1635-69_]
[74 pride. _Ed:_ pride, _1635-69_]
[76 being, _Ed:_ being: _1635-69_]
[77 Angels; yet _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _TCD:_ Angels yet; _1635-69_, _W_]
[79 done! _Ed:_ done; _1635-39:_ done: _1650-54:_ done? _1669_]
[90 few fellowes] few-fellowes _1635-69_]
[92 So, that _1635-69_, _Cy_, _P:_ So much that _A25_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_ (as), _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _S96_ (as), _TCD_, _W_ (as): So much _B_
estate] state _D_, _H49_, _&c._]
[93 metal amongst all,] amongst metals all, _1669_, _Cy_]
[95 Here] Her _1639_]
[98 that _MSS.:_ it _1635-69_
thy] _om. 1669_]
[104 Itching] Itchy _MSS._]
[105 evils that gold ever _1635-69_, _P:_ hurt that ever gold hath _rest of MSS._]
[106 mischiefes _all MSS.:_ mischiefe _1635-69_]
[108 love; marriage _1635-54_, _Cy_, _P:_ love and marriage _1669_, _and rest of MSS._]
[109 at] that _1669_]
[110 thee] thou _1669_]
[113 But if from it ... depart, _1635-54_, _Cy_, _P:_ But if that from it ... part, _1669:_ Or if with it ... depart _rest of MSS._]
Elegie Xii.
ELEGIE XII.
_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 Magick cannot do it, 5 Thou and greate Hell to boot are shadows to it. Should _Cinthia_ quit thee, _Venus_, and each starre, It would not forme one thought dark as mine are. I could lend thee obscureness now, and say, Out of my self, There should be no more Day, 10 Such is already my felt want of sight, Did not the fires within me force a light. Oh Love, that fire and darkness should be mixt, Or to thy Triumphs soe strange torments fixt? Is't because thou thy self art blind, that wee 15 Thy Martyrs must no more each other see? Or tak'st thou pride to break us on the wheel, And view old Chaos in the Pains we feel? Or have we left undone some mutual Right, Through holy fear, that merits thy despight? 20 No, no. The falt was mine, impute it to me, Or rather to conspiring destinie, Which (since I lov'd for forme before) decreed, That I should suffer when I lov'd indeed: And therefore now, sooner then I can say, 25 I saw the golden fruit, 'tis rapt away. Or as I had watcht one drop in a vast stream, And I left wealthy only in a dream. Yet Love, thou'rt blinder then thy self in this, To vex my Dove-like friend for my amiss: 30 And, where my own 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 followers all. Was't not enough that thou didst dart thy fires 35 Into our blouds, inflaming our desires, And made'st us sigh and glow, and pant, and burn, And then thy self into our flame did'st turn? Was't not enough, that thou didst hazard us To paths in love so dark, so dangerous: 40 And those so ambush'd round with houshold spies, And over all, thy husbands towring eyes That flam'd with oylie sweat of jealousie: Yet went we not still on with Constancie? Have we not kept our guards, like spie on spie? 45 Had correspondence whilst the foe stood by? Stoln (more to sweeten them) our many blisses Of meetings, conference, embracements, kisses? Shadow'd with negligence our most respects? Varied our language through all dialects, 50 Of becks, winks, looks, and often under-boards Spoak dialogues with our feet far from our words? Have we prov'd all these secrets of our Art, Yea, thy pale inwards, and thy panting heart? And, after all this passed Purgatory, 55 Must sad divorce make us the vulgar story? First let our eyes be rivited quite through Our turning brains, and both our lips grow to: Let our armes clasp like Ivy, and our fear Freese us together, that we may stick here, 60 Till Fortune, that would rive us, with the deed Strain her eyes open, and it make them bleed: For Love it cannot be, whom hitherto I have accus'd, should such a mischief doe. Oh Fortune, thou'rt not worth my least exclame, 65 And plague enough thou hast in thy own shame. Do thy great worst, my friend and I have armes, Though not against thy strokes, against thy harmes. Rend us in sunder, thou canst not divide Our bodies so, but that our souls are ty'd, 70 And we can love by letters still and gifts, And thoughts and dreams; Love never wanteth shifts. I will not look upon the quickning Sun, But straight her beauty to my sense shall run; The ayre shall note her soft, the fire most pure; 75 Water suggest her clear, and the earth sure. Time shall not lose our passages; the Spring How fresh our love was in the beginning; The Summer how it ripened in the eare; And Autumn, what our golden harvests were. 80 The Winter I'll not think on to spite thee, But count it a lost season, so shall shee. And dearest Friend, since we must part, drown night With hope of Day, burthens well born are light. Though cold and darkness longer hang somewhere, 85 Yet _Phoebus_ equally lights all the Sphere. And what he cannot in like Portions pay, The world enjoyes in Mass, and so we may. Be then ever your self, and let no woe Win on your health, your youth, your beauty: so 90 Declare your self base fortunes Enemy, No less by your contempt then constancy: That I may grow enamoured on your mind, When my own thoughts I there reflected find. For this to th'comfort of my Dear I vow, 95 My Deeds shall still be what my words are now; The Poles shall move to teach me ere I start; And when I change my Love, I'll change my heart; Nay, if I wax but cold in my desire, Think, heaven hath motion lost, and the world, fire: 100 Much more I could, but many words have made That, oft, suspected which men would perswade; Take therefore all in this: I love so true, As I will never look for less in you.
[Elegie. XII. _&c._ _Ed:_ Eleg. XIIII _&c._ _1635-54_ (Eleg. XIII. _being_ Come, Fates, _&c._, _p._ 407): Elegie XIIII. _1669:_ At her Departure. _A25:_ At his Mistris departure. _B:_ Elegie. _H40_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD_ (_II_)]
[1 Night, _Ed:_ night _1635-69_]
[4 Love] soule _1635-54_]
[5-44 _omit_, _1635-54_, _A25_, _B_]
[6 Thou and greate Hell _H40_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96:_ And that great Hell _1669_
to boot are _1669_, _H40_, _O'F:_ are nought but _P_, _S96_]
[7 thee, _Ed:_ thee _1669_]
[9 thee _H40:_ them _1669_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD_]
[10 Day, _Ed:_ Day. _1669_]
[11 felt want _H40_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ self-want, _1669_
sight, _Ed:_ sight _1669_]
[12 fires _H40_, _S96_, _TCD:_ fire _1669_, _P_]
[14 Or] Are _S96:_ And _TCD_
soe _H40_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ such _1669_]
[17 the _H40_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ thy _1669_]
[20 Through holy fear, that merits (causes _S96_) thy despight (meriteth thy spight _P_) _H40_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ That thus with parting thou seek'st us to spight? _1669_]
[21 was _H40_, _S96:_ is _1669_, _P_, _TCD_]
[23 Which ... decreed, _H40_, _O'F_, _S96:_ Which (since I lov'd) for me before decreed, _1669_, _P_, _TCD:_ Which, since I lov'd in jest before, decreed _H-K_, _which Chambers follows_]
[25 now, sooner _all the MSS.:_ sooner now _1669_
rapt] wrapt _1669_]
[27 a vast _H40_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ the vast _1669_]
[29 thy self] myself _Chambers_]
[31 my own _H40_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96:_ one _1669_
sad _1669:_ glad _H40_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD_]
[32 fate: _Ed:_ fate. _1669_]
[33 blinded] blindest _H40_]
[34 followers _H40_, _P_, _TCD:_ favourites _1669_, _S96_]
[37 glow _H40_, _S96_, _P_, _TCD:_ blow _1669_]
[38 flame _H40_, _S96_, _P_, _TCD:_ flames _1669_]
[40 so dangerous _H40_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ and dangerous _1669_]
[42 all, _Ed:_ all _1669_
towring _1669_, _TCD:_ towred _O'F_, _P_, _S96:_ lowering _Grolier_
the towred husbands eyes _H40:_ the Loured, husbandes eyes _RP31_]
[43 That flam'd with oylie _H40_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ Inflam'd with th'ouglie _1669_
jealousie: _Ed:_ jealousie, _1669_]
[44 with _H40_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ in _1669_]
[45 Have we not kept our guards, _H40_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ Have we for this kept guards, _1669_
on _1669:_ o'r _1635-54_]
[49 most _1635-69_, _H40_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ best _1669_]
[50 our] thy _RP31_]
[52 from our words? _1669:_ from words? _1635-54_]
[53 these secrets _MSS.:_ the secrets _1635-69_
our] thy _RP31_]
[54 Yea ... panting heart? _1635-69_, _A25:_ Yea thy pale colours inward as thy heart? _H40_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD_]
[56 sad] rude _P_, _TCD_]
[57-66 _om._ _1635-54_, _A25_, _B_]
[58 brains] beams _P:_ brain _Chambers_]
[61 Fortune, _Ed:_ fortune, _1669_
would rive us, with _H40_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TCD:_ would ruine us with _1669_]
[62 her _H40:_ his _1669_
it] yet _1669_
bleed: _Ed:_ bleed. _1669_]
[65 Oh Fortune,] Oh fortune, _1669_, _S96:_ And Fortune _H40_, _P_]
[66 shame. _H40_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96:_ name. _1669_]
[67 Do thy great worst _&c._ _1669:_ Fortune, doe thy worst _&c._ _1635-54_ (_after_ 56 the vulgar story?)
armes, _1635-69_, _H40_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _TCD:_ charmes _H-K_ (_Grosart and Chambers_)]
[69 Rend us in sunder, _1669 and MSS.:_ Bend us, in sunder _1635-54_]
[72 shifts. _1635:_ shifts, _1639-69_]
[76 Water _H40_, _P_, _TCD:_ Waters _1635-69_, _A25_, _S96_
sure. _Ed:_ sure; _1635-69_]
[77 Time] Times _H40_, _TCD_
Spring _Ed:_ spring _1635-69_]
[79 ripened in the eare; _B_, _H40_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ ripened in the yeare; _1635:_ inripened the yeare; _1639-69_]
[83-94 _omit_ _1635-54_, _A25_, _B_]
[85 Though _H40_, _P_, _TCD:_ The _1669_, _S96_]
[87 he ... Portions _Ed:_ he ... portions _H40:_ he ... portion _O'F_, _P_, _TCD:_ we ... Portion _1669:_ he can't in like proportion _H-K_ (_Grosart_)]
[88 enjoyes] yet joys _H40_]
[89 ever your] your fayrest _H40_, _TCD_]
[92 by your contempt then constancy: _H40_, _S96:_ be your contempt then constancy: _O'F_, _H-K_ (_Grosart_), _P_, _TCD:_ be your contempt then her inconstancy: _1669_]
[94 there reflected _H40_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _TCD:_ here neglected _1669:_ there neglected _H-K_ (_Grosart, probably wrongly_)]
[95-104 _om. TCD_]
[95 For _H40, S96:_ And _1635-69_]
[96 my words are now; _H40, P:_ my deeds are now; _1635-69, O'F, S96:_ my thoughts are now; _A25_]
[102 oft, _1633-54:_ oft _1669_
would _1635-54, A25, B, H40, O'F, S96: _ most _1669_]
Elegie Xiii.
ELEGIE XIII.
_Iulia._
Harke newes, ô envy, thou shalt heare descry'd My _Iulia_; who as yet was ne'r envy'd. To vomit gall in slander, swell her vaines With calumny, that hell it selfe disdaines, Is her continuall practice; does her best, 5 To teare opinion even out of the brest Of dearest friends, and (which is worse than vilde) Sticks jealousie in wedlock; her owne childe Scapes not the showres of envie, To repeate The monstrous fashions, how, were, alive, to eate 10 Deare reputation. Would to God she were But halfe so loath to act vice, as to heare My milde reproofe. Liv'd _Mantuan_ now againe, That fœmall Mastix, to limme with his penne This she _Chymera_, that hath eyes of fire, 15 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'r so prosperous, 20 Her hands, I know not how, us'd more to spill The food of others, then her selfe to fill. But oh her minde, that _Orcus_, which includes Legions of mischiefs, countlesse multitudes Of formlesse curses, projects unmade up, 25 Abuses yet unfashion'd, thoughts corrupt, Mishapen Cavils, palpable untroths, Inevitable errours, self-accusing oaths: These, like those Atoms swarming in the Sunne, Throng in her bosome for creation. 30 I blush to give her halfe her due; yet say, No poyson's halfe so bad as _Iulia_.
[Elegie XIII. _&c. Ed:_ Eleg. XV. _&c. 1635-54:_ Elegie XV. _1669:_ Iulia. _B:_ Elegy. Iulia. _O'F_]
[5 practice; _Ed:_ practice, _1635-69_]
[7 vilde) _Ed:_ vile) _1635-69:_ vilde _is the regular spelling of this word in the Donne MSS._]
[8 in wedlock;] in the sheets of wedlock; _B_]
[10 how, _1635:_ how; _1639-69_]
[That fœmall Mastix, _1635:_ _1639-69 and Chambers drop comma. But see note_]
[18 injuries, _1635-39:_ injuries. _1650-69_]
[20 prosperous, _Ed:_ prosperous. _1635-69_]
[24 mischiefs _O'F:_ mischiefe, _1635-69_]
[28 oaths: _B_, _H-K_ (_Grosart_): loathes: _1635-69_, _O'F_]
[31 give but half _B:_ give half her _O'F_
yet say,] only this say, _B:_ but this say _O'F_]
Elegie Xiv.
ELEGIE XIV.
_A Tale of a Citizen and his Wife._
I sing no harme good sooth to any wight, To Lord or foole, Cuckold, begger or knight, To peace-teaching Lawyer, Proctor, or brave Reformed or reduced Captaine, Knave, Officer, Iugler, or Iustice of peace, 5 Iuror or Iudge; I touch no fat sowes grease, I am no Libeller, nor will be any, But (like a true man) say there are too many. I feare not _ore tenus_; for my tale, Nor Count nor Counsellour will redd or pale. 10 A Citizen and his wife the other day Both riding on one horse, upon the way I overtooke, the wench a pretty peate, And (by her eye) well fitting for the feate. I saw the lecherous Citizen turne backe 15 His head, and on his wifes lip steale a smacke, Whence apprehending that the man was kinde, Riding before, to kisse his wife behinde, To get acquaintance with him I began To sort discourse fit for so fine a man: 20 I ask'd the number of the Plaguy Bill, Ask'd if the Custome Farmers held out still, Of the Virginian plot, and whether Ward The traffique of the I<n>land seas had marr'd, Whether the Brittaine _Burse_ did fill apace, 25 And likely were to give th'Exchange disgrace; Of new-built _Algate_, and the _More-field_ crosses, Of store of Bankerouts, and poore Merchants losses I urged him to speake; But he (as mute As an old Courtier worne to his last suite) 30 Replies with onely yeas and nayes; At last (To fit his element) my theame I cast On Tradesmens gaines; that set his tongue agoing: Alas, good sir (quoth he) _There is no doing In Court nor City now_; she smil'd and I, 35 And (in my conscience) both gave him the lie In one met thought: but he went on apace, And at the present time with such a face He rail'd, as fray'd me; for he gave no praise, To any but my Lord of _Essex_ dayes; 40 Call'd those the age of action; true (quoth Hee) There's now as great an itch of bravery, And heat of taking up, but cold lay downe, For, put to push of pay, away they runne; Our onely City trades of hope now are 45 Bawd, Tavern-keeper, Whore and Scrivener; The much of Privileg'd kingsmen, and the store Of fresh protections make the rest all poore; In the first state of their Creation, Though many stoutly stand, yet proves not one 50 A righteous pay-master. Thus ranne he on In a continued rage: so void of reason Seem'd his harsh talke, I sweat for feare of treason. And (troth) how could I lesse? when in the prayer For the protection of the wise Lord Major, 55 And his wise brethrens worships, when one prayeth, He swore that none could say Amen with faith. To get him off from what I glowed to heare, (In happy time) an Angel did appeare, The bright Signe of a lov'd and wel-try'd Inne, 60 Where many Citizens with their wives have bin Well us'd and often; here I pray'd him stay, To take some due refreshment by the way. Looke how hee look'd that hid the gold (his hope) And at's returne found nothing but a Rope, 65 So he on me, refus'd and made away, Though willing she pleaded a weary day: I found my misse, struck hands, and praid him tell (To hold acquaintance still) where he did dwell; He barely nam'd the street, promis'd the Wine, 70 But his kinde wife gave me the very Signe.
[Elegie XIV. _&c._ _Ed:_ Eleg. XVI. A Tale _&c._ _1635-54:_ Elegie XVI. _1669:_ Elegie XV. _O'F:_ _no title, B_]
[2 or foole,] to fool, _1669_]
[5 Iugler, _1635-39:_ Iudge, _1650-69_]
[9 _tenus;_ _Ed:_ _tenus_, _1635-69_]
[10 will redd or pale. _1669_, _B_, _O'F_ (shall): will looke redd or pale. _1635-54_]
[14 feate. _Ed:_ feate, _1635-69_]
[16 steale] seale _O'F_]
[21 Plaguy _1669_, _B_, _O'F:_ Plaguing _1635-54_]
[22 Custome] custome _1635_]
[24 I<n>land _Ed:_ Iland _1635-54:_ Midland _1669_, _O'F:_ the land, the seas _B_, _but later hand has inserted_ mid _above the line:_ Island _Chambers and Grolier_]
[27 _More-field_] Moorefields _B_]
[32 To fit] To hit _O'F_]
[33 agoing: _Ed:_ agoing, _1635-69_]
[35 _In ... now_; _Ed:_ _roman_ _1635-69_]
[38 time _1669:_ times _O'F_]
[41 those ... (quoth Hee) _1669_, _B_, _O'F:_ that ... (quoth I) _1635-54_]
[46 Bawd, ... Scrivener; _B_, _O'F:_ Bawds, Tavernkeepers, Whores and Scriveners, _1635-54:_ Bawds, Tavernkeepers, Whore and Scrivener _1669_]
[47 kingsmen, and the store _1669_, _B_, _O'F_ (kingsman): kinsmen, and store _1635-54_]
[58 him off _O'F:_ off him _1669:_ him _1635-54_]
[61 have bin _B_, _O'F:_ had beene, _1635-69_]
[64 the gold (his hope)] his gold, his hope _1669_]
[65 at's _1669:_ at _1635-54_]
[66 on _1669_, _B:_ at _1635-54_
me,] me: _1635-54_]
[67 day: _1669_, _B_, _O'F:_ stay. _1635-39:_ stay: _1650-54_]
[69 dwell; _1635:_ dwell _1639-54:_ dwell, _1669_]
Elegie Xv.
ELEGIE XV.
_The Expostulation._
To make the doubt cleare, that no woman's true, Was it my fate to prove it strong in you? Thought I, but one had breathed purest aire, And must she needs be false because she's faire? Is it your beauties marke, or of your youth, 5 Or your perfection, not to study truth? Or thinke you heaven is deafe, or hath no eyes? Or those it hath, smile at your perjuries? Are vowes so cheape with women, or the matter Whereof they are made, that they are writ in water, 10 And blowne away with winde? Or doth their breath (Both hot and cold at once) make life and death? Who could have thought so many accents sweet Form'd into words, so many sighs should meete As from our hearts, so many oathes, and teares 15 Sprinkled among, (all sweeter by our feares And the divine impression of stolne kisses, That seal'd the rest) should now prove empty blisses? Did you draw bonds to forfet? signe to breake? Or must we reade you quite from what you speake, 20 And finde the truth out the wrong way? or must Hee first desire you false, would wish you just? O I prophane, though most of women be This kinde of beast, my thought shall except thee; My dearest love, though froward jealousie, 25 With circumstance might urge thy'inconstancie, Sooner I'll thinke the Sunne will cease to cheare The teeming earth, and _that_ forget to beare, Sooner that rivers will runne back, or Thames With ribs of Ice in June would bind his streames, 30 Or Nature, by whose strength the world endures, Would change her course, before you alter yours. But O that treacherous breast to whom weake you Did trust our Counsells, and wee both may rue, Having his falshood found too late, 'twas hee 35 That made me _cast_ you guilty, and you me, Whilst he, black wretch, betray'd each simple word Wee spake, unto the cunning of a third. Curst may hee be, that so our love hath slaine, And wander on the earth, wretched as _Cain_, 40 Wretched as hee, and not deserve least pitty; In plaguing him, let misery be witty; Let all eyes shunne him, and hee shunne each eye, Till hee be noysome as his infamie; May he without remorse deny God thrice, 45 And not be trusted more on his Soules price; And after all selfe torment, when hee dyes, May Wolves teare out his heart, Vultures his eyes, Swine eate his bowels, and his falser tongue That utter'd all, be to some Raven flung, 50 And let his carrion coarse be a longer feast To the Kings dogges, then any other beast. Now have I curst, let us our love revive; In mee the flame was never more alive; I could beginne againe to court and praise, 55 And in that pleasure lengthen the short dayes Of my lifes lease; like Painters that do take Delight, not in made worke, but whiles they make; I could renew those times, when first I saw Love in your eyes, that gave my tongue the law 60 To like what you lik'd; and at maskes and playes Commend the selfe same Actors, the same wayes; Aske how you did, and often with intent Of being officious, be impertinent; All which were such soft pastimes, as in these 65 Love was as subtilly catch'd, as a disease; But being got it is a treasure sweet, Which to defend is harder then to get: And ought not be prophan'd on either part, For though'tis got by _chance_, 'tis kept by _art_. 70
[Elegie XV. _Ed:_ Eleg. XVII. The Expostulation. _1635-54:_ Elegie XVII. _1669:_ Elegie. _1633_, _B_, _Cy_, _H40_, _HN_, _M_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _RP31_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_, _Jonson's_ Underwoods]
[2 strong] full _Und_]
[3 purest] the purer _Und_]
[6 Or your _1633-69:_ Or of your _H40_]
[8 it hath,] she hath _B_, _H40_, _M_, _N_, _P_, _S96_]
[12 (Both hot and cold at once) _RP31:_ Both ... at once, _Und:_ (Both ... cold) at once _1633-69_, _S96:_ Both heate and coole at once _M_
make] threat _Und_]
[14 Form'd into] Tun'd to our _Und_]
[15 As] Blowne _Und_]
[16-18 (all sweeter ... the rest) _1633_, _B_, _Cy_, _M_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _RP31:_ (all sweetend _&c._ _1635_, _which does not complete the bracket:_ (all sweetend by our fears) _&c._ _1639-69_, _L74_ (sweeter), _P_ (sweeter), _S96_ (sweetned)]
[22 wish] have _P_]
[24 This kinde of beast,] The common Monster, _Und_
my thought _1633:_ my thoughts _1635-69_, _HN_, _S96_]
[25 though froward] how ever _RP31_, _Und_]
[26 thy'inconstancie,] the contrarie. _Und_]
[28 beare, _1633:_ beare: _1635-69_]
[30 would _1633_, _Und:_ will _1635-69_
streames, _Ed:_ streames; _1633-69_]
[32 yours.] yours; _1633_]
[34 trust _1633-69:_ drift _Chambers_]
[37 wretch] wrech _1633_]
[38 third. _Ed:_ third; _1633-69_]
[39 love] loves _RP31_]
[40 wretched as _Cain_, _1633-69_, _B_, _Cy_, _N_, _O'F:_ as wretched Cain, _P:_ as cursed Cain, _S:_ wretched on the Earth, as Cain: _Und_]
[52 dogges, ... beast.] dogges; ... beast; _1633_]
[53 have I] I have _1669_
revive] receive _Und_]
[58 worke, _1633-39_, _most MSS.:_ works, _1650-69_, _S96_, _Und_]
[61 and playes] or playes _Und_]
[64 be] grow _Und_]
[65 soft] lost _Und_]
Elegie Xvi.
ELEGIE XVI.
_On his Mistris._
By our first strange and fatall interview, By all desires which thereof did ensue, By our long starving hopes, by that remorse Which my words masculine perswasive force Begot in thee, and by the memory 5 Of hurts, which spies and rivals threatned me, I calmly beg: But by thy fathers wrath, By all paines, which want and divorcement hath, I conjure thee, and all the oathes which I And thou have sworne to seale joynt constancy, 10 Here I unsweare, and overswear them thus, Thou shalt not love by wayes so dangerous. Temper, ô faire Love, loves impetuous rage, Be my true Mistris still, not my faign'd Page; I'll goe, and, by thy kinde leave, leave behinde 15 Thee, onely worthy to nurse in my minde, Thirst to come backe; ô if thou die before, My soule from other lands to thee shall soare. Thy (else Almighty) beautie cannot move Rage from the Seas, nor thy love teach them love, 20 Nor tame wilde Boreas harshnesse; Thou hast reade How roughly hee in peeces shivered Faire Orithea, whom he swore he lov'd. Fall ill or good, 'tis madnesse to have prov'd Dangers unurg'd; Feed on this flattery, 25 That absent Lovers one in th'other be. Dissemble nothing, not a boy, nor change Thy bodies habite, nor mindes; bee not strange To thy selfe onely; All will spie in thy face A blushing womanly discovering grace; 30 Richly cloath'd Apes, are call'd Apes, and as soone Ecclips'd as bright we call the Moone the Moone. Men of France, changeable Camelions, Spittles of diseases, shops of fashions, Loves fuellers, and the rightest company 35 Of Players, which upon the worlds stage be, Will quickly know thee, and no lesse, alas! Th'indifferent Italian, as we passe His warme land, well content to thinke thee Page, Will hunt thee with such lust, and hideous rage, 40 As _Lots_ faire guests were vext. But none of these Nor spungy hydroptique Dutch shall thee displease, If thou stay here. O stay here, for, for thee England is onely a worthy Gallerie, To walke in expectation, till from thence 45 Our greatest King call thee to his presence. When I am gone, dreame me some happinesse, Nor let thy lookes our long hid love confesse, Nor praise, nor dispraise me, nor blesse nor curse Openly loves force, nor in bed fright thy Nurse 50 With midnights startings, crying out, oh, oh Nurse, ô my love is slaine, I saw him goe O'r the white Alpes alone; I saw him I, Assail'd, fight, taken, stabb'd, bleed, fall, and die. Augure me better chance, except dread _Iove_ 55 Thinke it enough for me to'have had thy love.
[Elegie XVI. _&c._ _Ed:_ Elegie on his Mistris. _1635-54 where, and in 1669, it appears among_ Funerall Elegies: Elegie. _1669: among_ Elegies _with or without heading or number_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _M_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W:_ _B heads_ His wife would have gone as his page.]
[1 interview, _Ed:_ interview _1635-69_]
[3 starving] striving _1669_, _B_, _P:_ starvling _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[7 beg: _D:_ beg. _1635-69_
fathers _1635-69_, _O'F:_ Parents _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _M_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _TC_, _W_]
[11 Here I] I here _1669_]
[12 wayes _1635-54_, _O'F:_ means _1669, and rest of MSS._]
[14 still ... faign'd] _1669 om._ still _and reads_ faigned]
[18 My soule ... to thee] From other lands my soule towards thee _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _M_(to), _N_, _P_, _S_, _TC_, _W_
soare. _Ed:_ soare, _1635-69_]
[21 harshness] rashness _P_. _Compare_ Elegy V, 8]
[23 Faire Orithea] The fair Orithea _1669_]
[26 Lovers] friends _P_]
[28 mindes; _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _JC_, _N_, _TC_, _W:_ minde, _1635-69_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_]
[29 onely; _A18_, _D_, _N_, _TC:_ onely. _1635-69_]
[35 Loves fuellers,] Lyves fuellers, _1669_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _S96_, _P_]
[37 Will quickly know thee, and no lesse, alas! _1635-54_, _O'F:_ Will too too quickly know thee; and alas, _1669:_ Will quickly know thee, and know thee, and alas _A18_, _N_, _S_ (_omitting second_ and), _TCD_, _W:_ Will quickly know thee, and thee, and alas _A25:_ Will quickly know thee, and alas _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _P_, _S96_, _TCC_]
[39 Page, _Ed:_ Page _1635-39_]
[40 hunt _1635-69_, _O'F:_ haunt _most MSS._]
[42 hydroptique] Aydroptique _1669_]
[46 greatest _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _P:_ greate _A18_, _A25_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _TC_
call] doe call _A18_, _N_, _TC_
to] in to _A25_, _JC_, _S_]
[49 me, nor blesse] me; Blesse _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _TC_, _W_]
Elegie Xvii.
ELEGIE XVII.
_Variety._
The heavens rejoyce in motion, why should I Abjure my so much lov'd variety, And not with many youth and love divide? Pleasure is none, if not diversifi'd: The sun that sitting in the chaire of light 5 Sheds flame into what else so ever doth seem bright, Is not contented at one Signe to Inne, But ends his year and with a new beginnes. All things doe willingly in change delight, The fruitfull mother of our appetite: 10 Rivers the clearer and more pleasing are, Where their fair spreading streames run wide and farr; And a dead lake that no strange bark doth greet, Corrupts it self and what doth live in it. Let no man tell me such a one is faire, 15 And worthy all alone my love to share. Nature in her hath done the liberall part Of a kinde Mistresse, and imploy'd her art To make her loveable, and I aver Him not humane that would turn back from her: 20 I love her well, and would, if need were, dye To doe her service. But followes it that I Must serve her onely, when I may have choice Of other beauties, and in change rejoice? The law is hard, and shall not have my voice. 25 The last I saw in all extreames is faire, And holds me in the Sun-beames of her haire; Her nymph-like features such agreements have That I could venture with her to the grave: Another's brown, I like her not the worse, 30 Her tongue is soft and takes me with discourse. Others, for that they well descended are, Do in my love obtain as large a share; And though they be not fair, 'tis much with mee To win their love onely for their degree. 35 And though I faile of my required ends, The attempt is glorious and it self commends. How happy were our Syres in ancient times, Who held plurality of loves no crime! With them it was accounted charity 40 To stirre up race of all indifferently; Kindreds were not exempted from the bands: Which with the Persian still in usage stands. Women were then no sooner asked then won, And what they did was honest and well done. 45 But since this title honour hath been us'd, Our weake credulity hath been abus'd; The golden laws of nature are repeald, Which our first Fathers in such reverence held; Our liberty's revers'd, our Charter's gone, 50 And we're made servants to opinion, A monster in no certain shape attir'd, And whose originall is much desir'd, Formlesse at first, but goeing on it fashions, And doth prescribe manners and laws to nations. 55 Here love receiv'd immedicable harmes, And was dispoiled of his daring armes. A greater want then is his daring eyes, He lost those awfull wings with which he flies; His sinewy bow, and those immortall darts 60 Wherewith he'is wont to bruise resisting hearts. Onely some few strong in themselves and free Retain the seeds of antient liberty, Following that part of Love although deprest, And make a throne for him within their brest, 65 In spight of modern censures him avowing Their Soveraigne, all service him allowing. Amongst which troop although I am the least, Yet equall in perfection with the best, I glory in subjection of his hand, 70 Nor ever did decline his least command: For in whatever forme the message came My heart did open and receive the same. But time will in his course a point discry When I this loved service must deny, 75 For our allegiance temporary is, With firmer age returnes our liberties. What time in years and judgement we repos'd, Shall not so easily be to change dispos'd, Nor to the art of severall eyes obeying; 80 But beauty with true worth securely weighing, Which being found assembled in some one, Wee'l love her ever, and love her alone.
[Elegie XVII. Variety. _Ed: printed for first time without title in appendix to 1650 and so in 1669 and 1719:_ An Elegie. _A10:_ Elegie 17^{the}. _JC_]
[1 motion, why _Ed:_ motion why, _1650-69_]
[3 love divide? _MSS.:_ lov'd divide? _1650-69_]
[4 diversifi'd: _Ed:_ diversifi'd _1650-69_]
[6 what else so ever doth seem _1650-69:_ what else is not so _A10_]
[12 fair-spreading _1650-69_, _JC:_ broad silver _A10_
and farr; _A10_, _JC:_ and cleare; _1650-69_]
[14 it self and _1650-69:_ it self, kills _A10_]
[16 And only worthy to be past compare; _A10_]
[19 aver] ever _1650-69_]
[20 would turn back from _1650-69:_ could not fancy _A10_]
[24 Of other beauties, and in change rejoice? _A10:_ _om. 1650-69_]
[25-36 _omitted in A10_]
[30 brown, _Ed:_ brown _1650-69_]
[32 are _JC:_ were _1650-69_]
[39 crime! _Ed:_ crime? _1650-69_]
[43 Persian _1650-54_, _JC:_ Persians _1669_, _A10_]
[46 title _A10_, _JC:_ little _1650-69_]
[50 liberty's _Ed:_ liberty _1650-69_, _JC_
revers'd, our _A10:_ revers'd and _1650-69_, _JC_]
[51 we're _A10:_ we _1650-69_, _JC_]
[53 whose originall _1650-69_, _JC:_ one whose origin _A10_]
[54 goeing on it fashions _A10:_ growing on it fashions _JC:_ growing on its fashions, _1650-69_]
[55 manners and laws to _1650-69_, _JC:_ Lawes, Manners unto _A10_]
[57 armes. _A10:_ armes, _1650-69_]
[58 is _1650-69:_ of _A10_]
[61 bruise _1650-69_ wound _A10_
hearts. _Ed:_ hearts; _1650-69_]
[63 seeds of antient _1650-69_, _JC:_ seed of pristine _A10_]
[64 Love] love _1650-69_]
[70 of his _1650-69:_ under's _A10_]
[71 Nor ... decline _1650-69:_ Never declining from _A10_]
[72-7 _omitted in A10_]
[73 same. _Ed:_ same: _1650-69:_ flame _JC_]
[75 deny, _Ed:_ deny. _1650-69_]
[79 dispos'd, _Ed:_ dispos'd _1650-69_]
[80 obeying; _Ed:_ obeying, _1650-69_]
[81 securely _1650-69:_ unpartially _A10_]
[82 being _1650-69:_ having _A10_
one, _Ed:_ one _1650-69_]
[83 Wee'l love her ever, _Ed:_ Wee'l leave her ever, _1650-69_, _JC:_ Would love for ever, _A10_]
Elegie Xviii.
ELEGIE XVIII.
_Loves Progress._
Who ever 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're lick Our love, and force it new strange shapes to take, 5 We erre, and of a lump a monster make. Were not a Calf a monster that were grown Face'd like a man, though better then his own? Perfection is in unitie: preferr One woman first, and then one thing in her. 10 I, when I value gold, may think upon The ductilness, the application, The wholsomness, the ingenuitie, From rust, from soil, from fire ever free: But if I love it, 'tis because 'tis made 15 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 then to say They love them for that, by which they're not they? 20 Makes virtue woman? must I cool my bloud 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 beauty'is not nor wealth: He that strayes thus 25 From her to hers, is more adulterous, Then if he took her maid. Search every spheare And firmament, our _Cupid_ is not there: He's an infernal god and under ground, With _Pluto_ dwells, where gold and fire abound: 30 Men to such Gods, their sacrificing Coles Did not in Altars lay, but pits and holes. Although we see Celestial bodies move Above the earth, the earth we Till and love: So we her ayres contemplate, words and heart, 35 And virtues; but we love the Centrique part. Nor is the soul more worthy, or more fit For love, then this, as infinite as it. But in attaining this desired place How much they erre; that set out at the face? 40 The hair a Forest is of Ambushes, Of springes, snares, fetters and manacles: The brow becalms us when 'tis smooth and plain, And when 'tis wrinckled, shipwracks us again. Smooth, 'tis a Paradice, where we would have 45 Immortal stay, and wrinkled 'tis our grave. The Nose (like to the first Meridian) runs Not 'twixt an East and West, but 'twixt two suns; It leaves a Cheek, a rosie Hemisphere On either side, and then directs us where 50 Upon the Islands fortunate we fall, (Not faynte _Canaries_, but _Ambrosiall_) Her swelling lips; To which when wee are come, We anchor there, and think our selves at home, For they seem all: there Syrens songs, and there 55 Wise Delphick Oracles do fill the ear; There in a Creek where chosen pearls do swell, The Remora, her cleaving tongue doth dwell. These, and the glorious Promontory, her Chin Ore past; and the streight _Hellespont_ betweene 60 The _Sestos_ and _Abydos_ of her breasts, (Not of two Lovers, but two Loves the neasts) Succeeds a boundless sea, but yet thine eye Some Island moles may scattered there descry; And Sailing towards her _India_, in that way 65 Shall at her fair Atlantick Navell stay; Though thence the Current be thy Pilot made, Yet ere thou be where thou wouldst be embay'd, Thou shalt upon another Forest set, Where many Shipwrack, and no further get. 70 When thou art there, consider what this chace Mispent by thy beginning at the face. Rather set out below; practice my Art, Some Symetry the foot hath with that part Which thou dost seek, and is thy Map for that 75 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; 'tis the first part that comes to bed. 80 Civilitie we see refin'd: 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 85 Rise from the foot, Lovers may do so too; For as free Spheres move faster far then can Birds, whom the air resists, so may that man Which goes this empty and Ætherial way, Then if at beauties elements he stay. 90 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, 95 As who by Clyster gave the Stomack meat.
[Elegie XVIII. _&c._ _Ed:_ Elegie XVIII. _1669, where it is first included among the Elegies. It had already been printed in_ Wit and Drollery. By Sir J. M., J. S., Sir W. D., J. D., and the most refined Wits of the Age. _1661. It appears in A18, A25, B, Cy, D, H49, Lec, N, O'F, S, S96, TC, with title_ Loves Progress., _or_ Elegie. on Loves Progresse., _or with no title_]
[4 Love is a _1669:_ And Love's a _MSS._]
[5 strange _1661 and MSS.:_ strong _1669_]
[11 I,] I _1669_]
[14 ever _1669:_ for ever _O'F_, _S_, _S96_]
[16 (our new nature) use, _1661_]
[17 these _1669 and MSS.:_ this _1661_, _Cy_, _P_, _Chambers_]
[20 them] _om. 1661_]
[25 beauty'is not _1661 and MSS.:_ beauties no _1669_
thus] thus: _1669_]
[27 Then if he took] Then he that took _1661_, _B_ (takes), _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_
spheare] sphear _1669_]
[30 abound: _Ed:_ abound, _1669_]
[32 in _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _TC:_ on _1669_, _A25_
holes.] holes: _1669_]
[38 infinite] infinit _1669_]
[40 erre _1661-69_, _S_, _S96:_ stray _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _TC_]
[42 springes, _H49 and some MSS.:_ springs, _1669_]
[46 and _1661_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _S96_, _TC:_ but _1669_
our _1661_, _MSS.:_ a _1669_]
[47 first Meridian _1661 and MSS.:_ sweet Meridian _1669_.]
[52-3 (Not ... Ambrosiall) ... lips _&c._ _1661 and MSS._ (_not always with brackets and sometimes with_ No _for_ Not _and_ Canary): Not ... Ambrosiall. Unto her swelling lips when we are come, _1669_]
[55 For they seem all: there _1669_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _TC:_ For they sing all their _1661_, _Cy_, _P_]
[57 There _1661 and MSS.:_ Then _1669_
swell, _Ed:_ swell _1669_]
[58 Rhemora _1669_]
[59 the glorious Promontory,] _brackets and no comma, 1669_]
[60 Ore past; ... betweene _1661 and MSS.:_ Being past the Straits of _Hellespont_ between _1669_]
[62 Loves] loves _1669_]
[63 yet] that _D, H49, Lec, and other MSS._]
[65 Sailing] Sailng _1669_]
[66 Navell] Naval _1669_]
[67 thence _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ there _1661-9_, _N_(?): hence _P_
thy _all MSS.:_ the _1661-9_]
[68 wouldst _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ shouldst _1669_]
[70 many _1669:_ some doe _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_]
[73 my _1669_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD:_ thy _Chambers:_ thine _A18_, _TCC_]
[80 the] _bis 1669_]
[81-2 Civilitie, we see, refin'd the kisse Which at the face begonne, transplanted is _D_, _H49_, _Lec_]
[83 Imperial] imperial _1669_]
[86 too;] too. _1669_]
[90 elements _1661 and MSS.:_ enemies _1669_]
[91 hath] _Chambers omits_]
[93 owe,] owe _1669_]
[96 Clyster gave _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _TC:_ glister gives _1669_]
Elegie Xix.
ELEGIE XIX.
_Going to Bed._
Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defie, Until I labour, I in labour lie. The foe oft-times having the foe in sight, Is tir'd with standing though he never fight. Off with that girdle, like heavens Zone glittering, 5 But a far fairer world incompassing. Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear, That th'eyes of busie fooles may be stopt there. Unlace your self, for that harmonious chyme, Tells me from you, that now it is bed time. 10 Off with that happy busk, which I envie, That still can be, and still can stand so nigh. Your gown going off, such beautious state reveals, As when from flowry meads th'hills shadow steales. Off with that wyerie Coronet and shew 15 The haiery Diademe which on you doth grow: Now off with those shooes, and then safely tread In this loves hallow'd temple, this soft bed. In such white robes, heaven's Angels us'd to be Receavd by men; Thou Angel bringst with thee 20 A heaven like Mahomets Paradise; and though Ill spirits walk in white, we easly know, By this these Angels from an evil sprite, Those set our hairs, but these our flesh uprigh Licence my roaving hands, and let them go, 25 Before, behind, between, above, below. O my America! my new-found-land, My kingdome, safliest when with one man man'd, My Myne of precious stones, My Emperie, How blest am I in this discovering thee! 30 To enter in these bonds, is to be free; Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be. Full nakedness! All joyes are due to thee, As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth'd must be, To taste whole joyes. Gems which you women use 35 Are like Atlanta's balls, cast in mens views, That when a fools eye lighteth on a Gem, His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them. Like pictures, or like books gay coverings made For lay-men, are all women thus array'd; 40 Themselves are mystick books, which only wee (Whom their imputed grace will dignifie) Must see reveal'd. Then since that I may know; As liberally, as to a Midwife, shew Thy self: cast all, yea, this white lynnen hence, 45 There is no pennance due to innocence. To teach thee, I am naked first; why than What needst thou have more covering then a man.
[Elegie XIX. _&c. Ed: in 1669_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W_
Appeared in 1669 edition after the Elegies, unnumbered but with the heading_ To his Mistris going to Bed. _The MSS. include it among the Elegies either with no heading, or simply_ Elegye, _or numbered according to the scheme adopted: B gives title which I have adopted as consistent with other titles_]
[4 he _1669:_ they _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TC_]
[5 glittering] glistering _MSS._]
[8 That I may see my shrine that shines so fair. _Cy_, _P_]
[10 it is _1669:_ 'tis your _MSS._]
[11 which] whom _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _S_, _TC_, _W_]
[14 from _MSS.:_ through _1669_
shadow] shadows _1669_]
[16 Diademe ... grow: _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _TC:_ Diadem which on your head doth grow: _1669:_ Diadems which on you do grow. _S_, _Chambers_]
[17 Now ... shooes, _1669_, _JC_, _W:_ Off ... shoes _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _TC:_ Off with those hose and shoes _S_
safely _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_, _W:_ softly _1669_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _P_]
[20 Receavd by men; Thou _all MSS.:_ Reveal'd to men; thou _1669_]
[21 Paradise; _Ed:_ Paradice, _1669_]
[22 Ill _1669_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_, _W:_ All _B, O'F, P, and Chambers' conjecture_
spirits _1669_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _S:_ angels _O'F_, _S96_
white, _Ed:_ white; _1669_]
[26 below. _Ed:_ below, _1669_]
[28 kingdome, _MSS.:_ Kingdom's _1669_
safeliest _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _TC:_ safest, _1669_
man'd, _Ed:_ man'd. _1669_]
[29 stones, _Ed:_ stones: _1669_]
[30 How blest am I _all MSS.:_ How am I blest _1669_
this _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _TC_, _W:_ thus _1669_, _A25_, _L74_, _S_
discovering] discovery _B_, _O'F_
thee! _Ed:_ thee? _1669_
be.] be, _1669_]
[35 Gems] Jems _1669: and so_ 37]
[36 like _1669:_ as _MSS._
balls, _MSS.:_ ball: _1669_]
[38 covet _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TC_, _W:_ court _1669_, _Cy_, _P_, _S_, _S96_
theirs, _A18_, _A25_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _S96_, _TC_, _W:_ those _S:_ that, _1669_, _B_, _O'F_
them.] them: _1669_]
[39 pictures, _Ed:_ pictures _1669_
made _Ed:_ made, _1669_]
[40 lay-men, _Ed:_ lay-men _1669_
array'd; _Ed:_ arrayed _1669_]
[41 Themselves ... only wee _A18_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_, _W:_ Themselves are only mystick books, which we, _1669_, _B_]
[43 see] be _A18_, _A25_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _TC_
reveal'd] revealed _1669_]
[44 a _all MSS.:_ thy _1669_
Midwife, _Ed:_ Midwife _1669_]
[45 hence, _Ed:_ hence _1669_]
[46 pennance due to innocence. _1669_, _B_, _Cy_, _JC_, _O'F_, _P_, _S:_ pennance, much less innocence; _A18_, _A25_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _S96_, _W_]
[47 thee, _Ed:_ thee _1669_
first; _Ed:_ first, _1669_]
Elegie Xx.
ELEGIE XX.
_Loves Warre._
Till I have peace with thee, warr other men, And when I have peace, can I leave thee then? All other Warrs are scrupulous; Only thou O fayr free Citty, maist thyselfe allowe To any one: In Flanders, who can tell 5 Whether the Master presse; or men rebell? Only we know, that which all Ideots say, They beare most blows which come to part the fray. France in her lunatique giddines did hate Ever our men, yea and our God of late; 10 Yet she relyes upon our Angels well, Which nere returne; no more then they which fell. Sick Ireland is with a strange warr possest Like to an Ague; now raging, now at rest; Which time will cure: yet it must doe her good 15 If she were purg'd, and her head vayne let blood. And Midas joyes our Spanish journeys give, We touch all gold, but find no food to live. And I should be in the hott parching clyme, To dust and ashes turn'd before my time. 20 To mew me in a Ship, is to inthrall Mee in a prison, that weare like to fall; Or in a Cloyster; save that there men dwell In a calme heaven, here in a swaggering hell. Long voyages are long consumptions, 25 And ships are carts for executions. Yea they are Deaths; Is't not all one to flye Into an other World, as t'is to dye? Here let mee warr; in these armes lett mee lye; Here lett mee parlee, batter, bleede, and dye. 30 Thyne armes imprison me, and myne armes thee; Thy hart thy ransome is; take myne for mee. Other men war that they their rest may gayne; But wee will rest that wee may fight agayne. Those warrs the ignorant, these th'experienc'd love, 35 There wee are alwayes under, here above. There Engins farr off breed a just true feare, Neere thrusts, pikes, stabs, yea bullets hurt not here. There lyes are wrongs; here safe uprightly lye; There men kill men, we'will make one by and by. 40 Thou nothing; I not halfe so much shall do In these Warrs, as they may which from us two Shall spring. Thousands wee see which travaile not To warrs; But stay swords, armes, and shott To make at home; And shall not I do then 45 More glorious service, staying to make men?
[Elegy XX _&c._ _Ed: First published in F. G. Waldron's_ A Collection of Miscellaneous Poetry, 1802, _from a MS. dated 1625; then by Sir J. Simeon in his_ Philobiblon Society _volume of 1856. It is included among Donne's_ Elegies _in A18, A25, B, Cy, D, H49, JC, L74, Lec, N, O'F, P, S, S96, TCC, TCD, W. In B it has the title_ Making of Men. _The present text is based on W_]
[7 all _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_, _W:_ most _JC_, _Chambers_]
[8 They beare most blows which (_or_ that) _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_, _W:_ They must bear blows, which _Chambers_]
[9 giddiness] guidings _Sim:_ giddinge _Wald_]
[11 well,] well _W_]
[13 a strange] straying _Sim_]
[16 head] dead _Sim_]
[19 the _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_, _W:_ that _Chambers_, _A25_, _JC_, _L74_, _O'F_]
[24 swaggering] swaying _Chambers_]
[25 consumptions,] consumptions _W:_ _line omitted_, _Wald_]
[29 lye] _spelt_ ly
_W:_ _and so_ 30 dy]
[33 gayne;] gayne _W_]
[37 There] These _Sim_
and, that, with, which] _contracted throughout_, _W_]
Heroicall Epistle.
HEROICALL EPISTLE.
_Sapho_ to _Philænis_.
Where is that holy fire, which _Verse_ is said To have? is that inchanting force decai'd? _Verse_ that drawes _Natures_ workes, from _Natures_ law, Thee, her best worke, to her worke cannot draw. Have my teares quench'd my old _Poetique_ fire; 5 Why quench'd they not as well, that of _desire_? Thoughts, my mindes creatures, often are with thee, But I, their maker, want their libertie. Onely thine image, in my heart, doth sit, But that is waxe, and fires environ it. 10 My fires have driven, thine have drawne it hence; And I am rob'd of _Picture_, _Heart_, and _Sense_. Dwells with me still mine irksome _Memory_, Which, both to keepe, and lose, grieves equally. That tells me'how faire thou art: Thou art so faire, 15 As, _gods_, when _gods_ to thee I doe compare, Are grac'd thereby; And to make blinde men see, What things _gods_ are, I say they'are like to thee. For, if we justly call each silly _man_ A _litle world_, What shall we call thee than? 20 Thou art not soft, and cleare, and strait, and faire, As _Down_, as _Stars_, _Cedars_, and _Lillies_ 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, 25 As thou, wast, art, and, oh, maist be ever. Here lovers sweare in their _Idolatrie_, That I am such; but _Griefe_ discolors me. And yet I grieve the lesse, least _Griefe_ remove My beauty, and make me'unworthy of thy love. 30 Plaies some soft boy with thee, oh there wants yet A mutuall feeling which should sweeten it. His chinne, a thorny hairy unevennesse Doth threaten, and some daily change possesse. Thy body is a naturall _Paradise_, 35 In whose selfe, unmanur'd, all pleasure lies, Nor needs _perfection_; why shouldst thou than Admit the tillage of a harsh rough man? Men leave behinde them that which their sin showes, And are as theeves trac'd, which rob when it snows. 40 But of our dallyance no more signes there are, Then _fishes_ leave in streames, or _Birds_ in aire. And betweene us all sweetnesse may be had; All, all that _Nature_ yields, or _Art_ can adde. My two lips, eyes, thighs, differ from thy two, 45 But so, as thine from one another doe; And, oh, no more; the likenesse being such, Why should they not alike in all parts touch? Hand to strange hand, lippe to lippe none denies; Why should they brest to brest, or thighs to thighs? 50 Likenesse begets such strange selfe flatterie, That touching my selfe, all seemes done to thee. My selfe I embrace, and mine owne hands I kisse, And amorously thanke my selfe for this. Me, in my glasse, I call thee; But alas, 55 When I would kisse, teares dimme mine _eyes_, and _glasse_. O cure this loving madnesse, and restore Me to mee; thee, my _halfe_, my _all_, my _more_. So may thy cheekes red outweare scarlet dye, And their white, whitenesse of the _Galaxy_, 60 So may thy mighty, amazing beauty move _Envy_'in all _women_, and in all _men_, _love_, And so be _change_, and _sicknesse_, farre from thee, As thou by comming neere, keep'st them from me.
[Heroicall Epistle.] _In 1633_ Sapho to Philaenis _follows Basse's_ Epitaph upon Shakespeare, _and precedes_ The Annuntiation and Passion. _In 1635 it was placed with some other miscellaneous and dubious poems among the_ Letters to severall Personages, _where it has appeared in all subsequent editions. I have transferred it to the neighbourhood of the_ Elegies _and given it the title which seems to describe exactly the genre to which it belongs. In JC it is entitled_ Elegie 18_th._ _The other MSS. are A18, A25, O'F, N, P, TCC, TCD. In A25, JC, and P, ll. 31-54 are omitted_]
[2 have? _1650-69:_ have, _1633-39_]
[3 workes, _1633-39:_ worke, _1650-69_, _O'F_]
[8 maker, _1635-69:_ maker; _1633_]
[17 thereby; And _1635-69:_ thereby. And _1633_, _some copies_]
[22 As _Down_, _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ As dowves _P:_ As downs _O'F_. _See note_
_Cedars_,] as Cedars, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_]
[26 maist be ever. _1633_, _A18_, _A25_, _N_, _TC:_ maist thou be ever. _1635-69_, _O'F:_ shalt be for ever. _P:_ mayst thou be for ever. _JC_]
[33 thorny hairy _1633-69:_ thorney-hairy _TCD:_ thorny, hairy _modern edd._]
[40 are _Ed:_ are, _1633-69_]
[58 me to mee; thee, _1635-69_, _A18_, _A25_, _JC_, _N_, _P_, _TC_ (_generally_ mee, _in MSS.:_) me to mee; shee, _1633:_ me to thee, thee _Chambers_
_halfe_,] harte _A25_, _JC_, _P_]
[59-60
So may thy cheekes outweare all scarlet dye May blisse and thee be one eternallye _P:_ _om. JC_ ]
[61 mighty, amazing _Ed:_ mighty amazing _1633-69:_ almighty amazing _P_]
Epithalamions,
EPITHALAMIONS,
_OR_
Marriage Songs.
MARRIAGE SONGS.
_An Epithalamion, Or mariage Song on the Lady_ Elizabeth, _and_ Count Palatine _being married on St._ Valentines _day._
I.
Haile Bishop Valentine, whose day this is, All the Aire is thy Diocis, And all the chirping Choristers And other birds are thy Parishioners, Thou marryest every yeare 5 The Lirique Larke, and the grave whispering Dove, The Sparrow that neglects his life for love, The household Bird, with the red stomacher, Thou mak'st the black bird speed as soone, As doth the Goldfinch, or the Halcyon; 10 The husband cocke lookes out, and straight is sped, And meets his wife, which brings her feather-bed. This day more cheerfully then ever shine, This day, which might enflame thy self, Old Valentine.
II.
Till now, Thou warmd'st with multiplying loves 15 Two larkes, two sparrowes, or two Doves, All that is nothing unto this, For thou this day couplest two Phœnixes; Thou mak'st a Taper see What the sunne never saw, and what the Arke 20 (Which was of soules, and beasts, the cage, and park,) Did not containe, one bed containes, through Thee, Two Phœnixes, whose joyned breasts Are unto one another mutuall nests, Where motion kindles such fires, as shall give 25 Yong Phœnixes, 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 faire Phœnix Bride, frustrate the Sunne, Thy selfe from thine affection 30 Takest warmth enough, and from thine eye All lesser birds will take their Jollitie. Up, up, faire Bride, and call, Thy starres, from out their severall boxes, take Thy Rubies, Pearles, and Diamonds forth, and make 35 Thy selfe a constellation, of them All, And by their blazing, signifie, That a Great Princess falls, but doth not die; Bee thou a new starre, that to us portends Ends of much wonder; And be Thou those ends. 40 Since thou dost this day in new glory shine, May all men date Records, from this thy Valentine.
IIII.
Come forth, come forth, and as one glorious flame Meeting Another, growes the same, So meet thy Fredericke, and so 45 To an unseparable union growe. Since separation Falls not on such things as are infinite, Nor things which are but one, can disunite, You'are twice inseparable, great, and one; 50 Goe then to where the Bishop staies, To make you one, his way, which divers waies Must be effected; and when all is past, And that you'are one, by hearts and hands made fast, You two have one way left, your selves to'entwine, 55 Besides this Bishops knot, or Bishop Valentine.
V.
But oh, what ailes the Sunne, that here he staies, Longer to day, then other daies? Staies he new light from these to get? And finding here such store, is loth to set? 60 And why doe you two walke, So slowly pac'd in this procession? Is all your care but to be look'd upon, And be to others spectacle, and talke? The feast, with gluttonous delaies, 65 Is eaten, and too long their meat they praise, The masquers come too late, and'I thinke, will stay, Like Fairies, till the Cock crow them away. Alas, did not Antiquity assigne A night, as well as day, to thee, O Valentine? 70
VI.
They did, and night is come; and yet wee see Formalities retarding thee. What meane these Ladies, which (as though They were to take a clock in peeces,) goe So nicely about the Bride; 75 A Bride, before a good night could be said, Should vanish from her cloathes, into her bed, As Soules from bodies steale, and are not spy'd. But now she is laid; What though shee bee? Yet there are more delayes, For, where is he? 80 He comes, and passes through Spheare after Spheare, First her sheetes, then her Armes, then any where. Let not this day, then, but this night be thine, Thy day was but the eve to this, O Valentine.
VII.
Here lyes a shee Sunne, and a hee Moone here, 85 She gives the best light to his Spheare, Or each is both, and all, and so They unto one another nothing owe, And yet they doe, but are So just and rich in that coyne which they pay, 90 That neither would, nor needs forbeare, nor stay; Neither desires to be spar'd, 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 95 No such occasion to be liberall. More truth, more courage in these two do shine, Then all thy turtles have, and sparrows, Valentine.
VIII.
And by this act of these two Phenixes Nature againe restored is, 100 For since these two are two no more, Ther's but one Phenix still, as was before. Rest now at last, and wee As Satyres watch the Sunnes uprise, will stay Waiting, when your eyes opened, let out day, 105 Onely desir'd, because your face wee see; Others neare you shall whispering speake, And wagers lay, at which side day will breake, And win by'observing, then, whose hand it is That opens first a curtaine, hers or his; 110 This will be tryed to morrow after nine, Till which houre, wee thy day enlarge, O Valentine.
[Epithalamions, _&c._ _1635-69:_ _no general title_, _1633_. An Epithalamion, _&c._ _1633-69_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD_ (_most of the MSS. have the full title but with slight verbal variations_)]
[13 shine, _Ed:_ shine. _1633-69_]
[14 enflame] enflãe _1633_]
[18 Phœnixes; _Ed:_ Phœnixes, _1633:_ Phœnixes. _1635-69_]
[21 foules, _1633:_ fowle, _1635-69_]
[22 Thee, _1633_, _1650-69:_ Thee: _1635-39_]
[37 their blazing _1633-69_, _D_, _Lec:_ this blazing _A25_, _B_, _H49_, _JC_, _N_, _O'F_ (_altered to_ their), _P_, _TCD_]
[40 ends. _1635-69:_ ends, _1633_]
[42 this thy _1633-54_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ this day _1669_, _A25_, _JC_, _Chambers_]
[46 growe. _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ goe, _1633-69_, _Lec_]
[49 disunite, _Grolier:_ disunite. _1633-69 and Chambers_]
[56 Bishops knot, or Bishop Valentine. _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_ (our), _S96_, _TC_ Bishops knot, O Bishop Valentine. _1633-54:_ Bishops knot of Bishop Valentine. _1669:_ Bishops knot, of Bishop Valentine. _Chambers_]
[60 store, _1633_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD:_
starres, _1635-69_, _O'F_, _Chambers_]
[67 come too late, _1633:_ come late, _1635-69_]
[70 O Valentine? _1633-54_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ old Valentine? _1669_]
[81 passes _1633-39:_ passeth _1650-69_
Spheare, _Ed:_ Spheare. _1633:_ Spheare: _1635-69_]
[82 where. _1650-69:_ where, _1633-39_]
[85 here, _1633-39_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_
there, _1650-69_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_]
[91 stay;] stay, _1633_]
[92 spare, _1633-54:_ spare. _1669_]
[94 acquittances, _1635-69:_ acquittance, _1633_]
[96 such] _om._ _1669_]
[104 As ... uprise,] _brackets 1650-69_]
[105 day,] day. _1633_]
Ecclogue.
ECCLOGUE.
1613. _December_ 26.
Allophanes _finding_ Idios _in the country in Christmas time, reprehends his absence from court, at the mariage Of the Earle of Sommerset_, Idios _gives an account of his purpose therein, and of his absence thence_.
_Allophanes._
Vnseasonable man, statue of ice, What could to countries solitude entice Thee, in this yeares cold and decrepit time? Natures instinct drawes to the warmer clime Even small birds, who by that courage dare, 5 In numerous fleets, saile through their Sea, the aire. What delicacie can in fields appeare, Whil'st Flora'herselfe doth a freeze jerkin weare? Whil'st windes do all the trees and hedges strip Of leafes, to furnish roddes enough to whip 10 Thy madnesse from thee; and all springs by frost Have taken cold, and their sweet murmure lost; If thou thy faults or fortunes would'st lament With just solemnity, do it in Lent; At Court the spring already advanced is, 15 The Sunne stayes longer up; and yet not his The glory is, farre other, other fires. First, zeale to Prince and State; then loves desires Burne in one brest, and like heavens two great lights, The first doth governe dayes, the other nights. 20 And then that early light, which did appeare Before the Sunne and Moone created were, The Princes favour is defus'd o'r all, From which all Fortunes, Names, and Natures fall; Then from those wombes of starres, the Brides bright eyes, 25 At every glance, a constellation flyes, And sowes the Court with starres, and doth prevent In light and power, the all-ey'd firmament; First her eyes kindle other Ladies eyes, Then from their beames their jewels lusters rise, 30 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 darke plotts, fire without light doth dwell: Or but like Stoves, for lust and envy get 35 Continuall, but artificiall heat; Here zeale and love growne one, all clouds disgest, And make our Court an everlasting East. And can'st thou be from thence?
_Idios._ No, I am there. As heaven, to men dispos'd, is every where, 40 So are those Courts, whose Princes animate, Not onely all their house, but all their State. Let no man thinke, because he is full, he hath all, Kings (as their patterne, God) are liberall Not onely in fulnesse, but capacitie, 45 Enlarging narrow men, to feele and see, And comprehend the blessings they bestow. So, reclus'd hermits often times do know More of heavens glory, then a worldling can. As man is of the world, the heart of man, 50 Is an epitome of Gods great booke Of creatures, and man need no farther looke; So is the Country of Courts, where sweet peace doth, As their one common soule, give life to both, I am not then from Court.
_Allophanes._ Dreamer, thou art. 55 Think'st thou fantastique that thou hast a part In the East-Indian fleet, because thou hast A little spice, or Amber in thy taste? Because thou art not frozen, art thou warme? Seest thou all good because thou seest no harme? 60 The earth doth in her inward bowels hold Stuffe well dispos'd, and which would faine be gold, But never shall, except it chance to lye, So upward, that heaven gild it with his eye; As, for divine things, faith comes from above, 65 So, for best civill use, all tinctures move From higher powers; From God religion springs, Wisdome, and honour from the use of Kings. Then unbeguile thy selfe, and know with mee, That Angels, though on earth employd they bee, 70 Are still in heav'n, so is hee still at home That doth, abroad, to honest actions come. Chide thy selfe then, O foole, which yesterday Might'st have read more then all thy books bewray; Hast thou a history, which doth present 75 A Court, where all affections do assent Unto the Kings, 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; 80 Where the Kings favours are so plac'd, that all Finde that the King therein is liberall To them, in him, because his favours bend To vertue, to the which they all pretend? Thou hast no such; yet here was this, and more, 85 An earnest lover, wise then, and before. Our little Cupid hath sued Livery, And is no more in his minority, Hee is admitted now into that brest Where the Kings Counsells and his secrets rest. 90 What hast thou lost, O ignorant man?
_Idios._ I knew All this, and onely therefore I withdrew. To know and feele all this, and not to have Words to expresse it, makes a man a grave Of his owne thoughts; I would not therefore stay 95 At a great feast, having no Grace to say. And yet I scap'd not here; for being come Full of the common joy, I utter'd some; Reade then this nuptiall song, which was not made Either the Court or mens hearts to invade, 100 But since I'am dead, and buried, I could frame No Epitaph, which might advance my fame So much as this poore song, which testifies I did unto that day some sacrifice.
Epithalamion. I.
EPITHALAMION.
I.
_The time of the Mariage_.
Thou art repriv'd old yeare, thou shalt not die, 105 Though thou upon thy death bed lye, And should'st within five dayes expire, Yet thou art rescu'd by a mightier fire, Then thy old Soule, the Sunne, When he doth in his largest circle runne. 110 The passage of the West or East would thaw, And open wide their easie liquid jawe To all our ships, could a Promethean art Either unto the Northerne Pole impart The fire of these inflaming eyes, or of this loving heart. 115
II.
_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? Be tryed by beauty, and than 120 The bridegroome is a maid, and not a man. If by that manly courage they be tryed, Which scornes unjust opinion; then the bride Becomes a man. Should chance or envies Art Divide these two, whom nature scarce did part? 125 Since both have both th'enflaming eyes, and both the loving heart.
III.
_Raysing of the Bridegroome_.
Though it be some divorce to thinke of you Singly, so much one are you two, Yet let me here contemplate thee, First, cheerfull Bridegroome, and first let mee see, 130 How thou prevent'st the Sunne, And his red foming horses dost outrunne, How, having laid downe in thy Soveraignes brest All businesses, from thence to reinvest Them, when these triumphs cease, thou forward art 135 To shew to her, who doth the like impart, The fire of thy inflaming eyes, and of thy loving heart.
IIII.
_Raising of the Bride._
But now, to Thee, faire Bride, it is some wrong, To thinke thou wert in Bed so long, Since Soone thou lyest downe first, tis fit 140 Thou in first rising should'st allow for it. Pouder thy Radiant haire, Which if without such ashes thou would'st weare, Thou, which to all which come to looke upon, Art meant for Phœbus, would'st be Phaëton. 145 For our ease, give thine eyes th'unusual part Of joy, a Teare; so quencht, thou maist impart, To us that come, thy inflaming eyes, to him, thy loving heart.
V.
_Her Apparrelling._
Thus thou descend'st to our infirmitie, Who can the Sun in water see. 150 Soe dost thou, when in silke and gold, Thou cloudst thy selfe; since wee which doe behold, Are dust, and wormes, 'tis just Our objects be the fruits of wormes and dust; Let every Jewell be a glorious starre, 155 Yet starres are not so pure, as their spheares are. And though thou stoope, to'appeare to us in part, Still in that Picture thou intirely art, Which thy inflaming eyes have made within his loving heart.
VI.
_Going to the Chappell._
Now from your Easts you issue forth, and wee, 160 As men which through a Cipres see The rising sun, doe thinke it two, Soe, as you goe to Church, doe thinke of you, But that vaile being gone, By the Church rites you are from thenceforth one. 165 The Church Triumphant made this match before, And now the Militant doth strive no more; Then, reverend Priest, who Gods Recorder art, Doe, from his Dictates, to these two impart All blessings, which are seene, or thought, by Angels eye or heart. 170
VII.
_The Benediction._
Blest payre of Swans, Oh may you interbring Daily new joyes, and never sing, Live, till all grounds of wishes faile, Till honor, yea till wisedome grow so stale, That, new great heights to trie, 175 It must serve your ambition, to die; Raise heires, and may here, to the worlds end, live Heires from this King, to take thankes, you, to give, Nature and grace doe all, and nothing Art. May never age, or error overthwart 180 With any West, these radiant eyes, with any North, this heart.
VIII.
_Feasts and Revells._
But you are over-blest. Plenty this day Injures; it causeth time to stay; The tables groane, as though this feast Would, as the flood, destroy all fowle and beast. 185 And were the doctrine new That the earth mov'd, this day would make it true; For every part to dance and revell goes. They tread the ayre, and fal not where they rose. Though six houres since, the Sunne to bed did part, 190 The masks and banquets will not yet impart A sunset to these weary eyes, A Center to this heart.
IX.
_The Brides going to bed._
What mean'st thou Bride, this companie to keep? To sit up, till thou faine wouldst sleep? Thou maist not, when thou art laid, doe so. 195 Thy selfe must to him a new banquet grow, And you must entertaine And doe all this daies dances o'r againe. Know that if Sun and Moone together doe Rise in one point, they doe not set so too; 200 Therefore thou maist, faire Bride, to bed depart, Thou art not gone, being gone; where e'r thou art, Thou leav'st in him thy watchfull eyes, in him thy loving heart.
X.
_The Bridegroomes comming._
As he that sees a starre fall, runs apace, And findes a gellie in the place, 205 So doth the Bridegroome hast as much, Being told this starre is falne, and findes her such. And as friends may looke strange, By a new fashion, or apparrells change, Their soules, though long acquainted they had beene, 210 These clothes, their bodies, never yet had seene; Therefore at first shee modestly might start, But must forthwith surrender every part, As freely, as each to each before, gave either eye or heart.
XI.
_The good-night._
Now, as in Tullias tombe, one lampe burnt cleare, 215 Unchang'd for fifteene hundred yeare, May these love-lamps we here enshrine, In warmth, light, lasting, equall the divine. Fire ever doth aspire, And makes all like it selfe, turnes all to fire, 220 But ends in ashes, which these cannot doe, For none of these is fuell, but fire too. This is joyes bonfire, then, where loves strong Arts Make of so noble individuall parts One fire of foure inflaming eyes, and of two loving hearts. 225
_Idios._
As I have brought this song, that I may doe A perfect sacrifice, I'll burne it too.
_Allophanes._
No S^{r}. This paper I have justly got, For, in burnt incense, the perfume is not His only that presents it, but of all; 230 What ever celebrates this Festivall Is common, since the joy thereof is so. Nor may your selfe be Priest: But let me goe, Backe to the Court, and I will lay'it upon Such Altars, as prize your devotion. 235
[ECCLOGUE. _&c._ _1633-69:_ _similarly_, _A18_, _A23_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[his absence thence. _1633, Lec:_ his Actions there. _1635-69_, _A18_, _H49_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC:_ his absence then. _D_, _S96_]
[2 countries] country _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[4 clime _1633-39:_ clime: _1650-69:_ clime. _D_]
[5 small _1633_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC:_
smaller _1635-69_, _Chambers_]
[12 Have _1633:_ Having _1635-69_
murmure _A18_, _A23_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC:_ murmures _1633-69_]
[22 were, _Ed:_ were; _1633-69_]
[29 kindle] kindles _1633_]
[34 plotts, _1635-69_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TC:_ places, _1633_, _1669_, _Lec_]
[37 disgest, _1633-39:_ digest, _1650-69_]
[39 there. _D:_ there _1633-69_]
[40 where, _1633:_ where: _1635-69_, _owing to the dropping of stop in previous line_]
[42 State.] State, _1633_]
[54 one _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC:_ own _1635-69_, _Lec_]
[55 I am ... Court. _1633_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _S96_, _TC:_ And am I then from Court? _1635-69_
art. _1650-69:_ art, _1633-39_]
[57 East-Indian _A18_, _A23_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TC:_ Indian _1633-69_]
[61 inward _A18_, _A23_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TC:_ inner _1633-69_]
[75 present] represent _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[78 trust? _Ed:_ trust. _1633-39:_ trust, _1650-69_]
[84 pretend? _Ed:_ pretend. _1633-69_]
[85 more, _1633:_ more. _1635-69_]
[86 before. _1633-69:_ before, _Chambers_. _See note_]
[92 withdrew.] withdrew _1633_]
[96 say. _1635-69:_ say, _1633_]
[98 joy, ... some; _Ed:_ joy; ... some, _1633:_ joy; ... some. _1635-69_]
[EPITHALAMION. _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _S96:_ _om. 1633-69_. _See note_]
[107 expire,] expire _1633-39_]
[108 by _1633:_ from _1635-69_]
[121 man. _1669_, _D:_ man, _1633-39:_ man; _1650-54_]
[124 or] our _1669_]
[126 both th'enflaming eyes, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TC:_ th'enflaming eye, _1633:_ the enflaming eye, _1635-69_]
[128 Singly, _A18_, _A23_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TC:_ Single, _1633-69_, _Lec_]
[129 Yet let _A23_, _O'F:_ Let _1633-69_]
[141 should'st] should _1669_
it. _1635-69:_ it, _1633_]
[144 Thou, which _D:_ Thou, which, _1633:_ Thou which, _1635-69_]
[145 Art _A18_, _B_, _S96_, _TCC:_ Are _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_ Wert _1635-69_, _O'F_
for] for, _1633_]
[Phaëton. _1635-69:_ Phaëton, _1633_]
[146 ease, ... eyes _1635-69:_ ease, ... eyes, _1633_]
[150 see. _1633-69:_ see; _Grolier_. _But see note_]
[157 stoope, ... us _1633-69:_ stoope, ... us, _1633_]
[167 more; _Ed:_ more, _1633:_ more. _1635-69_]
[170 or thought] Or thought _1633_]
[172 sing, _1633:_ sing: _1635-69_]
[178 you, yours, _A23_, _B_, _D_, _O'F_, _S96_
give, _1633:_ give. _1635-69_]
[179 Art. _Ed:_ Art, _1633-69_]
[194 wouldst] would _1669_]
[200 too; _Ed:_ too. _1635-69:_ to. _1633_]
[202 being gone; _Ed:_ being gone, _1633-39:_ being gone _1650-69_]
[207 such. _1635-69:_ such, _1633_]
[211 seene; _Ed:_ seene. _1633-69_]
[214 eye] hand _1650-69_]
[215 burnt] burn _1669_]
[218 divine. _1635-69:_ divine; _1633_]
[230 all; _1635-69:_ all, _1633_]
_Epithalamion made at Lincolnes Inne._
The Sun-beames in the East are spred, Leave, leave, faire Bride, your solitary bed, No more shall you returne to it alone, It nourseth sadnesse, and your bodies print, Like to a grave, the yielding downe doth dint; 5 You and your other you meet there anon; Put forth, put forth that warme balme-breathing thigh, Which when next time you in these sheets wil smother, There it must meet another, Which never was, but must be, oft, more nigh; 10 Come glad from thence, goe gladder then you came, _To day put on perfection, and a womans name_.
Daughters of London, you which bee Our Golden Mines, and furnish'd Treasurie, You which are Angels, yet still bring with you 15 Thousands of Angels on your mariage daies, Help with your presence and devise to praise These rites, which also unto you grow due; Conceitedly dresse her, and be assign'd, By you, fit place for every flower and jewell, 20 Make her for love fit fewell As gay as Flora, and as rich as Inde; So may shee faire, rich, glad, and in nothing lame, _To day put on perfection, and a womans name_. And you frolique Patricians, 25 Sonns of these Senators wealths deep oceans, Ye painted courtiers, barrels of others wits, Yee country men, who but your beasts love none, Yee of those fellowships whereof hee's one, Of study and play made strange Hermaphrodits, 30 Here shine; This Bridegroom to the Temple bring. Loe, in yon path which store of straw'd flowers graceth, The sober virgin paceth; Except my sight faile, 'tis no other thing; Weep not nor blush, here is no griefe nor shame, 35 _To day put on perfection, and a womans name_.
Thy two-leav'd gates faire Temple unfold, And these two in thy sacred bosome hold, Till, mystically joyn'd, but one they bee; Then may thy leane and hunger-starved wombe 40 Long time expect their bodies and their tombe, Long after their owne parents fatten thee. All elder claimes, and all cold barrennesse, All yeelding to new loves bee far for ever, Which might these two dissever, 45 All wayes all th'other may each one possesse; For, the best Bride, best worthy of praise and fame, _To day puts on perfection, and a womans name_.
Oh winter dayes bring much delight, Not for themselves, but for they soon bring night; 50 Other sweets wait thee then these diverse meats, Other disports then dancing jollities, Other love tricks then glancing with the eyes, But that the Sun still in our halfe Spheare sweates; Hee flies in winter, but he now stands still. 55 Yet shadowes turne; Noone point he hath attain'd, His steeds nill bee restrain'd, But gallop lively downe the Westerne hill; Thou shalt, when he hath runne the worlds half frame, _To night put on perfection, and a womans name_. 60
The amorous evening starre is rose, Why then should not our amorous starre inclose Her selfe in her wish'd bed? Release your strings Musicians, and dancers take some truce With these your pleasing labours, for great use 65 As much wearinesse as perfection brings; You, and not only you, but all toyl'd beasts Rest duly; at night all their toyles are dispensed; But in their beds commenced Are other labours, and more dainty feasts; 70 She goes a maid, who, least she turne the same, _To night puts on perfection, and a womans name_.
Thy virgins girdle now untie, And in thy nuptiall bed (loves altar) lye A pleasing sacrifice; now dispossesse 75 Thee of these chaines and robes which were put on T'adorne the day, not thee; for thou, alone, Like vertue'and truth, art best in nakednesse; This bed is onely to virginitie A grave, but, to a better state, a cradle; 80 Till now thou wast but able To be what now thou art; then that by thee No more be said, _I may bee_, but, _I am_, _To night put on perfection, and a womans name_. Even like a faithfull man content, 85 That this life for a better should be spent, So, shee a mothers rich stile doth preferre, And at the Bridegroomes wish'd approach doth lye, Like an appointed lambe, when tenderly The priest comes on his knees t'embowell her; 90 Now sleep or watch with more joy; and O light Of heaven, to morrow rise thou hot, and early; This Sun will love so dearely Her rest, that long, long we shall want her sight; Wonders are wrought, for shee which had no maime, 95 _To night puts on perfection, and a womans name_.
[Epithalamion _&c._ _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_ Epithalamion on a Citizen. _A34_, _B_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96:_ _do._ of the La: Eliz: _P:_ Epithalamion. _W_]
[4 bodies _1635-69 and MSS.:_ body _1633_]
[8 smother, _1650-69:_ smother _1633-39_]
[17 presence _Ed:_ presence, _1633-69_. _See note_]
[22 faire, rich, glad, and in _A18_, _N_, _TC_, _W:_ faire and rich, in _1633-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_]
[25 Patricians,] Patricians _1633_]
[26 Sonns of ... deep oceans, _Ed:_ Some of these Senators wealths deep oceans, _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ Sonnes of these Senatours, wealths deep oceans _W:_ Sonnes of those Senatours, wealths deepe oceans, _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _S96_ (_but_ Senators _O'F_, _S96_). _See note_]
[29 those fellowships] that Fellowship _S96_]
[31 bring. _W:_ bring _1633-39:_ bring, _1650-69_]
[32 straw'd] strow'd _1669_]
[42 thee. _1635-69:_ thee; _1633_]
[46 All wayes _W:_ Alwaies, _1633:_ Alwayes, _1635-69_]
[49 Oh winter dayes _A34_, _B_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _W:_ Winter dayes _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[53 eyes, _1635-69:_ eyes; _1633_]
[55 still. _W:_ still, _1633-69_]
[57 nill _W:_ will _1633-69 and rest of MSS.:_ _B inserts_ not. _See note_]
[59 runne the worlds halfe frame, _A34_, _B_, _S96_, _W:_ runne the Heavens halfe frame, _1635-69_, _O'F:_ come the worlds half frame, _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[60 _put_] _but_ _1633_]
[72 _puts_] _put_ _1669_]
[73 Thy virgins girdle _1633-69_, _W:_ The Virgin Girdle _B_, _O'F_, _S96:_ Thy Virgin girdle _P_]
[74 [loves alter] _1633-69_]
[76 were] wee _some copies of 1633_, _Grolier_]
[78 art] are _1669_]
[86 spent, _Ed:_ spent; _1633:_ spent: _1635-69_]
[95 maime, _1633_, _W:_ name, _1635-69_, _A18_, _A34_, _B_, _N_, _P_, _S96_, _TC_]
Satyres.
SATYRES.
_Satyre I._
Away thou fondling motley humorist, Leave mee, and in this standing woodden chest, Consorted with these few bookes, let me lye In prison, and here be coffin'd, when I dye; Here are Gods conduits, grave Divines; and here 5 Natures Secretary, the Philosopher; And jolly Statesmen, which teach how to tie The sinewes of a cities mistique bodie; Here gathering Chroniclers, and by them stand Giddie fantastique Poëts of each land. 10 Shall I leave all this constant company, And follow headlong, wild uncertaine thee? First sweare by thy best love in earnest (If thou which lov'st all, canst love any best) Thou wilt not leave mee in the middle street, 15 Though some more spruce companion thou dost meet, Not though a Captaine do come in thy way Bright parcell gilt, with forty dead mens pay, Not though a briske perfum'd piert Courtier Deigne with a nod, thy courtesie to answer. 20 Nor come a velvet Justice with a long Great traine of blew coats, twelve, or fourteen strong, Wilt thou grin or fawne on him, or prepare A speech to Court his beautious sonne and heire! For better or worse take mee, or leave mee: 25 To take, and leave mee is adultery. Oh monstrous, superstitious puritan, Of refin'd manners, yet ceremoniall man, That when thou meet'st one, with enquiring eyes Dost search, and like a needy broker prize 30 The silke, and gold he weares, and to that rate So high or low, dost raise thy formall hat: That wilt consort none, untill thou have knowne What lands hee hath in hope, or of his owne, As though all thy companions should make thee 35 Jointures, and marry thy deare company. Why should'st thou (that dost not onely approve, But in ranke itchie lust, desire, and love The nakednesse and barenesse to enjoy, Of thy plumpe muddy whore, or prostitute boy) 40 Hate vertue, though shee be naked, and bare? At birth, and death, our bodies naked are; And till our Soules be unapparrelled Of bodies, they from blisse are banished. Mans first blest state was naked, when by sinne 45 Hee lost that, yet hee was cloath'd but in beasts skin, And in this course attire, which I now weare, With God, and with the Muses I conferre. But since thou like a contrite penitent, Charitably warn'd of thy sinnes, dost repent 50 These vanities, and giddinesses, loe I shut my chamber doore, and come, lets goe. But sooner may a cheape whore, who hath beene Worne by as many severall men in sinne, As are black feathers, or musk-colour hose, 55 Name her childs right true father, 'mongst all those: Sooner may one guesse, who shall beare away The Infanta of London, Heire to an India; And sooner may a gulling weather Spie By drawing forth heavens Scheme tell certainly 60 What fashioned hats, or ruffes, or suits next yeare Our subtile-witted antique youths will weare; Then thou, when thou depart'st from mee, canst show Whither, why, when, or with whom thou wouldst go. But how shall I be pardon'd my offence 65 That thus have sinn'd against my conscience? Now we are in the street; He first of all Improvidently proud, creepes to the wall, And so imprisoned, and hem'd in by mee Sells for a little state his libertie; 70 Yet though he cannot skip forth now to greet Every fine silken painted foole we meet, He them to him with amorous smiles allures, And grins, smacks, shrugs, and such an itch endures, As prentises, or schoole-boyes which doe know 75 Of some gay sport abroad, yet dare not goe. And as fidlers stop lowest, at highest sound, So to the most brave, stoops hee nigh'st the ground. But to a grave man, he doth move no more Then the wise politique horse would heretofore, 80 Or thou O Elephant or Ape wilt doe, When any names the King of Spaine to you. Now leaps he upright, Joggs me, & cryes, Do you see Yonder well favoured youth? Which? Oh, 'tis hee That dances so divinely; Oh, said I, 85 Stand still, must you dance here for company? Hee droopt, wee went, till one (which did excell Th'Indians, in drinking his Tobacco well) Met us; they talk'd; I whispered, let'us goe, 'T may be you smell him not, truely I doe; 90 He heares not mee, but, on the other side A many-coloured Peacock having spide, Leaves him and mee; I for my lost sheep stay; He followes, overtakes, goes on the way, Saying, him whom I last left, all repute 95 For his device, in hansoming a sute, To judge of lace, pinke, panes, print, cut, and plight, Of all the Court, to have the best conceit; Our dull Comedians want him, let him goe; But Oh, God strengthen thee, why stoop'st thou so? 100 Why? he hath travayld; Long? No; but to me (Which understand none,) he doth seeme to be Perfect French, and Italian; I replyed, So is the Poxe; He answered not, but spy'd More men of fort, of parts, and qualities; 105 At last his Love he in a windowe spies, And like light dew exhal'd, he flings from mee Violently ravish'd to his lechery. Many were there, he could command no more; Hee quarrell'd fought, bled; and turn'd out of dore 110 Directly came to mee hanging the head, And constantly a while must keepe his bed.
[Satyre I. _1633-69_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _W:_ Satyre the Second. _or_ Satyre 2. _A25_, _B_, _O'F:_ Satyre. _or_ A Satyre of Mr. John Donnes. _Cy_, _L74_, _S96:_ _no title_ (_but placed first_), _H51_, _N_, _TCD_]
[1 fondling _1633_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _TCD:_ changeling _1635-69_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _JC_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S96_, _W_]
[5 conduits, ... Divines; _1650-69_, _Q:_ conduits; ... Divines, _1633-39_]
[6 Is Natures Secretary, _1669_, _S96_
Philosopher; _Ed:_ Philosopher. _1633-39:_ Philosopher: _1659-69_]
[7 jolly _1633_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _Q_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_, _W:_ wily _1635-69_, _O'F:_ with _P_]
[12 headlong, wild uncertaine thee? _1633:_ _om. comma 1635-69 and Grolier_]
[13 love in earnest _1633_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_, _W:_ love, here, in earnest _1635-69_, _O'F_]
[16 dost. meet,] doe meet. _H51_, _Q_, _W_]
[19 Not _1633-69_, _A25_, _Lec_, _P_, _Q:_ Nor _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_, _W_
piert] neat _Q_]
[23 Wilt _1633-69_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_ Shalt _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _JC_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _S96_, _W_]
[24 heire! _Ed:_ heire? _1633-69_]
[25 or worse _1633-69_, _Cy_, _D_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _Q_, _TCD:_ and worse _A25_, _B_, _H49_, _H51_, _S96_, _W:_ or for worse _P:_ and for worse _JC_]
[27 Oh monstrous,] A (_i.e._ Ah) _or_ O Monster, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _JC_, _W_]
[29 eyes _1635-69:_ eyes; _1633_]
[32 raise _1633-69_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_ vaile _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _JC_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _W_
hat:] hate: _1633_]
[33 consort none,] consort with none, _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_
untill] till _1669_]
[37-40 _brackets_ _1650-69_, _Q:_ that ... boy _1633:_ that ... boy; _1635-39_]
[39 barenesse _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _JC_, _O'F_, _Q_, _W:_ barrennesse _1633-69_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _TCD_]
[40 Of] of _1633:_ or _1633_, _1669:_ _om. 1635-54_]
[41 bare? _1635-69:_ bare, _1633_]
[45 first blest _1633-69_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD_, _W:_ first best _A25_, _B_, _H51_, _JC_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_]
[46 yet _1633_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _Q_, _S_, _TCD:_ _om. 1635-69_, _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_]
[47 weare, _1650-69:_ weare _1633-39_]
[50 warn'd] warm'd _1633_]
[52 goe. _1635-69:_ goe, _1633_]
[54 Worne by] Worne out by _1650-69_]
[55 musk-colour _1633-35_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD_, _W:_ musk-coloured _1639-69_, _A25_, _P_, _Q_]
[58 The Infanta ... India; _Ed:_ The Infanta ... India, _A25_, _O'F_, _Q:_ The infant ... India, _1633-54 and MSS. generally:_ The Infantry of London, hence to India: _1669_]
[60 Scheme _1635-69_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _JC_, _Q:_ schemes _L74_, _S:_ sceames _N:_ Sceanes _1633_, _Cy_, _Lec_, _TCD:_ scene _P_]
[62 subtile-witted _D_, _H49:_ subtile wittied _1633-54_, _L74_, _N_, _TCD:_ supple-witted _A25_, _JC_ (_altered to_ subtle), _H51_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _W:_ giddy-headed _1669_
youths] youth _1669_]
[63 depart'st from mee] depart'st from hence _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _O'F_, _S_, _W:_ departest hence _A25_, _Q_, _S96_
canst _JC, Q:_ can _1633-69 and many MSS._]
[66 conscience?] conscience. _1633_]
[70 state] room _H51_
his _1635-69 and all MSS.:_ high _1633_, _Chambers_
libertie;] libertie, _1633_]
[73 them] then _1633_]
[78 stoops _1635-69_, _A25_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _O'F_, _Q:_ stoopeth _B_, _P:_ stoopt _1633_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD_
nigh'st the ground.] nighest ground. _D_, _H49_, _P_, _Q_, _W_]
[81-2 _om. 1633_]
[84 youth? _1635-69:_ youth; _1633_
Oh,] Yea, _A25_, _B_, _H51_, _JC_, _Q_, _W_]
[86 here] so _H51_]
[89 us; _Ed:_ us: _1635-69:_ us, _1633_
whispered, let'us goe, _Ed:_ whispered, let us goe, _1633-54:_ whisperd, let us goe, _1669:_ whispered (letts goe) _Q_. _See note_]
[90 'T may be] May be _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _S96_, _W_]
[94 goes on the way,] goes, on the way _D_, _H49_, _Q_(in), _W_(in)]
[95 all repute _1635-69 and MSS. generally:_ s'all repute _1633_, _Lec_]
[97 print, cut, and plight (pleite, _1635-39:_ pleit, _1650-69_), _1633-69_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_ cut, print, or pleate (pleight _&c._), _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _JC_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S96_, _W_]
[100 stoop'st _1633_, _1669_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _Q_, _TCD:_ stop'st. _1635-54_, _O'F_]
[101 Why? he hath travayld; Long? No; but to me _S96:_ Why: he hath travayld. Long? No: but to mee _W:_ Why, hee hath travayl'd. Long? no. But to mee _H49:_ Why he hath travayld; Longe? Noe: but to mee _JC:_ Why, he hath travailed (traveled _1635-39_) long? no, but to me _1633-39:_ Why hath he travelled long? no, but to me _1650-54_, _P:_ Why. He hath travelled long; no, but to me _1669_. _See note_]
[102 understand] understood _1669:_ _brackets from Q_. _See note_]
[105 and qualities;] of qualities; _Lec_, _P_, _Q_, _S96_]
[106 a] _om. 1669_]
[108 lechery. _1635-69 and MSS:_ liberty; _1633_]
[109 were there, _1633-39:_ there were, _1650-69_]
_Satyre II._
Sir; though (I thanke God for it) I do hate Perfectly all this towne, yet there's one state In all ill things so excellently best, That hate, toward them, breeds pitty towards the rest. Though Poëtry indeed be such a sinne 5 As I thinke that brings dearths, and Spaniards in, Though like the Pestilence and old fashion'd love, Ridlingly it catch men; and doth remove Never, till it be sterv'd out; yet their state Is poore, disarm'd, like Papists, not worth hate. 10 One, (like a wretch, which at Barre judg'd as dead, Yet prompts him which stands next, and cannot reade, And saves his life) gives ideot actors meanes (Starving himselfe) to live by his labor'd sceanes; As in some Organ, Puppits dance above 15 And bellows pant below, which them do move. One would move Love by rithmes; but witchcrafts charms Bring not now their old feares, nor their old harmes: Rammes, and slings now are seely battery, Pistolets are the best Artillerie. 20 And they who write to Lords, rewards to get, Are they not like singers at doores for meat? And they who write, because all write, have still That excuse for writing, and for writing ill; But hee is worst, who (beggarly) doth chaw 25 Others wits fruits, and in his ravenous maw Rankly digested, doth those things out-spue, As his owne things; and they are his owne, 'tis true, For if one eate my meate, though it be knowne The meate was mine, th'excrement is his owne: 30 But these do mee no harme, nor they which use To out-doe Dildoes, and out-usure Jewes; To out-drinke the sea, to out-sweare the Letanie; Who with sinnes all kindes as familiar bee As Confessors; and for whose sinfull sake, 35 Schoolemen new tenements in hell must make: Whose strange sinnes, Canonists could hardly tell In which Commandements large receit they dwell. But these punish themselves; the insolence Of Coscus onely breeds my just offence, 40 Whom time (which rots all, and makes botches poxe, And plodding on, must make a calfe an oxe) Hath made a Lawyer, which was (alas) of late But a scarce Poët; jollier of this state, Then are new benefic'd ministers, he throwes 45 Like nets, or lime-twigs, wheresoever he goes, His title of Barrister, on every wench, And wooes in language of the Pleas, and Bench: A motion, Lady; Speake Coscus; I have beene In love, ever since _tricesimo_ of the Queene, 50 Continuall claimes I have made, injunctions got To stay my rivals suit, that hee should not Proceed; spare mee; In Hillary terme I went, You said, If I return'd next size in Lent, I should be in remitter of your grace; 55 In th'interim my letters should take place Of affidavits: words, words, which would teare The tender labyrinth of a soft maids eare, More, more, then ten Sclavonians scolding, more Then when winds in our ruin'd Abbeyes rore. 60 When sicke with Poëtrie, and possest with muse Thou wast, and mad, I hop'd; but men which chuse Law practise for meere gaine, bold soule, repute Worse then imbrothel'd strumpets prostitute. Now like an owlelike watchman, hee must walke 65 His hand still at a bill, now he must talke Idly, like prisoners, which whole months will sweare That onely suretiship hath brought them there, And to every suitor lye in every thing, Like a Kings favourite, yea like a King; 70 Like a wedge in a blocke, wring to the barre, Bearing-like Asses; and more shamelesse farre Then carted whores, lye, to the grave Judge; for Bastardy abounds not in Kings titles, nor Symonie and Sodomy in Churchmens lives, 75 As these things do in him; by these he thrives. Shortly (as the sea) hee will compasse all our land; From Scots, to Wight; from Mount, to Dover strand. And spying heires melting with luxurie, Satan will not joy at their sinnes, as hee. 80 For as a thrifty wench scrapes kitching-stuffe, And barrelling the droppings, and the snuffe, Of wasting candles, which in thirty yeare (Relique-like kept) perchance buyes wedding geare; Peecemeale he gets lands, and spends as much time 85 Wringing each Acre, as men pulling prime. In parchments then, large as his fields, hee drawes Assurances, bigge, as gloss'd civill lawes, So huge, that men (in our times forwardnesse) Are Fathers of the Church for writing lesse. 90 These hee writes not; nor for these written payes, Therefore spares no length; as in those first dayes When Luther was profest, He did desire Short _Pater nosters_, saying as a Fryer Each day his beads, but having left those lawes, 95 Addes to Christs prayer, the Power and glory clause. But when he sells or changes land, he'impaires His writings, and (unwatch'd) leaves out, _ses heires_, As slily as any Commenter goes by Hard words, or sense; or in Divinity 100 As controverters, in vouch'd Texts, leave out Shrewd words, which might against them cleare the doubt. Where are those spred woods which cloth'd hertofore Those bought lands? not built, nor burnt within dore. Where's th'old landlords troops, and almes? In great hals 106 Carthusian fasts, and fulsome Bachanalls Equally I hate; meanes blesse; in rich mens homes I bid kill some beasts, but no Hecatombs, None starve, none surfet so; But (Oh) we allow, Good workes as good, but out of fashion now, 110 Like old rich wardrops; but my words none drawes Within the vast reach of th'huge statute lawes.
[Satyre II.: _1633-69_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _HN_ (after C. B. copy _in margin_), _JC_, _Lec_, _Q_, _S_, _W:_ Satyre 3rd. _A25:_ Law Satyre. _P:_ Satire. _or no title_, _B_, _Cy_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TCD_]
[2-3
_there is one_ All this towne perfectly yet in every state _In all ill things so excellently best_ There are some found so villainously best, _H51_
All this towne perfectly yet everie state Hath in't one found so villainously best _S96_ ]
[4 toward] towards _1669_ and _MSS._
them,] that _A25_
towards] toward _1653-54_
rest.] rest; _1633_]
[6 As I thinke that _1633:_ As I thinke That _1635-54:_ As, I think, that _1669:_ As I'ame afraid brings _H51_ dearths, _A25_, _H51_, _HN_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD_, _W:_ dearth, _1633-69_, _D_, _H49_]
[7 and] or _A25_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _W_]
[8 Ridlingly it _1633-69_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD_ It riddlinglie _rest of MSS._]
[10 hate. _Ed:_ hate: _1633-69_]
[12 cannot _1633-69_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_ could not _rest of MSS._]
[14 sceanes; _Ed:_ sceanes. _1633-69 and Chambers_]
[15 Organ _1633-54_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_ Organs _1669 and rest of MSS._]
[16 move. _1633-69:_ move, _Chambers_. _See note_]
[17 rithmes; _1633-69_, _Lec_, _Q_, _TCD:_ rimes; _A25_, _B_, _Cy_ (rime), _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _W_]
[18 harmes: _Ed:_ harmes. _1633-69_]
[19 Rammes, and slings] Rimes and songs _P_]
[22 singers at doores _1633-69_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_ Boyes singing at dore (_or_ dores) _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _HN_, _JC_, _O'F_ (_corrected from_ singers), _P_, _Q_ (at a dore), _S_, _W:_ singers at mens dores _A25_]
[24 excuse] scuse _MSS._]
[32 To out-doe Dildoes, _1635-69, B, H51, L74, Lec, N, P, Q, TCD:_ To out-doe ----; _1633:_ To out-swive dildoes _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _W_]
[33 Letanie; _Ed:_ Letanie, _1669 and all MSS.:_ ---- _1633:_ _simply omit_, _1635-39:_ gallant, he _1650-54_. _See note_]
[34 sinnes all kindes _1635-69_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _Q_, _S_, _TCD_, _W:_ sinnes of all kindes _1633_, _Cy_ (kind), _Lec, P_]
[35-6 sake, Schoolemen _1669:_ sake Schoolemen, _1633-54_]
[40 just _1633-69_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_ great _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _HN_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _S96_, _W:_ harts _JC_]
[43 Lawyer, _Ed:_ Lawyer; _1633-69_
which was (alas) of late _Ed:_ which was alas of late _1633:_ which, (alas) of late _1635-69_]
[44 a scarce _A25_, _H49_, _H51_, _HN_, _JC_ (_altered in margin_), _L74_, _Q_, _S96_, _TCD_, _W:_ scarce a _1633-69_, _D_, _Lec_, _P_
Poet; _1635-69:_ Poët, _1633_
this _1633-69:_ that _A25_, _Cy_, _H51_, _Q:_ his _HN_, _JC_, _O'F_, _S_]
[49 Lady; _Ed:_ Lady, _1633:_ Lady. _1635-39:_ Lady: _1650-69_
Coscus; _1633:_ Coscus. _1635-69_]
[53 Proceed; _1669:_ Proceed, _1633-54_]
[54 return'd] Returne _1633_ next size _1633-69_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ this size _rest of MSS._]
[58 soft maids eare, _Ed:_ soft maids eare. _1633-54 and MSS.:_ Maids soft ear _1669_]
[59 scolding] scolding's _1669_]
[60 rore.] rore; _1633_]
[63 gaine, bold soule, repute _Ed:_ gaine; bold soule repute _1633-69_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _HN_, _L74_, _P_, _W:_ gayne (bold soule) repute: _Q:_ gain, bold souls repute _1719 and Chambers:_ gayne, hold soule repute _A25_, _N_, _S_, _TCD, and Lowell's conjecture in Grolier_. _See note_]
[68 That] The _Chambers_]
[69-70 _These lines represented by dashes_, _1633_]
[70 yea _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_, _W:_ or _1635-69_]
[72 Bearing-like Asses; _Ed:_ Bearing like Asses, _1633-69 and MSS._]
[73 whores, _1633-69:_ whores; _Chambers and Grolier_. _See note_]
[74-5 _These lines represented by dashes_, _1633_]
[77 our land;] our land, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_, _W:_ the land; _1633-69_, _Q_]
[79 luxurie, _1633-69_, _A25_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_ (_corr. fr._ Gluttony), _P_, _Q_, _TCD:_ Gluttony _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _HN_, _S_, _S96_, _W_]
[80 will] would _A25_, _Q_]
[84 Relique-like _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _Q_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_, _W:_ Reliquely _1633-69_, _Cy_, _JC_, _Lec_, _P_
geare;] chear; _1669_ (_which brackets from_ 81 as _to end of_ 84), _Cy_]
[86 men] Maids _1669_]
[87 parchments _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _JC_, _Q_, _W:_ parchment _1633-69_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_
his] the _1669_]
[98 _ses 1633-69_, _B_, _L74_, _Lec_, _Q_, _and other MSS.:_ his _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _P_
heires,] heires _1633_]
[99 As] And _1669_
by] by, _1633_]
[102 doubt.] doubt: _1633_]
[105 Where's _&c._ _Ed:_ Where's th'old landlords troops, and almes, great hals? _1633_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD_ (_but_ hals _MSS._): Where the old landlords troops, and almes? In hals _1635-69_, _L74_, _O'F:_ Where the old landlords troopes and almes? In great halls _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _HN_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _W_ (_but the punctuation is very irregular, and some have_ 's _after_ Where). _See note_]
[107 Equally I hate;] Equallie hate, _Q_
hate; _Ed:_ hate, _1633:_ hate. _1635-69_
meanes bless; _1633_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _TCD_, _W:_ Meane's blest. _1635-69_, _Cy_, _S_, _S96_ (_altered to_ is blest). _See note_]
[111 in wardrops; _1633:_ wardrobes. _1635-69_]
[112 statute lawes. _1633-54 and all MSS.:_ statutes jawes. _1669_, _Chambers_]
_Satyre III._
Kinde pitty chokes my spleene; brave scorn forbids Those teares to issue which swell my eye-lids; I must not laugh, nor weepe sinnes, and be wise, Can railing then cure these worne maladies? Is not our Mistresse faire Religion, 5 As worthy of all our Soules devotion, As vertue was to the first blinded age? Are not heavens joyes as valiant to asswage Lusts, as earths honour was to them? Alas, As wee do them in meanes, shall they surpasse 10 Us in the end, and shall thy fathers spirit Meete blinde Philosophers in heaven, whose merit Of strict life may be imputed faith, and heare Thee, whom hee taught so easie wayes and neare To follow, damn'd? O if thou dar'st, feare this; 15 This feare great courage, and high valour is. Dar'st thou ayd mutinous Dutch, and dar'st thou lay Thee in ships woodden Sepulchers, a prey To leaders rage, to stormes, to shot, to dearth? Dar'st thou dive seas, and dungeons of the earth? 20 Hast thou couragious fire to thaw the ice Of frozen North discoueries? and thrise Colder then Salamanders, like divine Children in th'oven, fires of Spaine, and the line, Whose countries limbecks to our bodies bee, 25 Canst thou for gaine beare? and must every hee Which cryes not, Goddesse, to thy Mistresse, draw, Or eate thy poysonous words? courage of straw! O desperate coward, wilt thou seeme bold, and To thy foes and his (who made thee to stand 30 Sentinell in his worlds garrison) thus yeeld, And for forbidden warres, leave th'appointed field? Know thy foes: The foule Devill (whom thou Strivest to please,) for hate, not love, would allow Thee faine, his whole Realme to be quit; and as 35 The worlds all parts wither away and passe, So the worlds selfe, thy other lov'd foe, is In her decrepit wayne, and thou loving this, Dost love a withered and worne strumpet; last, Flesh (it selfes death) and joyes which flesh can taste, 40 Thou loveft; and thy faire goodly soule, which doth Give this flesh power to taste joy, thou dost loath. Seeke true religion. O where? Mirreus Thinking her unhous'd here, and fled from us, Seekes her at Rome; there, because hee doth know 45 That shee was there a thousand yeares agoe, He loves her ragges so, as wee here obey The statecloth where the Prince sate yesterday. Crantz to such brave Loves will not be inthrall'd, But loves her onely, who at Geneva is call'd 50 Religion, plaine, simple, sullen, yong, Contemptuous, yet unhansome; As among Lecherous humors, there is one that judges No wenches wholsome, but course country drudges. Graius stayes still at home here, and because 55 Some Preachers, vile ambitious bauds, and lawes Still new like fashions, bid him thinke that shee Which dwels with us, is onely perfect, hee Imbraceth her, whom his Godfathers will Tender to him, being tender, as Wards still 60 Take such wives as their Guardians offer, or Pay valewes. Carelesse Phrygius doth abhorre All, because all cannot be good, as one Knowing some women whores, dares marry none. Graccus loves all as one, and thinkes that so 65 As women do in divers countries goe In divers habits, yet are still one kinde, So doth, so is Religion; and this blind- nesse too much light breeds; but unmoved thou Of force must one, and forc'd but one allow; 70 And the right; aske thy father which is shee, Let him aske his; though truth and falshood bee Neare twins, yet truth a little elder is; Be busie to seeke her, beleeve mee this, Hee's not of none, nor worst, that seekes the best. 75 To adore, or scorne an image, or protest, May all be bad; doubt wisely; in strange way To stand inquiring right, is not to stray; To sleepe, or runne wrong, is. On a huge hill, Cragged, and steep, Truth stands, and hee that will 80 Reach her, about must, and about must goe; And what the hills suddennes resists, winne so; Yet strive so, that before age, deaths twilight, Thy Soule rest, for none can worke in that night. To will, implyes delay, therefore now doe: 85 Hard deeds, the bodies paines; hard knowledge too The mindes indeavours reach, and mysteries Are like the Sunne, dazling, yet plaine to all eyes. Keepe the truth which thou hast found; men do not stand In so ill case here, that God hath with his hand 90 Sign'd Kings blanck-charters to kill whom they hate, Nor are they Vicars, but hangmen to Fate. Foole and wretch, wilt thou let thy Soule be tyed To mans lawes, by which she shall not be tryed At the last day? Oh, will it then boot thee 95 To say a Philip, or a Gregory, A Harry, or a Martin taught thee this? Is not this excuse for mere contraries, Equally strong? cannot both sides say so? That thou mayest rightly obey power, her bounds know; 100 Those past, her nature, and name is chang'd; to be Then humble to her is idolatrie. As streames are, Power is; those blest flowers that dwell At the rough streames calme head, thrive and do well, But having left their roots, and themselves given 105 To the streames tyrannous rage, alas, are driven Through mills, and rockes, and woods, and at last, almost Consum'd in going, in the sea are lost: So perish Soules, which more chuse mens unjust Power from God claym'd, then God himselfe to trust. 110
[Satyre III. _1633-69_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_ (_with title_ Of Religion.), _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _Q_, _S_, _W:_ Satire the 4th. _A25_, _Cy:_ Satyre the Second. _P:_ A Satire. _L74:_ _no title_, _N_, _TCD_]
[1 chokes] checks _1635-54:_ cheeks _1669_
eye-lids; _Ed:_ eye-lids, _1633-39:_ eyelids. _1650-69_]
[3 and] but _1669_]
[7 to _1635-69_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _JC_, _L74_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _W:_ in _1633_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD_]
[9 honour was] honours were _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _S_]
[14 so easie wayes and neare _1633-69_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _TCD:_ wayes easie and neere _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _JC_, _Q_, _S_, _W:_ wayes so easy and neere _O'F_]
[15 this;] this. _1633_]
[16 is.] is; _1633_]
[17 Dutch, and dar'st _1633-69_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _TCD:_ Dutch? dar'st _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _JC_, _O'F_, _Q_, _S_, _W_]
[22-3 discoueries? ... Salamanders, _Ed:_ discoueries, ... Salamanders? _1633-69_]
[28 words?] words, _1633_]
[31 Sentinell _1633-69_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _TCD:_ Souldier _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _JC_, _Q_, _S_, _W_
his _1633-54:_ this _1669_, _A25_, _H51_, _P_, _Q_]
[32 forbidden _1633 and most MSS._ forbid _1635-69_, _H51_]
[33-4
Know thy foes; the foule Devell whom thou Strivest to please _&c._
_H51_, _Q and generally_ (_but with varying punctuation and sometimes_ foe), _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _O'F_, _P_, _W:_
Know thy foe, the soule devill h'is, whom thou Strivest to please: for hate, not love, would allow
_1633_, _L74_ (is), _Lec_, _N_ (his), _S_ (is), _TCD_ (his):
Know thy foes: The foule devill, he, whom thou Striv'st to please, for hate, not love, would allow _1635-69_ (he, ... please, _bracketed, 1669_) ]
[35 quit _1633-69_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _TCD:_ ridd _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _JC_, _O'F_, _Q_, _W_]
[40 (it selfes death) _1635-69_, _A25_, _B_, _H51_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _TCD_, _W:_ (it selfe death) _1633_, _Cy_, _D_, _S_]
[42 loath.] loath; _1633_]
[44 here,] her, _1633_]
[45 Rome; _Ed:_ Rome, _1633-69_]
[47 He _1633_, _1669:_ And _1635-54_
her _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _W:_ the _1633-69_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _TCD_]
[49 Crantz _W:_ Crants _1633-54_, _A25_, _H51_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_ Grants _or_ Grauntes _1669_, _L74_, _O'F_, _P:_ Grant _Cy_, _D_, _H49:_ Crates _Q_]
[52 unhansome; _Ed:_ unhansome. _1633-69_]
[54 drudges.] drudges: _1633_]
[57 bid _or_ bidd _MSS.:_ bids _1633-69_]
[62 Prigas _H51:_ Phrygas _W:_ Phrigias _A25_]
[67 kinde, _Ed:_ kinde; _1633-69_]
[70 must ... but _in reverse order_ _Q_]
[73 is; _1633:_ is. _1635-69_]
[74 her, _1633:_ her; _1635-69_]
[77 wisely; _Ed:_ wisely, _1633-69_]
[78 stray; _1633-69_, _Cy_, _D_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TCD_, _W:_ staye; _A25_, _B_, _H49_, _H51_, _JC_, _P_, _Q_]
[79 is. On] is: on _1633_
huge] high _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H51_, _O'F_, _Q_, _W_]
[80 Cragged, _1669_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _TCD:_ Cragg'd, _1633-54_, _Lec:_ Ragged _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _O'F_, _S_, _W:_ Ruggued _H51_, _Q_]
[81 about must goe; _1633-54_, _O'F:_ about it goe; _1669:_ about goe, _A25_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _Q_, _W_]
[84 Soule _1633-69_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _TCD:_ minde _rest of MSS._
that night. _Ed:_ that night, _1633_, _1669:_ the night. _1635-54_]
[85 doe: _Ed:_ doe _1633_, _Chambers and Grolier:_ doe. _1635-69_, _D_, _W_. _See note_]
[86 too _H51_, _S_, _W:_ _spelt_ to _1633-69_, _many MSS.:_ to (_prep._) _Chambers_]
[88 eyes.] eyes; _1633_]
[90 In so ill (evil _H51_) case here, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _JC_, _L74_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _W:_ here _om. 1633-69_, _N_, _TCD_]
[94 mans _1633-69_, _A25_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _TCD:_ mens _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _JC_, _S_, _W_
not _om. 1635-54_]
[95 Oh, will it then boot thee _Ed:_ Will ... boot thee _1633_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _TCD:_ Or ... boot thee _1635-69:_ Oh will it then serve thee _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _O'F_ (Or), _Q_, _S_, _W_]
[97 thee] me _1669_]
[99 strong? _Ed:_ strong _1633:_ strong; _1635-69_]
[101 is] are _1669_
chang'd;] chang'd _1633_
to be _Ed:_ to be, _1633-69_]
[102 idolatrie.] idolatrie; _1633_]
[103 is;] is, _1633_]
[104 do well _1633-69_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _TCD:_ prove well _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _H51_, _JC_, _L74_, _O'F_, _Q_, _S_, _W_]
[106 alas,] alas _1633_]
[107 mills, and rockes, _1633_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _TCD:_ Mils, rocks, _1635-69_, _and rest of MSS._]
_Satyr IIII._
Well; I may now receive, and die; My sinne Indeed is great, but I have beene in A Purgatorie, such as fear'd hell is A recreation to, and scarse map of this. My minde, neither with prides itch, nor yet hath been 5 Poyson'd with love to see, or to bee seene, I had no suit there, nor new suite to shew, Yet went to Court; But as Glaze which did goe To'a Masse in jest, catch'd, was faine to disburse The hundred markes, which is the Statutes curse; 10 Before he scapt, So'it pleas'd my destinie (Guilty of my sin of going,) to thinke me As prone to all ill, and of good as forget- full, as proud, as lustfull, and as much in debt, As vaine, as witlesse, and as false as they 15 Which dwell at Court, for once going that way. Therefore I suffered this; Towards me did runne A thing more strange, then on Niles slime, the Sunne E'r bred; or all which into Noahs Arke came; A thing, which would have pos'd Adam to name; 20 Stranger then seaven Antiquaries studies, Then Africks Monsters, Guianaes rarities. Stranger then strangers; One, who for a Dane, In the Danes Massacre had sure beene slaine, If he had liv'd then; And without helpe dies, 25 When next the Prentises'gainst Strangers rise. One, whom the watch at noone lets scarce goe by, One, to whom, the examining Justice sure would cry, Sir, by your priesthood tell me what you are. His cloths were strange, though coarse; and black, though bare; 30 Sleevelesse his jerkin was, and it had beene Velvet, but'twas now (so much ground was seene) Become Tufftaffatie; and our children shall See it plaine Rashe awhile, then nought at all. This thing hath travail'd, and saith, speakes all tongues 35 And only knoweth what to all States belongs. Made of th'Accents, and best phrase of all these, He speakes no language; If strange meats displease, Art can deceive, or hunger force my tast, But Pedants motley tongue, souldiers bumbast, 40 Mountebankes drugtongue, nor the termes of law Are strong enough preparatives, to draw Me to beare this: yet I must be content With his tongue, in his tongue, call'd complement: In which he can win widdowes, and pay scores, 45 Make men speake treason, cosen subtlest whores, Out-flatter favorites, or outlie either Jovius, or Surius, or both together. He names mee, and comes to mee; I whisper, God! How have I sinn'd, that thy wraths furious rod, 50 This fellow chuseth me? He saith, Sir, I love your judgement; Whom doe you prefer, For the best linguist? And I seelily Said, that I thought Calepines Dictionarie; Nay, but of men, most sweet Sir; Beza then, 55 Some other Jesuites, and two reverend men Of our two Academies, I named; There He stopt mee, and said; Nay, your Apostles were Good pretty linguists, and so Panurge was; Yet a poore gentleman, all these may passe 60 By travaile. Then, as if he would have sold His tongue, he prais'd it, and such wonders told That I was faine to say, If you'had liv'd, Sir, Time enough to have beene Interpreter To Babells bricklayers, sure the Tower had stood. 65 He adds, If of court life you knew the good, You would leave lonenesse. I said, not alone My lonenesse is, but Spartanes fashion, To teach by painting drunkards, doth not last Now; Aretines pictures have made few chast; 70 No more can Princes courts, though there be few Better pictures of vice, teach me vertue; He, like to a high stretcht lute string squeakt, O Sir, 'Tis sweet to talke of Kings. At Westminster, Said I, The man that keepes the Abbey tombes, 75 And for his price doth with who ever comes, Of all our Harries, and our Edwards talke, From King to King and all their kin can walke: Your eares shall heare nought, but Kings; your eyes meet Kings only; The way to it, is Kingstreet. 80 He smack'd, and cry'd, He's base, Mechanique, coarse, So are all your Englishmen in their discourse. Are not your Frenchmen neate? Mine? as you see, I have but one Frenchman, looke, hee followes mee. Certes they are neatly cloth'd; I, of this minde am, 85 Your only wearing is your Grogaram. Not so Sir, I have more. Under this pitch He would not flie; I chaff'd him; But as Itch Scratch'd into smart, and as blunt iron ground Into an edge, hurts worse: So, I (foole) found, 90 Crossing hurt mee; To fit my sullennesse, He to another key, his stile doth addresse, And askes, what newes? I tell him of new playes. He takes my hand, and as a Still, which staies A Sembriefe, 'twixt each drop, he nigardly, 95 As loth to enrich mee, so tells many a lye. More then ten Hollensheads, or Halls, or Stowes, Of triviall houshold trash he knowes; He knowes When the Queene frown'd, or smil'd, and he knowes what A subtle States-man may gather of that; 100 He knowes who loves; whom; and who by poyson Hasts to an Offices reversion; He knowes who'hath sold his land, and now doth beg A licence, old iron, bootes, shooes, and egge- shels to transport; Shortly boyes shall not play 105 At span-counter, or blow-point, but they pay Toll to some Courtier; And wiser then all us, He knowes what Ladie is not painted; Thus He with home-meats tries me; I belch, spue, spit, Looke pale, and sickly, like a Patient; Yet 110 He thrusts on more; And as if he'd undertooke To say Gallo-Belgicus without booke Speakes of all States, and deeds, that have been since The Spaniards came, to the losse of Amyens. Like a bigge wife, at sight of loathed meat, 115 Readie to travaile: So I sigh, and sweat To heare this Makeron talke: In vaine; for yet, Either my humour, or his owne to fit, He like a priviledg'd spie, whom nothing can Discredit, Libells now'gainst each great man. 120 He names a price for every office paid; He saith, our warres thrive ill, because delai'd; That offices are entail'd, and that there are Perpetuities of them, lasting as farre As the last day; And that great officers, 125 Doe with the Pirates share, and Dunkirkers. Who wasts in meat, in clothes, in horse, he notes; Who loves whores, who boyes, and who goats. I more amas'd then Circes prisoners, when They felt themselves turne beasts, felt my selfe then 130 Becomming Traytor, and mee thought I saw One of our Giant Statutes ope his jaw To sucke me in; for hearing him, I found That as burnt venome Leachers do grow sound By giving others their soares, I might growe 135 Guilty, and he free: Therefore I did shew All signes of loathing; But since I am in, I must pay mine, and my forefathers sinne To the last farthing; Therefore to my power Toughly and stubbornly I beare this crosse; But the'houre 140 Of mercy now was come; He tries to bring Me to pay a fine to scape his torturing, And saies, Sir, can you spare me; I said, willingly; Nay, Sir, can you spare me a crowne? Thankfully I Gave it, as Ransome; But as fidlers, still, 145 Though they be paid to be gone, yet needs will Thrust one more jigge upon you: so did hee With his long complementall thankes vexe me. But he is gone, thankes to his needy want, And the prerogative of my Crowne: Scant 150 His thankes were ended, when I, (which did see All the court fill'd with more strange things then hee) Ran from thence with such or more hast, then one Who feares more actions, doth make from prison. At home in wholesome solitarinesse 155 My precious soule began, the wretchednesse Of suiters at court to mourne, and a trance Like his, who dreamt he saw hell, did advance It selfe on mee, Such men as he saw there, I saw at court, and worse, and more; Low feare 160 Becomes the guiltie, not the accuser; Then, Shall I, nones slave, of high borne, or rais'd men Feare frownes? And, my Mistresse Truth, betray thee To th'huffing braggart, puft Nobility? No, no, Thou which since yesterday hast beene 165 Almost about the whole world, hast thou seene, O Sunne, in all thy journey, Vanitie, Such as swells the bladder of our court? I Thinke he which made your waxen garden, and Transported it from Italy to stand 170 With us, at London, flouts our Presence, for Just such gay painted things, which no sappe, nor Tast have in them, ours are; And naturall Some of the stocks are, their fruits, bastard all. 'Tis ten a clock and past; All whom the Mues, 175 Baloune, Tennis, Dyet, or the stewes, Had all the morning held, now the second Time made ready, that day, in flocks, are found In the Presence, and I, (God pardon mee.) As fresh, and sweet their Apparrells be, as bee 180 The fields they sold to buy them; For a King Those hose are, cry the flatterers; And bring Them next weeke to the Theatre to sell; Wants reach all states; Me seemes they doe as well At stage, as court; All are players; who e'r lookes 185 (For themselves dare not goe) o'r Cheapside books, Shall finde their wardrops Inventory. Now, The Ladies come; As Pirats, which doe know That there came weak ships fraught with Cutchannel, The men board them; and praise, as they thinke, well, 190 Their beauties; they the mens wits; Both are bought. Why good wits ne'r weare scarlet gownes, I thought This cause, These men, mens wits for speeches buy, And women buy all reds which scarlets die. He call'd her beauty limetwigs, her haire net; 195 She feares her drugs ill laid, her haire loose set. Would not Heraclitus laugh to see Macrine, From hat to shooe, himselfe at doore refine, As if the Presence were a Moschite, and lift His skirts and hose, and call his clothes to shrift, 200 Making them confesse not only mortall Great staines and holes in them; but veniall Feathers and dust, wherewith they fornicate: And then by _Durers_ rules survay the state Of his each limbe, and with strings the odds trye 205 Of his neck to his legge, and wast to thighe. So in immaculate clothes, and Symetrie Perfect as circles, with such nicetie As a young Preacher at his first time goes To preach, he enters, and a Lady which owes 210 Him not so much as good will, he arrests, And unto her protests protests protests, So much as at Rome would serve to have throwne Ten Cardinalls into the Inquisition; And whisperd by Jesu, so often, that A 215 Pursevant would have ravish'd him away For saying of our Ladies psalter; But'tis 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 220 Call a rough carelessenesse, good fashion; Whose cloak his spurres teare; whom he spits on He cares not, His ill words doe no harme To him; he rusheth in, as if arme, arme, He meant to crie; And though his face be as ill 225 As theirs which in old hangings whip Christ, still He strives to looke worse, he keepes all in awe; Jeasts like a licenc'd foole, commands like law. Tyr'd, now I leave this place, and but pleas'd so As men which from gaoles to execution goe, 230 Goe through the great chamber (why is it hung With the seaven deadly sinnes?). Being among Those Askaparts, men big enough to throw Charing Crosse for a barre, men that doe know No token of worth, but Queenes man, and fine 235 Living, barrells of beefe, flaggons of wine; I shooke like a spyed Spie. Preachers which are Seas of Wit and Arts, you can, then dare, Drowne the sinnes of this place, for, for mee Which am but a scarce brooke, it enough shall bee 240 To wash the staines away; Although I yet With _Macchabees_ modestie, the knowne merit Of my worke lessen: yet some wise man shall, I hope, esteeme my writs Canonicall.
[Satyre IIII. _1633-69_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_ (anno 1594 _in margin_), _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _W:_ Mr. Dunns first Satire. _A25:_ Another Satire by the same. J: D: _Cy_ (_where it is the third_): Satyre. _S96:_ _no title_, _L74_, _N_, _TCD_ (_in L74 it is second, in N, TCD third in order_)]
[2 but I _1633_, _A25_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _W:_ but yet I _1635-69_, _Cy_, _O'F_, _S96_]
[4 A recreacion to, and scarse _Q:_ A recreation, and scant _1633-69_, _and other MSS._]
[5 neither _1633-69:_ nor _some MSS. and Chambers, who wrongly attributes to 1635-39_]
[8 Glaze _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _Lec:_ Glare _1635-69, and rest of MSS._]
[9 To'a mass _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_, _W:_ To Masse _1633-69_, _Cy_, _Q_, _Lec_]
[10-11 curse; ... scapt, _1633-39:_ curse, ... scapt, _1650-69_]
[12 of going, _1633_, _1669_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _TCD_, _W:_ in going, _1635-54_, _A25_, _O'F_]
[14 as lustfull,] as _om. 1635-69 and many MSS._]
[16 at Court, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_, _W:_ in Court, _1633-69_, _Lec_]
[18 Niles] Nilus _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD_]
[19 bred; _W:_ bred, _1633-69_
came; _W:_ came: _1633-69_]
[20 name; _W:_ name, _1633:_ name: _1635-69_]
[22 rarities. _W:_ rarities, _1633-69_]
[23 then strangers; _1633-69_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _HN_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _Q_, _TCD_, _W:_ then strangest. _D_, _H49_, _JC_ (_corr. from_ strangers), _S_]
[32 ground] the ground _HN_]
[35 This _1633:_ The _1635-69_ saith, _1633-54_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_ (sayeth), _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_ (saith he), _TCD_, _W:_ faith, _1669_, _Chambers and Grolier, without note_]
[36 belongs.] belongs, _1633_]
[37 th'Accents,] the antient, _HN:_ the ancients, (_prob. for_ ancientest, _but corrected to_ accents,) _L74_]
[38 no language; _A25_, _Q:_ one language; _1633-69_, _and MSS. generally_]
[43 beare] hear _1669_
this: _Q:_ this, _1633-69_]
[44 With his tongue, _1669_, _Q:_ With his tongue: _1633-54_]
[47 or] and _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _O'F_, _Q_, _W_]
[48 Surius,] Sleydon _O'F_ (_corrected to_ Surius), _Q:_ Snodons, _A25_. _See note_]
[51 chuseth] chaseth _P_, _Q_]
[55 Sir; _Ed:_ Sir. _1633-69_]
[56 Some other _HN:_ Some _1633-69 and most MSS.:_ two other _S_]
[57 There _1633_ (T _faintly printed_): here _1635-69_]
[59 Good pretty _1633-69:_ Pretty good _Cy_, _O'F_, _Q_, _S_, _S96_
Panurge _1635-54:_ Panirge _1633:_ Panurgus _1669_ (_omitting_ and), _JC_, _O'F_, _Q_]
[60 gentleman, all _Ed:_ gentleman; All _1633-69_]
[60-1 passe By travaile. _1633-54:_ pass. But travaile _1669_]
[62 prais'd _Ed:_ praised _1633-69_
wonders _1635-69 and most MSS.:_ words _1633_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD_]
[67 lonenesse. _1635-69_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _W:_ lonelinesse; _1633_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD_]
[68 lonenesse _1635-69_, _A25_, _&c.:_ lonelinesse _1633_, _L74_, _&c._
fashion, _1633:_ fashion. _1635-69_]
[69 last _1633_, _1669_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _TCD_, _W:_ taste _1635-54_, _O'F_, _Q_ (tast), _S_, _S96_]
[80 Kingstreet. _1633:_ Kingsstreet. _1635-39:_ Kings street. _1650-69_]
[83 Mine? _1635-54 and MSS.:_ Fine, _1633:_ Mine, _1669_]
[84 Frenchman, _Ed:_ frenchman, _1633 and most MSS.:_ Sir, _1635-69_, _Q:_ here, _Cy_]
[85-6 cloth'd; I, ... Grogaram. _Ed:_ cloth'd. I, ... Grogaram; _1633:_ cloth'd. I, ... Grogaram. _1635-69_]
[86 your Grogaram _1633-69_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_ this Grogaram _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _O'F_, _Q_, _S_, _W:_ the Grogaram _P_]
[89 ground _Ed:_ grown'd _1633:_ grownd _1635-69_]
[90 (foole)] _no bracket_ _1633_]
[92 addresse, _N_, _TCD:_ addresse. _1633:_ dresse. _1635-39_, _D_, _W:_ dresse; _1650-69_]
[96 lye. _D_, _H49_, _W:_ lie, _1633-69_]
[98 trash he knowes; He knowes _D_, _H49_, _W:_ trash; He knowes; He knowes _1633:_ trash. He knowes; He knowes _1635-39:_ trash, He knowes; He knowes _1650-69_]
[101 loves; whom; _1633:_ loves; whom, _1635-54:_ loves, whom; _1669:_ loves whom; _Chambers and Grolier_]
[104 and _1633-69_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _S96_, _TCD:_ or _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _O'F_, _Q_, _W_]
[106 At blow-point or span-counter _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _O'F_, _Q_, _S_, _S96_, _W_ they pay _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_, _W:_ shall pay _1633-69_, _JC_]
[108 what _1633-69_, _Cy_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_ which _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _W_]
[109 tries _1633_, _A25_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _L74_, _N_, _Q_, _TCD_, _W:_ cloyes _1635-69_, _O'F_, _S:_ tyres _Cy_, _JC_, _P_]
[111 thrusts on more; _1633-69_, _O'F:_ thrusts more; _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _P_, _Q_, _W:_ thrusts me more; _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _TCD:_ thrusts me _P_
as if he'd undertooke _most MSS.:_ as if he'undertooke _1633_, _N_, _TCD:_ as he'had undertooke _1635-69_]
[113 have] hath _1633_, _Lec_]
[117 this] his _B_, _L74_, _O'F_, _TCD_, _W_
talke: In vaine; for _D_, _W_, _and other MSS.:_ talke in vaine: For _1633_, _Q:_ talke, in vaine: For _1635-69_]
[123 entail'd, and that there _1633:_ entailed, and there _1635-54:_ intailed and that there _1669_]
[128 whores, _Ed:_ Whores, _1633-69_]
[132 Statutes] Statues _1639_]
[133 in; for hearing him, _1669_, _N_, _P_, _TCD:_ in, for hearing him, _1650-54:_ in, for hearing him. _1633-39_, _A25_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _O'F_, _S_, _W_]
[134-6 (That ... free:) _represented by dashes in 1633_]
[134 venome _1635-54:_ venomous _1669:_ venomd _many MSS._]
[141 mercy now _1633-69:_ my redemption _Cy_, _P:_ redemption now _Q_, _S_]
[145 Gave] Give _Cy_, _D_, _H49_]
[146 Though] Thou _1635_]
[152 more ... then] such ... as _1669_]
[154 make _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S96_, _W:_ haste _1633-69_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _TCD_ (_from previous line_): _om. A25_
prison.] prison; _1633_]
[156 precious _1633_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_ piteous _1635-69 and rest of MSS._]
[159 on _1633_, _Cy_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _TCD:_ o'r _1635-69_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _Q_, _S96_, _W_]
[162 nones] none _1669_]
[164 th'huffing braggart, _1669_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _S96_, _W_ (_but no commas in MSS._): huffing, braggart, _1633-54_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD_ th'huffing, braggart, _1719_
Nobility?] Nobility. _1633_]
[169 your _1633-69_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_ yon _A25_, _B_, _JC_, _O'F_, _Q_, _W:_ the _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _P_, _S_, _S96_]
[170 Transported _1633-69_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _Q_, _TCD:_ Transplanted _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _W_
to stand] to Strand _L74_ (stand _being struck through_), _S_]
[171 our Presence, _1633_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _TCD:_ our Court here, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _Q_, _S_, _W:_ our Courtiers, _1635-69_, _O'F_]
[173 are;] are, _1633_]
[178 are found _1633_, _1669:_ were found _1635-54_]
[179 I, (God pardon mee.) _1633:_ I. (God pardon mee.) _1635:_ I. (God pardon me) _1639-69:_ aye--God pardon me-- _Chambers_]
[180 their Apparrells] th'apparells _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _W_]
[182 cry the flatterers; _1633:_ cry his flatterers; _1635-54_, _P:_ cryes his flatterers; _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Q_, _S_, _W:_ cryes the flatterer; _1669_, _L74_ (flatterers _is changed to_ flatterer), _Lec_ (flatterers)]
[185 players;] players, _1633_]
[187 wardrops _1633:_ wardrobes _1635-69_
Inventory.] Inventory; _1633_]
[188 doe know _1633-69_, _Lec_, _N_, _Q_, _TCD:_ did know _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _W_]
[190 (as they think) _1669_]
[194 scarlets] scarlett _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _W_]
[195 call'd] calls _A25_, _HN_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_]
[195-6 net; ... set.] net.... set; _1633_]
[198 hat] hat, _1633-54_]
[199 As if the Presence ... Moschite, _1633-69_, _Lec_ (_colon 1635-69_): As the Presence ... Moschite, (_or_ Meschite,) _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _W:_ As the Queenes Presence ... Meschite, _D_, _H49:_ As if the Queenes Presence ... meschite, _S_]
[203 fornicate:] fornicate. _1633_]
[204 survay _1633-69_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _TCD:_ survayes _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _S_, _W_]
[205 trye _Ed:_ tryes _1633-69 and MSS._]
[206 to thighe. _Ed:_ to thighes. _1633-69 and MSS.:_ to his thighes. _Q_]
[211 he arrests, _1633-69_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_ straight arrests, _A25_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _S96_, _W_]
[215 whisperd _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _N_, _TCD_, _W:_ whispers _1635-69_]
[216 Topcliffe would have ravish'd him quite away _JC, O'F, Q_ (_JC and O'F alter to_ Pursevant)]
[217 of _om. Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _W_]
[222 whom _1633_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_, _W_: or whom _1635-69_, _O'F_]
[223 He cares not, His _1633 and MSS._: He cares not hee. His _1635-69_]
[224 rusheth] rushes _1639-69_]
[226 still _1635-69_, _Q_, _and other MSS._: yet still _1633_, _L74_, _N_, _TCD_]
[229 I leave] Ile leave _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _W_]
[230 men which from _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_, _W_: men from _1633-69_]
[232 sinnes?). Being _Ed_: sinnes) being _1633-39_: sinnes?) being _1650-69_: _all the editions and some MSS. close the sentence at_ 236 wine.]
[236 Living barrells of beefe, flaggons of wine. _1633-54_: Living, barrels of beef, and flaggons of wine. _1669_]
[237 Spie.] Spie; _1633_]
[238 Seas of Wit and Arts, _B_, _Cy_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _Q_, _TCD_: Seas of Wits and Arts, _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _S_: Seas of witt and art, _A25_, _HN_: Great seas of witt and art, _O'F_, _S96_: Seas of all Wits and Arts, _conj. Lowell_]
[239 Drowne] To drowne _O'F_, _S96_]
[240 Which] Who _MSS._ am but a scarce brooke, _1633_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD_: am but a scant brooke, _1635-69_: am a scant brooke, _B_, _HN_, _JC_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _W_: am a shallow brooke, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _S_, _S96_]
[241 the _1633-69:_ their _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _HN_, _JC_, _O'F_, _Q_, _S_, _W:_ these _L74_, _N_, _TCD_
Although] though _1633 and MSS._]
[242 the knowne merit _1633-69_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _Q_, _TCD:_ known _om. B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _L74_, _P_, _S_, _W_]
[243 wise man] wise men _1650-69_, _B_, _HN_, _L74_, _P_, _TCD_, _W_]
_Satyre V._
Thou shalt not laugh in this leafe, Muse, nor they Whom any pitty warmes; He which did lay Rules to make Courtiers, (hee being understood May make good Courtiers, but who Courtiers good?) Frees from the sting of jests all who in extreme 5 Are wreched or wicked: of these two a theame Charity and liberty give me. What is hee Who Officers rage, and Suiters misery Can write, and jest? If all things be in all, As I thinke, since all, which were, are, and shall 10 Bee, be made of the same elements: Each thing, each thing implyes or represents. Then man is a world; in which, Officers Are the vast ravishing seas; and Suiters, Springs; now full, now shallow, now drye; which, to 15 That which drownes them, run: These selfe reasons do Prove the world a man, in which, officers Are the devouring stomacke, and Suiters The excrements, which they voyd. All men are dust; How much worse are Suiters, who to mens lust 20 Are made preyes? O worse then dust, or wormes meat, For they do eate you now, whose selves wormes shall eate. They are the mills which grinde you, yet you are The winde which drives them; and a wastfull warre Is fought against you, and you fight it; they 25 Adulterate lawe, and you prepare their way Like wittals; th'issue your owne ruine is. Greatest and fairest Empresse, know you this? Alas, no more then Thames calme head doth know Whose meades her armes drowne, or whose corne o'rflow: 30 You Sir, whose righteousnes she loves, whom I By having leave to serve, am most richly For service paid, authoriz'd, now beginne To know and weed out this enormous sinne. O Age of rusty iron! Some better wit 35 Call it some worse name, if ought equall it; The iron Age _that_ was, when justice was sold; now Injustice is sold dearer farre. Allow All demands, fees, and duties, gamsters, anon The mony which you sweat, and sweare for, is gon 40 Into other hands: So controverted lands Scape, like Angelica, the strivers hands. If Law be in the Judges heart, and hee Have no heart to resist letter, or fee, Where wilt thou appeale? powre of the Courts below 45 Flow from the first maine head, and these can throw Thee, if they sucke thee in, to misery, To fetters, halters; But if the injury Steele thee to dare complaine, Alas, thou go'st Against the stream, when upwards: when thou art most 50 Heavy and most faint; and in these labours they, 'Gainst whom thou should'st complaine, will in the way Become great seas, o'r which, when thou shalt bee Forc'd to make golden bridges, thou shalt see That all thy gold was drown'd in them before; 55 All things follow their like, only who have may have more. Judges are Gods; he who made and said them so, Meant not that men should be forc'd to them to goe, By meanes of Angels; When supplications We send to God, to Dominations, 60 Powers, Cherubins, and all heavens Courts, if wee Should pay fees as here, Daily bread would be Scarce to Kings; so 'tis. Would it not anger A Stoicke, a coward, yea a Martyr, To see a Pursivant come in, and call 65 All his cloathes, Copes; Bookes, Primers; and all His Plate, Challices; and mistake them away, And aske a fee for comming? Oh, ne'r may Faire lawes white reverend name be strumpeted, To warrant thefts: she is established 70 Recorder to Destiny, on earth, and shee Speakes Fates words, and but tells us who must bee Rich, who poore, who in chaires, who in jayles: Shee is all faire, but yet hath foule long nailes, With which she scracheth Suiters; In bodies 75 Of men, so in law, nailes are th'extremities, So Officers stretch to more then Law can doe, As our nailes reach what no else part comes to. Why barest thou to yon Officer? Foole, Hath hee Got those goods, for which erst men bar'd to thee? 80 Foole, twice, thrice, thou hast bought wrong, and now hungerly Beg'st right; But that dole comes not till these dye. Thou had'st much, and lawes Urim and Thummim trie Thou wouldst for more; and for all hast paper Enough to cloath all the great Carricks Pepper. 85 Sell that, and by that thou much more shalt leese, Then Haman, when he sold his Antiquities. O wretch that thy fortunes should moralize Esops fables, and make tales, prophesies. Thou'art the swimming dog whom shadows cosened, 90 And div'st, neare drowning, for what's vanished.
[Satyre V. _1633-69_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _Q_, _S_, _W:_ Satyre the third. _P:_ _no title_, _L74_, _N_, _TCD_ (_in L74 it is third, in N, TCD fourth in order_)]
[1 shalt] shal _1669_]
[9 and] in _1669_]
[12 implyes _1635-69:_ _spelt_ employes _1633 and some MSS._
represents. _1635-69:_ represents, _1633_]
[13 Officers] Officers, _1633-69_]
[14 ravishing _1633-69:_ ravenous _Q:_ ravening _P_, _S_]
[19 voyd. All _1669:_ voyd; all _1633-54_
dust; _W:_ dust, _1633-69_]
[21 preyes? _1669:_ preyes. _1633-54_]
[26 their _1633_, _D_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _TCD_, _W:_ the _1635-69_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_]
[27 wittals; _W:_ wittals, _1633-69_
is.] is; _1633_]
[33 authoriz'd, _1635-54:_ authorized, _1633:_ authoriz'd. _1669_]
[35-6 Some ... equall it;] _in brackets_ _1635-54_]
[37-9
The iron Age _that_ was, when justice was sold, now Injustice is sold deerer farre; allow All demands, fees, and duties; gamsters, anon
_1633_, _D_, _JC_ (All claym'd fees), _Lec_, _N_, _Q_ (All claym'd fees), _TCD_, _W_ (All claym'd fees):
The iron Age _that_ was, when justice was sold (now Injustice is sold dearer) did allow All claim'd fees and duties. Gamesters, anon
_1635-54_, _B_, _O'F_, _P_ (_the last two omit_ that was), _Chambers (no italics):_
The iron Age was, when justice was sold, now Injustice is sold dearer far, allow All claim'd fees and duties, Gamesters, anon
_1669_ ]
[46 Flow] Flows _O'F_, _Chambers_. _See note_]
[49 complaine,] complaine; _1633_
go'st] goest _1633-39_]
[50 when upwards: _1633-54_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _TCD_, _W_: upwards, _1669_, _Chambers_]
[52 the, _1633_: thy _1635-69_]
[56 only who have] only, who have, _1633_
more.] more _1633_]
[57 he ... so, _1633-54_: and he who made them so, _1669_: he ... and cal'd (_changed to_ stil'd) them so, _O'F_]
[58 that] _om. 1669_]
[59 supplications] supplication _1635-54_]
[61 Courts, _1635-69_, _B_, _JC_, _L74_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _W_: Court, _1633_, _D_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _TCD_]
[63 'tis. Would _1669_: 'tis, would _1633_: 'tis; Would _1635-54_]
[68 aske _1669_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _W_: lack _1633-54_, _Lec_
comming?] comming; _1633_]
[72 Speakes Fates words, and but tells us _&c._ _Q_, _W_, _Chambers_: Speakes Fates words, and tells who must bee _1633-69_]
[76 men,] men; _1633_
th'extremities, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _TCD_, _W:_ extremities, _1633:_ extremities. _1635-69_]
[78 comes to.] can come to. _Q_]
[80 which erst men bar'd _1635-69,_ _B_, _O'F_, _Q_, _S_, _W:_ which men bared _1633_, _D_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_ which men erst bar'd _A25_, _L74_, _P_]
[85: great] _om. Q_
Carricks _1633-35:_ Charricks _1639-69_]
[87 Haman, _1633:_ Hammon, _1635-69_, _P:_ _MSS. generally vary between_ Haman _and_ Hammond
when _1633_, _1669_, _D_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _TCD:_ if _1635-54_, _A25_, _B_, _JC_, _O'F_, _Q_, _S_]
[90 Thou'art _Ed:_ Thou art _1633-69_
cosened,] cozeneth, _1669_]
[91 And _1633:_ Which _1635-69:_ Whoe _Q_
div'st, _1633-54_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _TCD:_ div'st _1669:_ div'dst _D_, _L74_, _Lec_ (_altered from_ div'st), _W:_ div'd _A25_, _B_, _JC_, _O'F_, _S_ (_Grosart_), _Q_
what's vanished. _N:_ what vanished. _1633-54 and rest of MSS.:_ what vanisheth. _1669_]
_Vpon Mr. Thomas Coryats Crudities._
Oh to what height will love of greatnesse drive Thy leavened spirit, _Sesqui-superlative_? Venice vast lake thou hadst seen, and would seek than Some vaster thing, and found'st a Curtizan. That inland Sea having discovered well, 5 A Cellar gulfe, where one might saile to hell From Heydelberg, thou longdst to see: And thou This Booke, greater then all, producest now. Infinite worke, which doth so far extend, That none can study it to any end. 10 'Tis no one thing, it is not fruit nor roote; Nor poorely limited with head or foot. If man be therefore man, because he can Reason, and laugh, thy booke doth halfe make man. One halfe being made, thy modestie was such, 15 That thou on th'other half wouldst never touch. When wilt thou be at full, great Lunatique? Not till thou exceed the world? Canst thou be like A prosperous nose-borne wenne, which sometimes growes To be farre greater then the Mother-nose? 20 Goe then; and as to thee, when thou didst go, _Munster_ did Townes, and _Gesner_ Authors show, Mount now to _Gallo-belgicus_; appear As deepe a States-man, as a Gazettier. Homely and familiarly, when thou com'st back, 25 Talke of _Will. Conquerour_, and _Prester Iack_. Go bashfull man, lest here thou blush to looke Vpon the progresse of thy glorious booke, To which both Indies sacrifices send; The West sent gold, which thou didst freely spend, 30 (Meaning to see't no more) upon the presse. The East sends hither her deliciousnesse; And thy leaves must imbrace what comes from thence, The Myrrhe, the Pepper, and the Frankincense. This magnifies thy leaves; but if they stoope 35 To neighbour wares, when Merchants do unhoope Voluminous barrels; if thy leaves do then Convey these wares in parcels unto men; If for vast Tons of Currans, and of Figs, Of Medicinall and Aromatique twigs, 40 Thy leaves a better method do provide, Divide to pounds, and ounces sub-divide; If they stoope lower yet, and vent our wares, Home-_manufactures_, to thick popular Faires, If _omni-praegnant_ there, upon warme stalls, 45 They hatch all wares for which the buyer calls; Then thus thy leaves we justly may commend, That they all kinde of matter comprehend. Thus thou, by means which th'Ancients never took, A Pandect makest, and Vniversall Booke. 50 The bravest Heroes, for publike good, Scattered in divers Lands their limbs and blood. Worst malefactors, to whom men are prize, Do publike good, cut in Anatomies; So will thy booke in peeces; for a Lord 55 Which casts at Portescues, and all the board, Provide whole books; each leafe enough will be For friends to passe time, and keep company. Can all carouse up thee? no, thou must fit Measures; and fill out for the half-pint wit: 60 Some shall wrap pils, and save a friends life so, Some shall stop muskets, and so kill a foe. Thou shalt not ease the Criticks of next age So much, at once their hunger to asswage: Nor shall wit-pirats hope to finde thee lye 65 All in one bottome, in one Librarie. Some Leaves may paste strings there in other books, And so one may, which on another looks, Pilfer, alas, a little wit from you; [Sidenote *: I meane from one page which shall paste strings in a booke[1]] But hardly[*] much; and yet I think this true; 70 As _Sibyls_ was, your booke is mysticall, For every peece is as much worth as all. Therefore mine impotency I confesse, The healths which my braine bears must be far lesse: Thy Gyant-wit'orethrowes me, I am gone; 75 And rather then read all, I would reade none.
_I. D._
[Footnote 1: I meane _&c._ _side-note in 1611_]
[Vpon Mr. _&c._ _1649_, _where it was placed with_ The Token (_p._ 72_), _at the end of the_ Funerall Elegies: _appeared originally in_ Coryats Crudities (_1611: see note_) _with heading_ Incipit Joannes Donne.]
[2 leavened _1611:_ learned _1649-69 and mod. edd._]
[7 longdst _1611:_ long'st _1649-69_]
[19 sometimes.] sometime _1611_]
[24 Gazettier. _1611:_ Garretteir _1649-69_]
[28 booke,] booke. _1611_]
[37 barrels; _1649-69:_ barrels, _1611_]
[56 board, _1611:_ board _1649-69_]
_In eundem Macaronicon._
_Quot, dos haec_, +Linguists+ perfetti, _Disticha_ fairont, _Tot_ cuerdos +States-men+, _hic_ livre fara _tuus_. Es _sat_ a my l'honneur estre hic inteso; Car +I leave+ L'honra, de personne nestre creduto, _tibi_.
_Explicit Joannes Donne._
[In eundem _&c. 1611, concluding the above_]
* * * * *
[Illustration: JOHN DONNE, 1613
_Viri seraphici Joannis Donne Qua- dragenarij Effigies vera, Qui post eam ætatem Sacris initiatus Ec- clesiæ S^{ti} Pauli Decanus obijt._
_Año { Do[~m] 1631º { Ætatis suæ 59º_
("A true portrait of that seraphic man John Donne at the age of 40; he was later ordained into holy orders and died Dean of St Paul's in the year of our Lord 1631 at the age of 59")
From the engraving prefixed to his son's edition of the _Letters to Several Persons of Honour_ 1651, 1654]
* * * * *
Letters To Severall Personages. The Storme.
LETTERS
TO SEVERALL PERSONAGES.
THE STORME.
To Mr. _Christopher Brooke_.
Thou which art I, ('tis nothing to be soe) Thou which art still thy selfe, by these shalt know Part of our passage; And, a hand, or eye By _Hilliard_ drawne, is worth an history, By a worse painter made; and (without pride) 5 When by thy judgment they are dignifi'd, My lines are such: 'Tis the preheminence Of friendship onely to'impute excellence. England to whom we'owe, what we be, and have, Sad that her sonnes did seeke a forraine grave 10 (For, Fates, or Fortunes drifts none can soothsay, Honour and misery have one face and way.) From out her pregnant intrailes sigh'd a winde Which at th'ayres middle marble roome did finde Such strong resistance, that it selfe it threw 15 Downeward againe; and so when it did view How in the port, our fleet deare time did leese, Withering like prisoners, which lye but for fees, Mildly it kist our sailes, and, fresh and sweet, As to a stomack sterv'd, whose insides meete, 20 Meate comes, it came; and swole our sailes, when wee So joyd, as _Sara_'her swelling joy'd to see. But 'twas but so kinde, as our countrimen, Which bring friends one dayes way, and leave them then. Then like two mighty Kings, which dwelling farre 25 Asunder, meet against a third to warre, The South and West winds joyn'd, and, as they blew, Waves like a rowling trench before them threw. Sooner then you read this line, did the gale, Like shot, not fear'd till felt, our sailes assaile; 30 And what at first was call'd a gust, the same Hath now a stormes, anon a tempests name. _Ionas_, I pitty thee, and curse those men, Who when the storm rag'd most, did wake thee then; Sleepe is paines easiest salue, and doth fullfill 35 All offices of death, except to kill. But when I wakt, I saw, that I saw not; I, and the Sunne, which should teach mee'had forgot East, West, Day, Night, and I could onely say, If'the world had lasted, now it had beene day. 40 Thousands our noyses were, yet wee'mongst all Could none by his right name, but thunder call: Lightning was all our light, and it rain'd more Then if the Sunne had drunke the sea before. Some coffin'd in their cabbins lye,'equally 45 Griev'd that they are not dead, and yet must dye; And as sin-burd'ned soules from graves will creepe, At the last day, some forth their cabbins peepe: And tremblingly'aske what newes, and doe heare so, Like jealous husbands, what they would not know. 50 Some sitting on the hatches, would seeme there, With hideous gazing to feare away feare. Then note they the ships sicknesses, the Mast Shak'd with this ague, and the Hold and Wast With a salt dropsie clog'd, and all our tacklings 55 Snapping, like too-high-stretched treble strings. And from our totterd sailes, ragges drop downe so, As from one hang'd in chaines, a yeare agoe. Even our Ordinance plac'd for our defence, Strive to breake loose, and scape away from thence. 60 Pumping hath tir'd our men, and what's the gaine? Seas into seas throwne, we suck in againe; Hearing hath deaf'd our saylers; and if they Knew how to heare, there's none knowes what to say. Compar'd to these stormes, death is but a qualme, 65 Hell somewhat lightsome, and the'Bermuda calme. Darknesse, lights elder brother, his birth-right Claims o'r this world, and to heaven hath chas'd light. All things are one, and that one none can be, Since all formes, uniforme deformity 70 Doth cover, so that wee, except God say Another _Fiat_, shall have no more day. So violent, yet long these furies bee, That though thine absence sterve me,'I wish not thee.
[The Storme. To Mr. Christopher Brooke. _1633_ (_1635-69 add_ from the Iland voyage with the Earle of Essex): The Storme, A Storme _or_ Storme; _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _TCD_, _W_: _some add_ To Mr. C: B: _or a longer note to the same effect as 1635-69:_ to S^r Basil Brooke _JC_, _S_]
[2 these _1633 and most MSS._: this _1635-69_, _O'F_, _S_]
[4 an _1633:_ a _1635-69_]
[7 such: _Ed:_ such. _1633-69_]
[11 soothsay, _1650-54:_ _spelt_ Southsay _1633-39:_ gainsay _1669_]
[12 and way. _1633_, _1669:_ one way. _1635-54_]
[18 lye] laie _Q_]
[19 fresh _W:_ fresh, _1633-69_]
[20 As _W:_ As, _1633-69_]
[23 'twas _1650-69:_ 'twas, _1633-39_]
[30 fear'd] fear'd, _1633_]
[37 not; _Ed:_ not. _1633-69_]
[38 I, and the Sunne, _1633-69 and most MSS.:_ yea, and the Sunne, _Q_]
[39 Day, Night, _D_, _W:_ day, night, _1633-69_
could onely say _1633-69:_ could but say _Cy_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _Q_, _N_, _S_, _TCD_, _W:_ could then but say _O'F:_ could say _H49_, _Lec:_ should say _D_]
[40 lasted, now _1633_, _1669:_ lasted, yet _1635-54:_ Lasted yet, _O'F_]
[42 his] this _1669_]
[44 before.] before; _1633_]
[46 dye; _Ed:_ dye. _1633-69_]
[47 graves _1669_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _TCD_, _W:_ grave _1633-54_, _Cy_]
[49 tremblingly _1633_, _A25_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD_, _W:_ trembling _1635-69_, _Cy_, _JC_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_]
[50 Like _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD_, _W:_ As _1635-69_]
[53 Then] There _1669_]
[54 this] an _1635-69_]
[56 too-high-stretched _1633_, _A25_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _TCD_, _W_ (_MS. spelling generally_ to _and_ stretcht): too-too-high-stretch'd _1635-54:_ to too-high-stretch'd _1669_, _B_, _O'F_]
[59 Even our Ordinance _1633 and MSS.:_ Yea even our Ordinance _1635-69_]
[60 Strive _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _S_, _TCD_, _W:_ Strives _1635-69_, _Chambers:_ Striv'd _A25_, _B_, _Cy_]
[66 Hell] Hell's _S_
lightsome] light _B_, _Cy_
and the'Bermuda _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD_, _W:_ and the Bermudas _B_, _Cy_, _HN_, _P_, _S_, _Q:_ the Bermudas _1635-54_, _O'F:_ the _Bermuda's_ _1669_]
[67 elder _A25_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _TCD_, _W:_ eldest _1633-69_, _B_, _Lec_]
[68 Claims _1635-69 and MSS.:_ Claim'd _1633_ this _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_ the _1635-69_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_]
The Calme.
THE CALME.
Our storme is past, and that storms tyrannous rage, A stupid calme, but nothing it, doth swage. The fable is inverted, and farre more A blocke afflicts, now, then a storke before. Stormes chafe, and soone weare out themselves, or us; 5 In calmes, Heaven laughs to see us languish thus. As steady'as I can wish, that my thoughts were, Smooth as thy mistresse glasse, or what shines there, The sea is now. And, as the Iles which wee Seeke, when wee can move, our ships rooted bee. 10 As water did in stormes, now pitch runs out: As lead, when a fir'd Church becomes one spout. And all our beauty, and our trimme, decayes, Like courts removing, or like ended playes. The fighting place now seamens ragges supply; 15 And all the tackling is a frippery. No use of lanthornes; and in one place lay Feathers and dust, to day and yesterday. Earths hollownesses, which the worlds lungs are, Have no more winde then the upper valt of aire. 20 We can nor lost friends, nor sought foes recover, But meteorlike, save that wee move not, hover. Onely the Calenture together drawes Deare friends, which meet dead in great fishes jawes: And on the hatches as on Altars lyes 25 Each one, his owne Priest, and owne Sacrifice. Who live, that miracle do multiply Where walkers in hot Ovens, doe not dye. If in despite of these, wee swimme, that hath No more refreshing, then our brimstone Bath, 30 But from the sea, into the ship we turne, Like parboyl'd wretches, on the coales to burne. Like _Bajazet_ encag'd, the shepheards scoffe, Or like slacke sinew'd _Sampson_, his haire off, Languish our ships. Now, as a Miriade 35 Of Ants, durst th'Emperours lov'd snake invade, The crawling Gallies, Sea-goales, finny chips, Might brave our Pinnaces, now bed-ridde ships. Whether a rotten state, and hope of gaine, Or to disuse mee from the queasie paine 40 Of being belov'd, and loving, or the thirst Of honour, or faire death, out pusht mee first, I lose my end: for here as well as I A desperate may live, and a coward die. Stagge, dogge, and all which from, or towards flies, 45 Is paid with life, or pray, or doing dyes. Fate grudges us all, and doth subtly lay A scourge,'gainst which wee all forget to pray, He that at sea prayes for more winde, as well Under the poles may begge cold, heat in hell. 50 What are wee then? How little more alas Is man now, then before he was? he was Nothing; for us, wee are for nothing fit; Chance, or our selves still disproportion it. Wee have no power, no will, no sense; I lye, 55 I should not then thus feele this miserie.
[The Calme. _1633-69:_ _similarly_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _TCD_]
[4 storke] stroke _1639_]
[7 can wish, that my _1633_, _A25_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _TCD:_ could wish that my _Q:_ could wish my _1635-69_, _Chambers, who makes no note of 1633 reading_]
[9 the Iles _1633-69:_ these isles _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _Chambers (no note):_ those Iles _B_, _Cy_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _Q_, _TCD_]
[11 out: _1635-69:_ out _1633_]
[14 ended] ending _1669_]
[15 ragges] rage _1669_]
[17 No] Now _1669_]
[21 lost] lefte _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _TCD_]
[24 jawes: _1633_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _Q_, _S_, _TCD:_ mawes, _1635-69_, _O'F_, _P_, _Chambers_]
[29 these,] this, _L74_, _Q_, _TCD_]
[30 our _1633_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _TCD:_ a _1635-69_, _A25_, _P_]
[33 shepheards _1650-69:_ sheepheards _1633-39_]
[37 Sea-goales, (_or_ gayles _&c._) _1633_, _1669_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _TCD:_ Sea-gulls, _1635-54_, _O'F_, _Chambers:_ Sea-snayles, _B_, _JC_]
[38 our Pinnaces, now _1635-54_, _B_, _O'F:_ our venices, now _1633_, _A25_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _Q_, _S_, _TCD:_ with _Vinice's_, our _1669_]
[40 Or] Or, _1633-69_]
[44 and a coward _1633_, _MSS.:_ and coward _1635-69:_ a coward _P_, _S_]
[45 and all] and each _B_, _Q_, _S_]
[48 forget _1633-54_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _P_, _S:_ forgot _1669_, _A25_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _Q_, _TCD_]
[50 poles] pole _JC_, _Q_]
[52-3 he was? he was Nothing; for us, wee are for nothing fit; _1633_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _TCD_ (_but MSS. have no stop after_ Nothing): he was, he was? Nothing; for us, wee are for nothing fit; _1635-54:_ he was, he was? Nothing for us, we are for nothing fit; _1669_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _Q:_ _but the MSS. have not all got a mark of interrogation or other stop after second_ he was. _See note_]
To S^r _Henry Wotton_.
Sir, more then kisses, letters mingle Soules; For, thus friends absent speake. This ease controules The tediousnesse of my life: But for these I could ideate nothing, which could please, But I should wither in one day, and passe 5 To'a bottle'of Hay, that am a locke of Grasse. Life is a voyage, and in our lifes wayes Countries, Courts, Towns are Rockes, or Remoraes; They breake or stop all ships, yet our state's such, That though then pitch they staine worse, wee must touch. 10 If in the furnace of the even line, Or under th'adverse icy poles thou pine, Thou know'st two temperate Regions girded in, Dwell there: But Oh, what refuge canst thou winne Parch'd in the Court, and in the country frozen? 15 Shall cities, built of both extremes, be chosen? Can dung and garlike be'a perfume? or can A Scorpion and Torpedo cure a man? Cities are worst of all three; of all three (O knottie riddle) each is worst equally. 20 Cities are Sepulchers; they who dwell there Are carcases, as if no such there were. And Courts are Theaters, where some men play Princes, some slaves, all to one end, and of one clay. The Country is a desert, where no good, 25 Gain'd (as habits, not borne,) is understood. There men become beasts, and prone to more evils; In cities blockes, and in a lewd court, devills. As in the first Chaos confusedly Each elements qualities were in the'other three; 30 So pride, lust, covetize, being feverall To these three places, yet all are in all, And mingled thus, their issue incestuous. Falshood is denizon'd. Virtue is barbarous. Let no man say there, Virtues flintie wall 35 Shall locke vice in mee, I'll do none, but know all. Men are spunges, which to poure out, receive, Who know false play, rather then lose, deceive. For in best understandings, sinne beganne, Angels sinn'd first, then Devills, and then man. 40 Onely perchance beast sinne not; wretched wee Are beasts in all, but white integritie. I thinke if men, which in these places live Durst looke for themselves, and themselves retrive, They would like strangers greet themselves, seeing than 45 Utopian youth, growne old Italian. Be thou thine owne home, and in thy selfe dwell; Inne any where, continuance maketh hell. And seeing the snaile, which every where doth rome, Carrying his owne house still, still is at home, 50 Follow (for he is easie pac'd) this snaile, Bee thine owne Palace, or the world's thy gaile. And in the worlds sea, do not like corke sleepe Upon the waters face; nor in the deepe Sinke like a lead without a line: but as 55 Fishes glide, leaving no print where they passe, Nor making sound; so closely thy course goe, let men dispute, whether thou breathe, or no. Onely'in this one thing, be no Galenist: To make Courts hot ambitions wholesome, do not take 60 A dramme of Countries dulnesse; do not adde Correctives, but as chymiques, purge the bad. But, Sir, I advise not you, I rather doe Say o'er those lessons, which I learn'd of you: Whom, free from German schismes, and lightness 65 Of France, and faire Italies faithlesnesse, Having from these suck'd all they had of worth, And brought home that faith, which you carried forth, I throughly love. But if my selfe, I'have wonne To know my rules, I have, and you have 70 DONNE:
[To S^r Henry Wotton. _1633-69_ (Sir _1669_): _same or no title_, _A18_, _A25_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ To M^r H. W. _B_, _W_ (_B adds_ J. D.). _See note_]
[4 I could invent nothing at all to please, _1669_]
[6 bottle] botle _1633_ To a lock of hay, that am a Bottle of grass. _1669_]
[7 lifes _1633:_ lives _1635-69_]
[10 though ... worse, _in brackets 1650-69_]
[11 even _1669_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TC_, _W:_ raging _1633-54:_ other _P:_ over _S_]
[12 poles _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _P_, _O'F_, _S_, _W:_ pole _1633-69_, _A18_, _HN_, _N_, _TC_]
[16 cities, ... extremes, _Ed:_ cities ... extremes _1633-69_]
[17 dung and garlike _1633_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _TC_, _W_ (dung, _1633_): dung, or garlike _1635-69_, _A25_, _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_ a perfume] a _om. 1635-54_, _Chambers_]
[18 Scorpion _Ed:_ Scorpion, _1633-69_
and Torpedo _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _TC_, _W:_ or Torpedo _1633-69_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_. _See note_]
[19 of all three _1633:_ of all three? _1635-69_]
[22 no such _1633_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _N_, _S_, _TC_, _W:_ none such _1635-69_, _O'F_, _P_
there were. _1635-69_, _A36_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _W:_ they were. _1633_, _Lec:_ then were _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[24 and of one clay. _1633 and MSS. generally:_ of one clay. _1635-39:_ of one day. _1650-54:_ and at one daye. _A25:_ Princes, some slaves, and all end in one day. _1669_]
[25-6
The Country is a desert, where no good, Gain'd, as habits, not borne, is understood.
_1633_, _1669_, _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _S96_, _TC_, _W_
The Country is a desert, where the good, Gain'd inhabits not, borne, is not understood.
_1635-54_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_
The Country is a desert, where noe good Gain'd doth inhabit, nor born's understood.
_A25_]
[27 more _1633_, _A25_, _W:_ meere _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _S96:_ men (_a slip for_ mere) _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ all _1635-69_. _See note_]
[33 issue incestuous, _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _TC_, _W:_ issue is incestuous. _1635-69_, _P_, _S:_ issues monsterous. _A25_]
[35 there] then _Lec_]
[44 for themselves, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_, _W:_ in themselves, _1633-69:_ into themselves, themselves retrive, _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_]
[45 than] then _1663_]
[45-6 than ... Italian.] that ... Italianate. _Cy_, _P_]
[47 Be thou _1633_, _Lec:_ Be then _1635-69 and MSS._]
[50 home, _Ed:_ home. _1633:_ home: _1635-69_]
[52 gaile. _1635-69:_ goale; _1633_]
[57 so _D, W:_ so _1633-69_]
[58-9 breathe,] breath, _1633_
or no. Onely'in this one thing, be no Galenist: _Ed:_ or no: Onley ... Galenist. _1633_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _TC_, _W:_ or no: Onely in this be no Galenist. _1635-69_, _Cy_, O_'F_, _S_]
[64 you:] you. _1633_]
[65 German _1633 and all MSS.:_ Germanies _1635-69_, _Grosart and Chambers (without note)_]
To S^r _Henry Goodyere_.
Who makes the Past, a patterne for next yeare, Turnes no new leafe, but still the same things reads, Seene things, he sees againe, heard things doth heare, And makes his life, but like a paire of beads.
A Palace, when'tis that, which it should be, 5 Leaves growing, and stands such, or else decayes: But hee which dwels there, is not so; for hee Strives to urge upward, and his fortune raise;
So had your body'her morning, hath her noone, And shall not better; her next change is night: 10 But her faire larger guest, to'whom Sun and Moone Are sparkes, and short liv'd, claimes another right.
The noble Soule by age growes lustier, Her appetite, and her digestion mend, Wee must not sterve, nor hope to pamper her 15 With womens milke, and pappe unto the end.
Provide you manlyer dyet; you have seene All libraries, which are Schools, Camps, and Courts; But aske your Garners if you have not beene In harvests, too indulgent to your sports. 20
Would you redeeme it? then your selfe transplant A while from hence. Perchance outlandish ground Beares no more wit, then ours, but yet more scant Are those diversions there, which here abound.
To be a stranger hath that benefit, 25 Wee can beginnings, but not habits choke. Goe; whither? Hence; you get, if you forget; New faults, till they prescribe in us, are smoake.
Our soule, whose country'is heaven, and God her father, Into this world, corruptions sinke, is sent, 30 Yet, so much in her travaile she doth gather, That she returnes home, wiser then she went;
It payes you well, if it teach you to spare, And make you,'ashm'd, to make your hawks praise, yours, Which when herselfe she lessens in the aire, 35 You then first say, that high enough she toures.
However, keepe the lively tast you hold Of God, love him as now, but feare him more, And in your afternoones thinke what you told And promis'd him, at morning prayer before. 40
Let falshood like a discord anger you, Else be not froward. But why doe I touch Things, of which none is in your practise new, And Tables, or fruit-trenchers teach as much;
But thus I make you keepe your promise Sir, 45 Riding I had you, though you still staid there, And in these thoughts, although you never stirre, You came with mee to Micham, and are here.
[To Sir Henry Goodyere. _1633-69:_ _so with_ Goodyere _variously spelt_ _A25_, _B_, _C_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ To S^r Henry Goodyere (H: G: _A18_, _N_, _TC_) moveing him to travell. _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_]
[1 Past, _1633-54_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC:_ Last _1669_, _Chambers_]
[2 reads,] read, _1650-54_]
[6 decayes:] decayes, _1633_]
[16 womens] womans _1669_]
[17 dyet; _Ed:_ dyet, _1633_ (_with a larger interval than is usually given to a comma_), _1669:_ dyet. _1635-54_]
[20 harvests, _1633-54_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _TC:_ harvest, _1669_, _A25_, _C_, _Cy_, _N_, _O'F_, _Chambers_]
[27 Goe; _A18_, _B_, _TC:_ Goe, _1633-69_
Hence; _A18_, _TC:_ hence; _1633:_ hence _1635-54:_ Hence. _1669_]
[28 in us, _1633_, _A18_, _A25_, _C_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _TC:_ to us, _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_]
[34 you,'asham'd, _Ed:_ you'asham'd, _1633-69:_ you asham'd _Chambers and Grolier_. _See note_]
[37 However, _1633-39:_ However _1650-69:_ Howsoever _A18_, _B_, _D_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_]
[38 as] _om. 1639-69_]
[42 froward.] froward; _1633_]
[44 Tables _1633-54_, _Lec:_ Fables _1669_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_]
[45 make] made _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[48 with mee to] to mee at _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
To M^r _Rowland Woodward_.
Like one who'in her third widdowhood doth professe Her selfe a Nunne, tyed to retirednesse, So'affects my muse now, a chast fallownesse;
Since shee to few, yet to too many'hath showne How love-song weeds, and Satyrique thornes are growne 5 Where seeds of better Arts, were early sown.
Though to use, and love Poëtrie, to mee, Betroth'd to no'one Art, be no'adulterie; Omissions of good, ill, as ill deeds bee.
For though to us it seeme,'and be light and thinne, 10 Yet in those faithfull scales, where God throwes in Mens workes, vanity weighs as much as sinne.
If our Soules have stain'd their first white, yet wee May cloth them with faith, and deare honestie, Which God imputes, as native puritie. 15
There is no Vertue, but Religion: Wise, valiant, sober, just, are names, which none Want, which want not Vice-covering discretion.
Seeke wee then our selves in our selves; for as Men force the Sunne with much more force to passe, 20 By gathering his beames with a christall glasse;
So wee, If wee into our selves will turne, Blowing our sparkes of vertue, may outburne The straw, which doth about our hearts sojourne.
You know, Physitians, when they would infuse 25 Into any'oyle, the Soules of Simples, use Places, where they may lie still warme, to chuse.
So workes retirednesse in us; To rome Giddily, and be every where, but at home, Such freedome doth a banishment become. 30
Wee are but farmers of our selves, yet may, If we can stocke our selves, and thrive, uplay Much, much deare treasure for the great rent day.
Manure thy selfe then, to thy selfe be'approv'd, And with vaine outward things be no more mov'd, 35 But to know, that I love thee'and would be lov'd.
[To M^r Rowland Woodward. _1633-69:_ _similarly or without heading_, _A18_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ A Letter of Doctor Dunne to one that desired some of his papers. _B:_ To M^r R. W. _W_]
[1 professe] professe, _1633_]
[2 retirednesse, _1633-69_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _O'F_, _P_, _S:_ a retirednesse, _A18_, _L74_, _N_, _TC_, _W_]
[3 fallownesse; _Ed:_ fallownesse. _1633-54:_ fallowness, _1669:_ holinesse _Cy_, _P_, _S96_]
[4 too] so _W_ showne _1633_, _1669:_ flowne, _1635-54_]
[5 How love-song weeds, _1633:_ How long loves weeds, _1635-54_, _O'F:_ How Love-song weeds, _1669_]
[6 sown. _1633_, _1669:_ sown? _1635-54:_ sown; _Chambers, who retains the full-stop after_ fallownesse]
[10 to us it] to use it, _Cy_, _P_, _S96_
seeme,'and be light _1633_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _L74_, _N_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_, _W:_ seem but light _1635-69_, _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_, _and Chambers, who attributes to 1633 the reading_ seem and be but light]
[13 white] whites _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_]
[14 honestie] integritie _Cy_, _P_, _S_, _S96_]
[15 puritie.] puritie, _1633_]
[16 Religion: _1669:_ Religion, _1633:_ Religion. _1635-54_]
[23 our] the _A18_, _L74_, _N_, _TC_
sparkes _1633-54_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TC_, _W:_ spark _1669_, _A18_, _H40_, _S_, _Chambers_]
[25 infuse] infuse _1633_]
[26 Soules _1633-69_, _Cy_, _P:_ soule _B_, _D_, _H40_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_, _W_]
[28 To _1635-69:_ to _1633_]
[29 Giddily, _1669:_ Giddily _1633-54_]
[31 farmers _1635-69_, _and all MSS., where it is generally spelt_ fermers: termers _1633_]
[33 deare _1633_, _and most MSS.:_ good _1635-69_, _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_]
[34 approv'd _1633-54_, _A18_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_, _W:_ improv'd _1669_, _B_, _Chambers_]
[36 lov'd. _1633-69:_ belov'd. _A18_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_]
To S^r _Henry Wootton_.
Here's no more newes, then vertue,'I may as well Tell you _Cales_, or S^t _Michaels_ tale for newes, as tell That vice doth here habitually dwell.
Yet, as to'get stomachs, we walke up and downe, And toyle to sweeten rest, so, may God frowne, 5 If, but to loth both, I haunt Court, or Towne.
For here no one is from the'extremitie Of vice, by any other reason free, But that the next to'him, still, is worse then hee.
In this worlds warfare, they whom rugged Fate, 10 (Gods Commissary,) doth so throughly hate, As in'the Courts Squadron to marshall their state:
If they stand arm'd with seely honesty, With wishing prayers, and neat integritie, Like Indians'gainst Spanish hosts they bee. 15
Suspitious boldnesse to this place belongs, And to'have as many eares as all have tongues; Tender to know, tough to acknowledge wrongs.
Beleeve mee Sir, in my youths giddiest dayes, When to be like the Court, was a playes praise, 20 Playes were not so like Courts, as Courts'are like playes.
Then let us at these mimicke antiques jeast, Whose deepest projects, and egregious gests Are but dull Moralls of a game at Chests.
But now'tis incongruity to smile, 25 Therefore I end; and bid farewell a while, _At Court_; though _From Court_, were the better stile.
[To S^r Henry Wootton. _1633-69:_ _do. or_ A Letter to _&c._ _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _S_, _S96_ (_of these Cy and S add_ From Court _and_ From y^e Court): From Court. _P:_ To M^r H. W. 20 Jul. 1598 at Court. _HN:_ To M^r H. W. 20 July 15098 (_sic_) At Court. _W:_ Jo: D: to M^r H: W: _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ Another Letter. _JC_]
[1 newes] new _1669_]
[2 Tell you _Cales_, (_Calis_, _1633_) or _S^t Michaels_ tale for newes, as tell _1633_, _A18_, _B_ (tales), _Cy_ (and S^t Michaels tales), _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_ (tales), _P_, _S_, _S96_ (tales), _TC_, _W_ (_MSS. waver in spelling--but_ Cales _Cy_, _HN_, _P:_) Tell you _Calis_, or _Saint Michaels_ tales, as tell _1635-54_, _Chambers_ (Calais): Tell _Calis_, or Saint _Michaels_ Mount, as tell _1669:_ Tell you Calais, or Saint Michaels Mount as tell _1719:_ _All modern editions read_ Calais]
[6 or] and _1669_]
[9 to'him, still, _1633:_ to him, still, _1635-69:_ to him is still _A18_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_]
[12 state: _1635-69:_ state _1633_]
[14 wishing prayers, _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_, _W:_ wishing, prayers, _1669_, _HN:_ wishes, prayers, _1635-54_, _B_, _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_, _Chambers_]
[20 playes] players _1639-69_]
[21 are like _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _S96_ (are now like), _TC_, _W:_ are _om. (metri causa) 1635-69_, _B_, _Cy_, _JC_, _O'F_]
[23-4
are egregeous guests, And but dull Morals at a game of Chests.
_1669_]
[25 now'tis] 'tis an _1669_]
[27 _At Court;_ though, _From Court, &c._ _W:_ _At Court_, though from Court, _&c._ _1633-69_]
_H: W: in Hiber: belligeranti._
Went you to conquer? and have so much lost Yourself, that what in you was best and most, Respective friendship, should so quickly dye? In publique gaine my share'is not such that I Would lose your love for Ireland: better cheap 5 I pardon death (who though he do not reap Yet gleanes hee many of our frends away) Then that your waking mind should bee a prey To lethargies. Lett shott, and boggs, and skeines With bodies deale, as fate bids and restreynes; 10 Ere sicknesses attack, yong death is best, Who payes before his death doth scape arrest. Lett not your soule (at first with graces fill'd, And since, and thorough crooked lymbecks, still'd In many schools and courts, which quicken it,) 15 It self unto the Irish negligence submit. I aske not labored letters which should weare Long papers out: nor letters which should feare Dishonest carriage: or a seers art: Nor such as from the brayne come, but the hart. 20
[H: W: _&c._ _Burley MS._ (JD _in margin_) _i.e._ Henrico Wottoni in Hibernia belligeranti]
[2 that] y^t _Bur, and similarly_ y^e (the), y^r (your), w^{ch} (which), w^{th} (with) _throughout_]
[2-3 most, Respective friendship,] _no commas_, _Bur_]
[4 share'is] share is _Bur_]
[9 lethargies.] letargies. _Bur_]
[10 restreynes;] restreynes _Bur_]
[11 attack,] attack _Bur_
best,] best _Bur_]
[13 (at first] _Bur closes bracket after_ first _and again after_ 15 quicken it,]
[14 since,] since _Bur_]
[19 art:] art _Bur_]
_To the Countesse of Bedford._
MADAME,
Reason is our Soules left hand, Faith her right, By these wee reach divinity, that's you; Their loves, who have the blessings of your light, Grew from their reason, mine from faire faith grew.
But as, although a squint lefthandednesse 5 Be'ungracious, yet we cannot want that hand, So would I, not to encrease, but to expresse My faith, as I beleeve, so understand.
Therefore I study you first in your Saints, Those friends, whom your election glorifies, 10 Then in your deeds, accesses, and restraints, And what you reade, and what your selfe devize.
But soone, the reasons why you'are lov'd by all, Grow infinite, and so passe reasons reach, Then backe againe to'implicite faith I fall, 15 And rest on what the Catholique voice doth teach;
That you are good: and not one Heretique Denies it: if he did, yet you are so. For, rockes, which high top'd and deep rooted sticke, Waves wash, not undermine, nor overthrow. 20
In every thing there naturally growes A _Balsamum_ to keepe it fresh, and new, If'twere not injur'd by extrinsique blowes; Your birth and beauty are this Balme in you.
But you of learning and religion, 25 And vertue,'and such ingredients, have made A methridate, whose operation Keepes off, or cures what can be done or said.
Yet, this is not your physicke, but your food, A dyet fit for you; for you are here 30 The first good Angell, since the worlds frame stood, That ever did in womans shape appeare.
Since you are then Gods masterpeece, and so His Factor for our loves; do as you doe, Make your returne home gracious; and bestow 35 This life on that; so make one life of two. For so God helpe mee,'I would not misse you there For all the good which you can do me here.
[To the Countesse of Bedford. _1633-69:_ _do. or_ To the Countesse of B. _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _M_, _N_, _O'F_, _RP31_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_]
[3 blessings _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ blessing _1635-69_, _B_, _Cy_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_
light, _1633-69:_ sight, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _RP31_, _S_, _TCD_]
[4 faire _1633-69_, _L74_, _N_, _TCD:_ farr _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _M_, _O'F_, _RP31_, _S_, _S96_]
[16 what] that _Chambers_
voice _1635-69_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _M_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TCD:_ faith _1633_, _RP31_, _S_]
[19 high top'd and deep rooted _1633_, _N_, _TCD:_ high to sense deepe-rooted _1635-54_, _O'F_, _Chambers_ (_who has overlooked 1633 reading:_) high to sense and deepe-rooted _S96:_ high to sun and deepe-rooted _L74_, _RP31_, _S:_ high do seem, deep-rooted _1669_, _Cy_ (_but MS. with_ and): high to some, and deepe-rooted _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ high to seeme, and deepe-rooted _B_. _See note_]
[25 But _Ed:_ But, _1633-69_]
[36 This, _1635-69_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _RP31_, _S_, _TCD_, _Grosart and Chambers:_ Thy _1633_, _Grolier_. _See note_]
_To the Countesse of Bedford._
MADAME,
You have refin'd mee, and to worthyest things (Vertue, Art, Beauty, Fortune,) now I see Rarenesse, or use, not nature value brings; And such, as they are circumstanc'd, they bee. Two ills can ne're perplexe us, sinne to'excuse; 5 But of two good things, we may leave and chuse.
Therefore at Court, which is not vertues clime, (Where a transcendent height, (as, lownesse mee) Makes her not be, or not show) all my rime Your vertues challenge, which there rarest bee; 10 For, as darke texts need notes: there some must bee To usher vertue, and say, _This is shee._
So in the country'is beauty; to this place You are the season (Madame) you the day, 'Tis but a grave of spices, till your face 15 Exhale them, and a thick close bud display. Widow'd and reclus'd else, her sweets she'enshrines; As China, when the Sunne at Brasill dines.
Out from your chariot, morning breaks at night, And falsifies both computations so; 20 Since a new world doth rise here from your light, We your new creatures, by new recknings goe. This showes that you from nature lothly stray, That suffer not an artificiall day.
In this you'have made the Court the Antipodes, 25 And will'd your Delegate, the vulgar Sunne, To doe profane autumnall offices, Whilst here to you, wee sacrificers runne; And whether Priests, or Organs, you wee'obey, We sound your influence, and your Dictates say. 30
Yet to that Deity which dwels in you, Your vertuous Soule, I now not sacrifice; These are _Petitions_ and not _Hymnes_; they sue But that I may survay the edifice. In all Religions as much care hath bin 35 Of Temples frames, and beauty,'as Rites within.
As all which goe to Rome, doe not thereby Esteeme religions, and hold fast the best, But serve discourse, and curiosity, With that which doth religion but invest, 40 And shunne th'entangling laborinths of Schooles, And make it wit, to thinke the wiser fooles:
So in this pilgrimage I would behold You as you'are vertues temple, not as shee, What walls of tender christall her enfold, 45 What eyes, hands, bosome, her pure Altars bee; And after this survay, oppose to all Bablers of Chappels, you th'Escuriall.
Yet not as consecrate, but merely'as faire, On these I cast a lay and country eye. 50 Of past and future stories, which are rare, I finde you all record, and prophecie. Purge but the booke of Fate, that it admit No sad nor guilty legends, you are it.
If good and lovely were not one, of both 55 You were the transcript, and originall, The Elements, the Parent, and the Growth, And every peece of you, is both their All: So'intire are all your deeds, and you, that you Must do the same thinge still; you cannot two. 60
But these (as nice thinne Schoole divinity Serves heresie to furder or represse) Tast of Poëtique rage, or flattery, And need not, where all hearts one truth professe; Oft from new proofes, and new phrase, new doubts grow, 65 As strange attire aliens the men wee know.
Leaving then busie praise, and all appeale To higher Courts, senses decree is true, The Mine, the Magazine, the Commonweale, The story of beauty,'in Twicknam is, and you. 70 Who hath seene one, would both; As, who had bin In Paradise, would seeke the Cherubin.
[the Countesse of Bedford. _1633-69:_ _similarly or with no title_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCD_]
[2 (Vertue, ... Fortune,)] _brackets Ed:_ Fortune, _1633:_ Fortune; _1635-69_, _Grolier:_ Fortune. _Chambers_. _See note_]
[5 ne're] nere _1633_]
[6 and] or _1669_]
[8-9 _1633 begins to bracket_ (Where ... not show) _but does not finish, putting a colon after_ show: _the others drop the larger brackets, retaining the smaller_ (as ... mee)]
[9 be] see _1669_
show] show: _1633-54:_ show. _1669_]
[11 notes: there some _1633-54:_ notes some: there _1669_]
[17 enshrines; _1719:_ enshrines _1633-69_]
[20 computations so; _1633-69:_ computations; so, _Chambers_]
[42 fooles:] fooles. _1633_]
[48 Bablers _1633:_ Babblers _1635-54:_ Builders _1669_]
[49 faire, _Ed:_ faire; _1633-69_]
[50 eye.] eye, _1633_]
[52 and prophecie] all prophecye _B_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCD_ prophecie.] prophecie, _1633 some copies_]
[57 Parent] Parents _1669_ Growth, _1669:_ Growth _1633-54_]
[58 both _1633 and MSS.:_ worth _1635-69_, _O'F_ All: _Ed:_ All, _1633-69_]
[60 thinge _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _N_, _O'F:_ things _1633-69_, _Lec_]
[61 nice thinne _1633-54:_ nicest _1669_]
[66 aliens _1633_, _1669 and MSS.:_ alters _1635-54_, _O'F_]
[67 and] end _1669_, _not_ lend _as in Chambers' note_
appeale _Ed:_ appeale, _1633-69_]
[68 true, _1633:_ true. _1635-69_]
[71 had bin _1633-35:_ hath bin _1639-69_. _See note_]
To S^r _Edward Herbert_. at _Iulyers_.
Man is a lumpe, where all beasts kneaded bee, Wisdome makes him an Arke where all agree; The foole, in whom these beasts do live at jarre, Is sport to others, and a Theater; Nor scapes hee so, but is himselfe their prey, 5 All which was man in him, is eate away, And now his beasts on one another feed, Yet couple'in anger, and new monsters breed. How happy'is hee, which hath due place assign'd To'his beasts, and disaforested his minde! 10 Empail'd himselfe to keepe them out, not in; Can sow, and dares trust corne, where they have bin; Can use his horse, goate, wolfe, and every beast, And is not Asse himselfe to all the rest. Else, man not onely is the heard of swine, 15 But he's those devills too, which did incline Them to a headlong rage, and made them worse: For man can adde weight to heavens heaviest curse. As Soules (they say) by our first touch, take in The poysonous tincture of Originall sinne, 20 So, to the punishments which God doth fling, Our apprehension contributes the sting. To us, as to his chickins, he doth cast Hemlocke, and wee as men, his hemlocke taste; We do infuse to what he meant for meat, 25 Corrosivenesse, or intense cold or heat. For, God no such specifique poyson hath As kills we know not how; his fiercest wrath Hath no antipathy, but may be good At lest for physicke, if not for our food. 30 Thus man, that might be'his pleasure, is his rod, And is his devill, that might be his God. Since then our businesse is, to rectifie Nature, to what she was, wee'are led awry By them, who man to us in little show; 35 Greater then due, no forme we can bestow On him; for Man into himselfe can draw All; All his faith can swallow,'or reason chaw. All that is fill'd, and all that which doth fill, All the round world, to man is but a pill, 40 In all it workes not, but it is in all Poysonous, or purgative, or cordiall, For, knowledge kindles Calentures in some, And is to others icy _Opium_. As brave as true, is that profession than 45 Which you doe use to make; that you know man. This makes it credible; you have dwelt upon All worthy bookes, and now are such an one. Actions are authors, and of those in you Your friends finde every day a mart of new. 50
[To S^r Edward _&c._ _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _O'F:_ A Letter to S^r Edward Herbert (_or_ Harbert). _B_, _Cy_ (_which adds_ Incerti Authoris), _S96:_ To Sir E. H. _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ _no title_, _P:_ Elegia Vicesima Tertia. _S:_ To S^r Edward Herbert, now (since _1669_) Lord Herbert of Cherbury, being at the siege of Iulyers. _1635-69_]
[4 Theater; _Ed:_ Theater, _1633-69:_ Theater. _D_]
[5 prey, _Ed:_ prey; _1633-69_]
[8 breed.] breed; _1633_]
[10 minde! _Ed:_ minde? _1633-69_]
[17 a headlong] a _om. 1669:_ an headlong _1635-54_]
[24 taste; _Ed:_ taste. _1633-69_]
[28 we know _1633 and MSS.:_ men know _1635-69_, _O'F_]
[35 show; _1669:_ show, _1633-54_, _Chambers_]
[36 due, _1633-69:_ due; _Chambers_. _See note_]
[38 All; All _1669:_ All: All _1635-54:_ All, All _1633_
chaw. _1633:_ chaw, _1635-69_, _Grolier_]
[39 fill, _1633-54:_ fill _1669:_ fill; _Grolier_]
[44 icy] jcy _1633_]
[47-8 credible; ... bookes, _Ed:_ credible, ... bookes; _1633-69:_ credible ... bookes _Grolier_]
_To the Countesse of Bedford._
T'have written then, when you writ, seem'd to mee Worst of spirituall vices, Simony, And not t'have written then, seemes little lesse Then worst of civill vices, thanklessenesse. In this, my debt I seem'd loath to confesse, 5 In that, I seem'd to shunne beholdingnesse. But 'tis not soe; _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, then before. 10 Yet since rich mines in barren grounds are showne, May not I yeeld (not gold) but coale or stone? Temples were not demolish'd, though prophane: Here _Peter Ioves_, there _Paul_ hath _Dian's_ Fane. So whether my hymnes you admit or chuse, 15 In me you'have hallowed a Pagan Muse, And denizend a stranger, who mistaught By blamers of the times they mard, hath sought Vertues in corners, which now bravely doe Shine in the worlds best part, or all It; You. 20 I have beene told, that vertue in Courtiers hearts Suffers an Ostracisme, and departs. Profit, ease, fitnesse, plenty, bid it goe, But whither, only knowing you, I know; Your (or you) vertue two vast uses serves, 25 It ransomes one sex, and one Court preserves. There's nothing but your worth, which being true, Is knowne to any other, not to you: And you can never know it; To admit No knowledge of your worth, is some of it. 30 But since to you, your praises discords bee, Stoop, others ills to meditate with mee. Oh! to confesse wee know not what we should, Is halfe excuse; wee know not what we would: Lightnesse depresseth us, emptinesse fills, 35 We sweat and faint, yet still goe downe the hills. As new Philosophy arrests the Sunne, And bids the passive earth about it runne, So wee have dull'd our minde, it hath no ends; Onely the bodie's busie, and pretends; 40 As dead low earth ecclipses and controules The quick high Moone: so doth the body, Soules. In none but us, are such mixt engines found, As hands of double office: For, the ground We till with them; and them to heav'n wee raise; 45 Who prayer-lesse labours, or, without this, prayes, Doth but one halfe, that's none; He which said, _Plough And looke not back_, to looke up doth allow. Good seed degenerates, and oft obeyes The soyles disease, and into cockle strayes; 50 Let the minds thoughts be but transplanted so, Into the body,'and bastardly they grow. What hate could hurt our bodies like our love? Wee (but no forraine tyrants could) remove These not ingrav'd, but inborne dignities, 55 Caskets of soules; Temples, and Palaces: For, bodies shall from death redeemed bee, Soules but preserv'd, not naturally free. As men to'our prisons, new soules to us are sent, Which learne vice there, and come in innocent. 60 First seeds of every creature are in us, What ere the world hath bad, or pretious, Mans body can produce, hence hath it beene That stones, wormes, frogges, and snakes in man are seene: But who ere saw, though nature can worke soe, 65 That pearle, or gold, or corne in man did grow? We'have added to the world Virginia,'and sent Two new starres lately to the firmament; Why grudge wee us (not heaven) the dignity T'increase with ours, those faire soules company. 70 But I must end this letter, though it doe Stand on two truths, neither is true to you, Vertue hath some perversenesse; For she will Neither beleeve her good, nor others ill. Even in you, vertues best paradise, 75 Vertue hath some, but wise degrees of vice. Too many vertues, or too much of one Begets in you unjust suspition; And ignorance of vice, makes vertue lesse, Quenching compassion of our wrechednesse. 80 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 85 And make her do much good against her will, But in your Commonwealth, or world in you, Vice hath no office, or good worke to doe. Take then no vitious purge, but be content With cordiall vertue, your knowne nourishment. 90
[the _&c._ _1633-69:_ To the Countesse of B. _N_, _O'F_, _TCD_]
[5 debt _1669_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ doubt _1633-54_]
[7 soe; _Ed:_ soe, _1633-54:_ soe. _1669_
_nothings_, _1635-54:_ _nothing_, _1633_, _N_, _TCD:_ _Nothing_ _1669_
may] may, _1633_]
[14 hath] have _1633:_ _om._ _N_, _TCD_ (have _inserted_)
_Dian's_ _1635-54:_ Dian's _1633:_ _Dina's_ _1669_]
[20 or all It; You. _1635-54:_ or all it, you. _1669_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ or all, in you. _1633_ (you, _some copies_)]
[25 Your (or you) vertue _O'F:_ Your, or you vertue, _1633-54:_ You, or you vertue, _1669_]
[26 preserves. _Ed:_ preserves; _1633-69_]
[28 you:] you. _1633-39_]
[30 is some] it some _1633_]
[32 Stoop, others ills] Stoop (Stop _1633_) others ills, _1633-54:_ Stoop others ills _1669_]
[34 excuse; _Ed:_ excuse, _1633-69_, _Grosart_ (_who transposes_ should _and_ would), _Chambers:_ excuse _Grolier_. _See note_
would: _Ed:_ would] _1633-69_]
[36 the hills. _Ed:_ the hills; _1633-69_]
[37 Philosophy. Phylosophy _1633 some copies_, _1669_]
[45 raise;] raise _1633_]
[46 this,] these _1669_]
[50 strayes; _Ed:_ strayes. _1633-69_]
[51 Let] Let but _1669_]
[54 Wee (but no forraine tyrants could) remove _Ed:_ Wee but no forraine tyrants could, remove _O'F:_ Wee but no forraigne tyrants could remove, _1633-54_ (tyrans _1633_): We, but no forrain tyrants, could remove _1669_, _Chambers and Grolier_. _See note_]
[55 dignities, _Ed:_ dignities _1633-69_]
[56 Palaces: _1633-35:_ Palaces. _1639-69_]
[58 not naturally free. _Ed:_ not naturally free; _1633_, _N_, _TCD:_ borne naturally free; _1635-69_, _O'F_]
[59 prisons, new soules _1633:_ prisons now, soules _1635-69_, _O'F:_ prisons, now soules _N_, _TCD_]
[60 vice _1635-69_, _O'F:_ it _1633_, _N_, _TCD_]
[66 That] That, _1633_
grow? _1639-69:_ grow. _1633-35_]
[74 ill.] ill, _1633-35_]
[75 you, _1669:_ you _1635-54:_ your _1633_]
[78 suspition; _Ed:_ suspition. _1633-69_]
[79 makes] make _1635-39_]
[87 Commonwealth, ... you,] _no commas 1633_]
_To the Countesse of_ Bedford.
_On New-yeares day._
This twilight of two yeares, not past nor next, Some embleme is of mee, or I of this, Who Meteor-like, of stuffe and forme perplext, Whose _what_, and _where_, in disputation is, If I should call mee _any thing_, should misse. 5
I summe the yeares, and mee, and finde mee not Debtor to th'old, nor Creditor to th'new, That cannot say, My thankes I have forgot, Nor trust I this with hopes, and yet scarce true This bravery is, since these times shew'd mee you. 10
In recompence I would show future times What you were, and teach them to'urge towards such. Verse embalmes vertue;'and Tombs, or Thrones of rimes, Preserve fraile transitory fame, as much As spice doth bodies from corrupt aires touch. 15
Mine are short-liv'd; the tincture of your name Creates in them, but dissipates as fast, New spirits: for, strong agents with the same Force that doth warme and cherish, us doe wast; Kept hot with strong extracts, no bodies last: 20
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 soone, and so possesse no place, And you, and it, too much grace might disgrace. 25
When all (as truth commands assent) confesse All truth of you, yet they will doubt how I, One corne of one low anthills dust, and lesse, Should name, know, or expresse a thing so high, And not an inch, measure infinity. 30
I cannot tell them, nor my selfe, nor you, But leave, lest truth b'endanger'd by my praise, And turne to God, who knowes I thinke this true, And useth oft, when such a heart mis-sayes, To make it good, for, such a praiser prayes. 35
Hee will best teach you, how you should lay out His stock of _beauty_, _learning_, _favour_, _blood_; He will perplex security with doubt, And cleare those doubts; hide from you,'and shew you good, And so increase your appetite and food; 40
Hee will teach you, that good and bad have not One latitude in cloysters, and in Court; Indifferent there the greatest space hath got; Some pitty'is not good there, some vaine disport, On this side sinne, with that place may comport. 45
Yet he, as hee bounds seas, will fixe your houres, Which pleasure, and delight may not ingresse, And though what none else lost, be truliest yours, Hee will make you, what you did not, possesse, By using others, not vice, but weakenesse. 50
He will make you speake truths, and credibly, And make you doubt, that others doe not so: Hee will provide you keyes, and locks, to spie, And scape spies, to good ends, and hee will show What you may not acknowledge, what not know. 55
For your owne conscience, he gives innocence, But for your fame, a discreet warinesse, And though to scape, then to revenge offence Be better, he showes both, and to represse _Ioy_, when your state swells, _sadnesse_ when'tis lesse. 60
From need of teares he will defend your soule, Or make a rebaptizing of one teare; Hee cannot, (that's, he will not) dis-inroule Your name; and when with active joy we heare This private Ghospell, then'tis our New Yeare. 65
[To the _&c._ _1633-69:_ To the Countesse of B. at New-yeares tide. _N_, _O'F_, _TCD_]
[3-4 (Meteor-like, ... disputation is,) _1635-69_]
[9 true _Ed:_ true, _1633_ true. _1635-69_]
[10 is, _Ed:_ is _1633-69_ (_in 1633 the interval shows that a comma was intended_)
times] time _1633_]
[12 such. _Ed:_ such, _1633-69_]
[16 short-liv'd] short liv'd _1633_]
[17 fast,] fast _1633_]
[18 spirits: _Ed:_ spirit: _1633:_ spirits; _1635-69_]
[19 cherish, us doe _1633:_ cherish us, doe _1635-69_]
[27 I, _Ed:_ I _1633-69_]
[28 (One corne ... and lesse,) _1635-69_]
[29 name, know,] _no commas 1633-69_]
[30 And not an inch, _1633:_ And (not an inch) _1635-69_
infinity.] infinite. _1669_]
[35 praiser prayes. _1635-69_, _O'F:_ prayer prayes. _1633:_ prayer praise. _N_, _TCD_]
[37 _blood_;] _blood_, _1633_]
[39 doubts;] doubts, _1633_]
[42 Court; _Ed:_ Court, _1633-69_]
[43 got; _Ed:_ got, _1633-69_]
[44 pitty' _1633-69:_ piety _James Russell Lowell, in Grolier note_. _See note_]
[45 On this side sinne, _Ed_ (_from Chambers_): On this side, sinne; _1633:_ On this side, sin, _1635-69_. _See note_]
[46 he, _Ed:_ he _1633-69_]
[47 Which] With _1633_]
[55 may] will _1669_]
[58-9 (though to scape ... Be better,) _1635-69_]
[65 New Yeare.] new yeare, _1633_]
_To the Countesse of Huntingdon._
MADAME,
Man to Gods image; _Eve_, to mans was made, Nor finde wee that God breath'd a soule in her, Canons will not Church functions you invade, Nor lawes to civill office you preferre.
Who vagrant transitory Comets sees, 5 Wonders, because they'are rare; But a new starre Whose motion with the firmament agrees, Is miracle; for, there no new things are;
In woman so perchance milde innocence A seldome comet is, but active good 10 A miracle, which reason scapes, and sense; For, Art and Nature this in them withstood.
As such a starre, the _Magi_ led to view The manger-cradled infant, God below: By vertues beames by fame deriv'd from you, 15 May apt soules, and the worst may, vertue know.
If the worlds age, and death be argued well By the Sunnes fall, which now towards earth doth bend, Then we might feare that vertue, since she fell So low as woman, should be neare her end. 20
But she's not stoop'd, but rais'd; exil'd by men She fled to heaven, that's heavenly things, that's you; She was in all men, thinly scatter'd then, But now amass'd, contracted in a few.
She guilded us: But you are gold, and Shee; 25 Us she inform'd, but transubstantiates you; Soft dispositions which ductile bee, Elixarlike, she makes not cleane, but new.
Though you a wifes and mothers name retaine, 'Tis not as woman, for all are not soe, 30 But vertue having made you vertue,'is faine T'adhere in these names, her and you to show,
Else, being alike pure, wee should neither see; As, water being into ayre rarify'd, Neither appeare, till in one cloud they bee, 35 So, for our sakes you do low names abide;
Taught by great constellations, which being fram'd, Of the most starres, take low names, _Crab_ and _Bull_, When single planets by the _Gods_ are nam'd, You covet not great names, of great things full. 40
So you, as woman, one doth comprehend, And in the vaile of kindred others see; To some ye are reveal'd, as in a friend, And as a vertuous Prince farre off, to mee.
To whom, because from you all vertues flow, 45 And 'tis not none, to dare contemplate you, I, which doe so, as your true subject owe Some tribute for that, so these lines are due.
If you can thinke these flatteries, they are, For then your judgement is below my praise, 50 If they were so, oft, flatteries worke as farre, As Counsels, and as farre th'endeavour raise.
So my ill reaching you might there grow good, But I remaine a poyson'd fountaine still; But not your beauty, vertue, knowledge, blood 55 Are more above all flattery, then my will.
And if I flatter any,'tis not you But my owne judgement, who did long agoe Pronounce, that all these praises should be true, And vertue should your beauty,'and birth outgrow. 60
Now that my prophesies are all fulfill'd, Rather then God should not be honour'd too, And all these gifts confess'd, which hee instill'd, Your selfe were bound to say that which I doe.
So I, but your Recorder am in this, 65 Or mouth, or Speaker of the universe, A ministeriall Notary, for'tis Not I, but you and fame, that make this verse;
I was your Prophet in your yonger dayes, And now your Chaplaine, God in you to praise. 70
[To the _&c._ _1633-69_, _O'F:_ To the C. of H. _N_, _TCD_]
[1 image;] image, _1633_
mans] man _1650-69_]
[9 woman] women _1669_]
[13 the] which _1633_
_Magi_] Magis _N_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ _compare p._ 243, _l._ 390]
[14 below: _Ed:_ below. _1633-69_]
[15 beames by ... you, _1633:_ beames (by ... you) _1633-69_]
[16 may, _Ed:_ may _1633-69_]
[22 you; _Ed:_ you, _1633-69_]
[24 amass'd, _1633_, _O'F:_ a masse _1635-69_, _N_, _TCD_]
[25-6 But you are gold, and Shee; ... transubstantiates you; _Ed:_ But you are gold, and Shee, ... transubstantiates you, _1633:_
but you are gold; and she, Informed us, but transubstantiates you,
_1635-69_, _Chambers_ (_but no comma after_ and she _and colon or full stop after_ you _1650-69_, _Chambers_)]
[33 see; _Ed:_ see, _1633-69_]
[37-9 (which being ... are nam'd) _1635-69_]
[42 vaile] vale _1669_]
[43 ye _1633:_ you _1635-69_]
[47 doe so, _1635-69_, _O'F:_ doe _N_, _TCD:_ to you _1633_]
[48 due.] due, _1633_]
[55 But _1633_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ And _1635-69_, _Chambers_]
[64 that] thar _1633_]
[66 or Speaker _1633:_ and Speaker _1635-69_]
[67 Notary,] notary, _1633_]
To M^r _T. W._
All haile sweet Poët, more full of more strong fire, Then hath or shall enkindle any spirit, I lov'd what nature gave thee, but this merit Of wit and Art I love not but admire; Who have before or shall write after thee, 5 Their workes, though toughly laboured, will bee Like infancie or age to mans firme stay, Or earely and late twilights to mid-day.
Men say, and truly, that they better be Which be envyed then pittied: therefore I, 10 Because I wish thee best, doe thee envie: O wouldst thou, by like reason, pitty mee! But care not for mee: I, that ever was In Natures, and in Fortunes gifts, alas, (Before thy grace got in the Muses Schoole 15 A monster and a begger,) am now a foole.
Oh how I grieve, that late borne modesty Hath got such root in easie waxen hearts, That men may not themselves, their owne good parts Extoll, without suspect of surquedrie, 20 For, but thy selfe, no subject can be found Worthy thy quill, nor any quill resound Thy worth but thine: how good it were to see A Poëm in thy praise, and writ by thee.
Now if this song be too'harsh for rime, yet, as 25 The Painters bad god made a good devill, 'Twill be good prose, although the verse be evill, If thou forget the rime as thou dost passe. Then write, that I may follow, and so bee Thy debter, thy'eccho, thy foyle, thy zanee. 30 I shall be thought, if mine like thine I shape, All the worlds Lyon, though I be thy Ape.
[To M^r T. W.: _P_, _S_, _W:_ To M. I. W. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ A Letter. To M^r T. W. _O'F:_ Ad amicum. _S96:_ _no title_, _B_, _Cy_]
[1 more full] and full _1669_]
[2 any spirit, _1633_, _A18_, _Cy_, _N_, _P_, _TC_, _W:_ my dull spirit, _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _S_]
[3 this merit _1633_, _A18_, _Cy_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _TC_, _W:_ thy merit _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _Chambers_]
[11 thee ... thee] the ... the _1669_]
[12 mee! _Ed:_ mee. _W:_ mee, _1633-69_]
[13 mee: _Ed:_ mee, _1633-69_
ever was] never was _B_, _P_, _S96_]
[14-16
In Natures, and in Fortunes gifts, alas, (Before ... and a begger,)
_Ed:_
In Natures, and in fortunes gifts, (alas, Before thy grace got in the Muses Schoole) A monster and a begger,
_1633_ (_some copies:_ _others read_ 15 Before by thy grace _&c._, _which is also the Grolier conjecture_), _A18_, _Cy_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _TC_, _W_ (_but W and some of the other MSS. have no brackets_):
In Natures, and in fortunes gifts, alas, (But for thy grace got in the Muses Schoole) A Monster and a beggar,
_1635-69_, _O'F_, _Chambers_
In fortunes, nor (or _S96_) in natures gifts alas, But by thy grace, _&c._
_B_, _S96_. _See note_]
[16 am now a foole. _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _W:_ am a foole. _1633-69_, _A18_, _B_, _N_, _TC_]
[23 worth _1669_, _B_, _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _W:_ worke _1633-54_, _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[27 evill, _W:_ evill. _1633-69_, _Chambers_]
[28 passe. _W:_ passe, _1633-69_, _Chambers_]
[29 that I _1669_, _B_, _Cy_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _W:_ then I _1633-54_, _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[30 Thy debter, thy'eccho _1633-54:_ Thy eccho, thy debtor _1669_
thy zanee.] and thy Zanee. _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[31 if ... shape] _brackets_ _1635-69_]
To M _T. W._
Hast thee harsh verse, as fast as thy lame measure Will give thee leave, to him, my pain and pleasure. I have given thee, and yet thou art too weake, Feete, and a reasoning soule and tongue to speake. Plead for me, and so by thine and my labour 5 I am thy Creator, thou my Saviour. Tell him, all questions, which men have defended Both of the place and paines of hell, are ended; And 'tis decreed our hell is but privation Of him, at least in this earths habitation: 10 And 'tis where I am, where in every street Infections follow, overtake, and meete: Live I or die, by you my love is sent, And you'are my pawnes, or else my Testament.
[To M^r T. W.: _O'F_, _W:_ To M. T. W. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[1 verse, _1669:_ verse _1633-54_]
[2 to him, my pain and pleasure. _W_, _and Chambers_ (_without comma_): to him; My pain, and pleasure _1633-69:_ to him. My pain and pleasure, _Grolier_]
[4 Feete, ... soule _W:_ _no comma_ _1633:_ Feete ... soule, _1635-69_]
[5-6 _These lines only in W_]
[9 our] that _W_]
[14 And you'are _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC_, _W:_ You are _1635-69_, _O'F_
pawnes] _om. with space_, _W_]
To M^r _T. W._
Pregnant again with th'old twins Hope, and Feare, Oft have I askt for thee, both how and where Thou wert, and what my hopes of letters were;
As in our streets sly beggers narrowly Watch motions of the givers hand and eye, 5 And evermore conceive some hope thereby.
And now thy Almes is given, thy letter'is read, The body risen againe, the which was dead, And thy poore starveling bountifully fed.
After this banquet my Soule doth say grace, 10 And praise thee for'it, and zealously imbrace Thy love; though I thinke thy love in this case To be as gluttons, which say 'midst their meat, They love that best of which they most do eat.
[To M^r T. W. _O'F_, _W:_ To M. T. W. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[5 Watch] Marke _W_
and eye, _A18_, _A23_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_, _W:_ or eye, _1633-69_]
[12 love; _Ed:_ love, _1633-69_]
To M^r _T. W._
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 firme house, though the Carpenter Perish, doth stand: As an Embassadour 5 Lyes safe, how e'r his king be in danger:
So, though I languish, prest with Melancholy, My verse, the strict Map of my misery, Shall live to see that, for whose want I dye.
Therefore I envie them, and doe repent, 10 That from unhappy mee, 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 mee.
[To M^r T. W. _W:_ An Old Letter. _D_, _H49:_ A Letter. _S96:_ Letter. _O'F:_ _no heading_, _and following the preceding without any interval_, _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ Incerto. _1635-69_]
[5 As _W:_ as _1633-69_]
[7 Melancholy] Malancholy _1633_]
[14 of love,] of love _1633_]
To M^r _R. W._
Zealously my Muse doth salute all thee, Enquiring of that mistique trinitee Whereof thou,'and all to whom heavens do infuse Like fyer, are made; thy body, mind, and Muse. Dost thou recover sicknes, or prevent? 5 Or is thy Mind travail'd with discontent? Or art thou parted from the world and mee, In a good skorn of the worlds vanitee? Or is thy devout Muse retyr'd to sing Vpon her tender Elegiaque string? 10 Our Minds part not, joyne then thy Muse with myne, For myne is barren thus devorc'd from thyne.
[To M^r R. W. _A23_, _W:_ _first printed in Gosse's_ Life and Letters of John Donne, _&c._, 1899]
[1 thee,] thee _W_]
To M^r _R. W._
Mvse not that by thy mind thy body is led: For by thy mind, my mind's distempered. So thy Care lives long, for I bearing part It eates not only thyne, but my swolne hart. And when it gives us intermission 5 We take new harts for it to feede upon. But as a Lay Mans Genius doth controule Body and mind; the Muse beeing the Soules Soule Of Poets, that methinks should ease our anguish, Although our bodyes wither and minds languish. 10 Wright then, that my griefes which thine got may bee Cured by thy charming soveraigne melodee.
[M^r R. W. _A23_, _W:_ _printed here for the first time_]
To M^r _C. B._
Thy friend, whom thy deserts to thee enchaine, Urg'd by this unexcusable occasion, Thee and the Saint of his affection Leaving behinde, doth of both wants complaine; And let the love I beare to both sustaine 5 No blott nor maime by this division, Strong is this love which ties our hearts in one, And strong that love pursu'd with amorous paine; But though besides thy selfe I leave behind Heavens liberall, and earths thrice-fairer Sunne, 10 Going to where sterne winter aye doth wonne, Yet, loves hot fires, which martyr my sad minde, Doe send forth scalding sighes, which have the Art To melt all Ice, but that which walls her heart.
[To M^r C. B.: _A23_, _W:_ To M. C. B. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[9 thy self] my self _1669_]
[10 liberall,] liberall _1633_
earths _1633_, _1669_, _A18_, _A23_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_, _W:_ the _1635-54_, _Chambers_
thrice fairer _A23_, _W:_ thrice-faire _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[11 sterne _1633_, _A18_, _A23_, _N_, _TC_, _W:_ sterv'd _1633-69_, _O'F_]
[13 forth] out _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
To M^r _E. G._
Even as lame things thirst their perfection, so The slimy rimes bred in our vale below, Bearing with them much of my love and hart, Fly unto that Parnassus, where thou art. There thou oreseest London: Here I have beene, 5 By staying in London, too much overseene. Now pleasures dearth our City doth posses, Our Theaters are fill'd with emptines; As lancke and thin is every street and way As a woman deliver'd yesterday. 10 Nothing whereat to laugh my spleen espyes But bearbaitings or Law exercise. Therefore I'le leave it, and in the Country strive Pleasure, now fled from London, to retrive. Do thou so too: and fill not like a Bee 15 Thy thighs with hony, but as plenteously As Russian Marchants, thy selfes whole vessell load, And then at Winter retaile it here abroad. Blesse us with Suffolks sweets; and as it is Thy garden, make thy hive and warehouse this. 20
[To M^r E. G. _W:_ _first printed in Gosse's_ Life and Letters of John Donne, _&c._ 1899]
[5-6 beene, ... London,] _no commas_, _W_]
[6 staying] staing _W_]
[7 dearth] dirth _W_]
[7-8 posses, ... emptines;] posses ... emptines. _W_]
To M^r _R. W._
If, as mine is, thy life a slumber be, Seeme, when thou read'st these lines, to dreame of me, Never did Morpheus nor his brother weare Shapes soe like those Shapes, whom they would appeare, As this my letter is like me, for it 5 Hath my name, words, hand, feet, heart, minde and wit; It is my deed of gift of mee to thee, It is my Will, my selfe the Legacie. So thy retyrings I love, yea envie, Bred in thee by a wise melancholy, 10 That I rejoyce, that unto where thou art, Though I stay here, I can thus send my heart, As kindly'as any enamored Patient His Picture to his absent Love hath sent.
All newes I thinke sooner reach thee then mee; 15 Havens are Heavens, and Ships wing'd Angels be, The which both Gospell, and sterne threatnings bring; Guyanaes harvest is nip'd in the spring, I feare; And with us (me thinkes) Fate deales so As with the Jewes guide God did; he did show 20 Him the rich land, but bar'd his entry in: Oh, slownes is our punishment and sinne. Perchance, these Spanish businesse being done, Which as the Earth betweene the Moone and Sun Eclipse the light which Guyana would give, 25 Our discontinued hopes we shall retrive: But if (as all th'All must) hopes smoake away, Is not Almightie Vertue'an India?
If men be worlds, there is in every one Some thing to answere in some proportion 30 All the worlds riches: And in good men, this, Vertue, our formes forme and our soules soule, is.
[To M^r R. W. _A18_, _A23_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W:_ To M. R. W. _1633-69:_ _no breaks_, _W:__ two stanzas of fourteen lines and a quatrain_, _1633:_ _twenty-eight lines continuous and a quatrain_, _1633-69_]
[3 brother _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC:_ brethren _W_]
[6 hand,] hands _O'F_, _TC_]
[21 in: _1650-69_, _W:_ in, _1633-39_]
[22 Oh, _A23_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC:_ Ah, _W:_ Our _1633-69_
sinne. _W:_ sinne; _1633-69_]
[23 businesse _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ busnesses _W:_ businesses _1635-69_
done] donne _W_]
[27 all th'All _W:_ All th'All _1633-69_]
[31 men, this, _Ed:_ men, this _1633-69_]
[32 soules soule, is. _Chambers:_ soules soule is. _1633-69_]
To M^r _R. W._
Kindly I envy thy songs perfection Built of all th'elements as our bodyes are: That Litle of earth that is in it, is a faire Delicious garden where all sweetes are sowne. In it is cherishing fyer which dryes in mee 5 Griefe which did drowne me: and halfe quench'd by it Are satirique fyres which urg'd me to have writt In skorne of all: for now I admyre thee. And as Ayre doth fullfill the hollownes Of rotten walls; so it myne emptines, 10 Where tost and mov'd it did beget this sound Which as a lame Eccho of thyne doth rebound. Oh, I was dead; but since thy song new Life did give, I recreated, even by thy creature, live.
[To M^r R. W. _W:_ _published here for the first time_]
[6 which] w^{ch} _W_, _and so always_]
[10 emptines,] emptines. _W_]
[13-14 Oh, ... give, ... recreated, ... creature,] _no commas_, _W_]
To M^r _S. B._
O Thou which to search out the secret parts Of the India, or rather Paradise Of knowledge, hast with courage and advise Lately launch'd into the vast Sea of Arts, Disdaine not in thy constant travailing 5 To doe as other Voyagers, and make Some turnes into lesse Creekes, and wisely take Fresh water at the Heliconian spring; I sing not, Siren like, to tempt; for I Am harsh; nor as those Scismatiques with you, 10 Which draw all wits of good hope to their crew; But seeing in you bright sparkes of Poetry, I, though I brought no fuell, had desire With these Articulate blasts to blow the fire.
[To M^r S. B. _O'F:_ To M. S. B. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W_]
[10 harsh; _1650-69:_ harsh, _1633-39_]
[12 seeing] seing _1633:_ seene _TCD_, _W:_ seeme _TCC_]
[13 I, though] I thought _1650-54_
had] but _1650-54_]
To M^r _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 drinke of Po, Sequan, or Danubie, There's none that sometimes greets us not, and yet 5 Your Trent is Lethe; that past, us you forget. You doe not duties of Societies, If from the'embrace of a lov'd wife you rise, View your fat Beasts, stretch'd Barnes, and labour'd fields, Eate, play, ryde, take all joyes which all day yeelds, 10 And then againe to your embracements goe: Some houres on us your frends, and some bestow Upon your Muse, else both wee shall repent, I that my love, she that her guifts on you are spent.
[To M^r I. L. _W:_ To M. I. L. _1633-69:_ To M. I. L. _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ To M^r T. L. _O'F_]
[5 sometimes] sometime _1635-39_, _Chambers_]
[6 Lethe; _W:_ Lethe', _1633-69_
forget. _1639-69_, _W:_ forget, _1633-35_]
[13 your] thy _W_]
[14 you] thee _W_
spent.] spent _1633_]
To M^r _B. B._
Is not thy sacred hunger of science Yet satisfy'd? Is not thy braines rich hive Fulfil'd with hony which thou dost derive From the Arts spirits and their Quintessence? Then weane thy selfe at last, and thee withdraw 5 From Cambridge thy old nurse, and, as the rest, Here toughly chew, and sturdily digest Th'immense vast volumes of our common law; And begin soone, lest my griefe grieve thee too, Which is, that that which I should have begun 10 In my youthes morning, now late must be done; And I as Giddy Travellers must doe, Which stray or sleepe all day, and having lost Light and strength, darke and tir'd must then ride post.
If thou unto thy Muse be marryed, 15 Embrace her ever, ever multiply, Be far from me that strange Adulterie To tempt thee and procure her widowhed. My Muse, (for I had one,) because I'am cold, Divorc'd her selfe: the cause being in me, 20 That I can take no new in Bigamye, Not my will only but power doth withhold. Hence comes it, that these Rymes which never had Mother, want matter, and they only have A little forme, the which their Father gave; 25 They are prophane, imperfect, oh, too bad To be counted Children of Poetry Except confirm'd and Bishoped by thee.
[To M^r B. B. _O'F_, _W:_ To M. B. B. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[12 I ... Travellers _1650-69:_ I, ... Travellers, _1633-39_]
[13 stray] stay _W:_ _compare_ Sat. III. 78]
[16 ever, ever multiply, _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC:_ still: encrease and multiply; _W_]
[18 widowhed. _W:_ widdowhood, _1633-39:_ widdowhood; _1650-69_]
[19 Muse, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_, _W:_ nurse, _1633-69_]
[20 selfe: _W:_ selfe, _1633-69_
in me, _1633-69:_ in me; _Grolier:_ in me. _Chambers_. _See note_]
To M^r _I. L._
Blest are your North parts, for all this long time My Sun is with you, cold and darke'is our Clime: Heavens Sun, which staid so long from us this yeare, Staid in your North (I thinke) for she was there, And hether by kinde nature drawne from thence, 5 Here rages, chafes, and threatens pestilence; Yet I, as long as shee from hence doth staie, Thinke this no South, no Sommer, nor no day. With thee my kinde and unkinde heart is run, There sacrifice it to that beauteous Sun: 10 And since thou art in Paradise and need'st crave No joyes addition, helpe thy friend to save. So may thy pastures with their flowery feasts, As suddenly as Lard, fat thy leane beasts; So may thy woods oft poll'd, yet ever weare 15 A greene, and when thee list, a golden haire; So may all thy sheepe bring forth Twins; and so In chace and race may thy horse all out goe; So may thy love and courage ne'r be cold; Thy Sonne ne'r Ward; Thy lov'd wife ne'r seem old; But maist thou wish great things, and them attaine, 21 As thou telst her, and none but her, my paine.
[To M^r I. L. _Ed:_ To M. I. L. _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W:_ To M^r T. L. _O'F:_ To M. I. P. _1633-69_]
[6 rages, chafes, _Ed:_ rages chafes _1633-39:_ rages, chafes _1650-69:_ rages, burnes, _W_]
[11-12 _these lines from W: they have not previously been printed_]
[16 when thee list, _Ed:_ when thee list _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ (when she list) _1635-69_, _O'F:_ when thou wilt _W_]
[20 lov'd wife] fair wife _W_]
[22 her, ... her, _Ed:_ her ... her _1633:_ her, ... her _1635-69_]
To Sir _H. W._ at his going Ambassador to _Venice_.
After those reverend papers, whose soule is Our good and great Kings lov'd hand and fear'd 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 copie writ 5 From his Originall, and a faire beame Of the same warme, and dazeling Sun, though it Must in another Sphere his vertue streame:
After those learned papers which your hand Hath stor'd with notes of use and pleasure too, 10 From which rich treasury you may command Fit matter whether you will write or doe:
After those loving papers, where friends tend With glad griefe, to your Sea-ward steps, farewel, Which thicken on you now, as prayers ascend 15 To heaven in troupes at'a good mans passing bell:
Admit this honest paper, and allow It such an audience as your selfe would aske; What you must say at Venice this meanes now, And hath for nature, what you have for taske: 20
To sweare much love, not to be chang'd before Honour alone will to your fortune fit; Nor shall I then honour your forture, more Then I have done your honour wanting it.
But'tis an easier load (though both oppresse) 25 To want, then governe greatnesse, for wee are In that, our owne and onely business, In this, wee must for others vices care;
'Tis therefore well your spirits now are plac'd In their last Furnace, in activity; 30 Which fits them (Schooles and Courts and Warres o'rpast) To touch and test in any best degree.
For mee, (if there be such a thing as I) Fortune (if there be such a thing as thee) Spies that I beare so well her tyranny, 35 That she thinks nothing else so fit for mee;
But though she part us, to heare my oft prayers For your increase, God is as neere mee here; And to send you what I shall begge, his staires In length and ease are alike every where. 40
[To Sir H. W. at his _&c._ _1633-54:_ To Sir Henry Wotton, at his _&c._ _1669_, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ _printed in Walton's_ Life of Sir Henry Wotton, 1670, _as a_ 'letter, sent by him to Sir _Henry Wotton_, the morning before he left _England_', _i.e. July 13 (O.S.), 1604_]
[10 pleasure _1635-69_, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_, _Walton:_ pleasures _1633_]
[13 where _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ which _1635-69_, _O'F_, _Walton_]
[16 in troupes] on troops _Walton_]
[19 must ... meanes] would ... sayes _Walton_]
[20 hath] has _Walton_
taske: _Ed:_ taske. _1633-69_]
[21 not] nor _Walton_]
[24 honour wanting it _1633:_ noble-wanting-wit. _1635-69_, _O'F:_ honour-wanting-wit. _Walton:_ noble wanting it. _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[31 Warres _Ed:_ warres _1633-69:_ tents _Burley MS._]
[32 test] tast _1669 and Walton_]
[35 Spies] Finds _Walton_]
To M^rs _M. H._
Mad paper stay, and grudge not here to burne With all those sonnes whom my braine did create, At lest lye hid with mee, till thou returne To rags againe, which is thy native state.
What though thou have enough unworthinesse 5 To come unto great place as others doe, That's much; emboldens, pulls, thrusts I confesse, But'tis not all; Thou should'st be wicked too.
And, that thou canst not learne, or not of mee; Yet thou wilt goe? Goe, since thou goest to her 10 Who lacks but faults to be a Prince, for shee, Truth, whom they dare not pardon, dares preferre.
But when thou com'st to that perplexing eye Which equally claimes _love_ and _reverence_, Thou wilt not long dispute it, thou wilt die; 15 And, having little now, have then no sense.
Yet when her warme redeeming hand, which is A miracle; and made such to worke more, Doth touch thee (saples leafe) thou grow'st by this Her creature; glorify'd more then before. 20
Then as a mother which delights to heare Her early child mis-speake halfe uttered words, Or, because majesty doth never feare Ill or bold speech, she Audience affords.
And then, cold speechlesse wretch, thou diest againe, 25 And wisely; what discourse is left for thee? For, speech of ill, and her, thou must abstaine, And is there any good which is not shee?
Yet maist thou praise her servants, though not her, And wit, and vertue,'and honour her attend, 30 And since they'are but her cloathes, thou shalt not erre, If thou her shape and beauty'and grace commend.
Who knowes thy destiny? when thou hast done, Perchance her Cabinet may harbour thee, Whither all noble ambitious wits doe runne, 35 A nest almost as full of Good as shee.
When thou art there, if any, whom wee know, Were sav'd before, and did that heaven partake, When she revolves his papers, marke what show Of favour, she alone, to them doth make. 40
Marke, if to get them, she o'r skip the rest, Marke, if shee read them twice, or kisse the name; Marke, if she doe the same that they protest, Marke, if she marke whether her woman came.
Marke, if slight things be'objected, and o'r blowne, 45 Marke, if her oathes against him be not still Reserv'd, and that shee grieves she's not her owne, And chides the doctrine that denies Freewill.
I bid thee not doe this to be my spie; Nor to make my selfe her familiar; 50 But so much I doe love her choyce, that I Would faine love him that shall be lov'd of her.
[To M^rs M. H. _O'F:_ To M. M. H. _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ _no title_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _P:_ Elegie. _S96_]
[2 sonnes] Sunnes _B_, _S96_
my _1633:_ thy _1635-69:_ _Chambers attributes_ thy _to 1633_]
[3 returne] returne. _1633_]
[7 That's much; emboldens, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ That's much, emboldens, _1633-54:_ That's much emboldness, _1669:_ That's much, it emboldens, _B_, _P_]
[8 all; Thou _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ all, thou _1633-69_]
[10 goe? Goe, _Ed:_ goe, Goe, _1633-69_]
[14 _reverence_, _Ed:_ _reverence_. _1633:_ _reverence:_ _1635-69_]
[22 mis-speake] mispeake _1633_]
[27 For, _1633:_ From _1635-69_, _and MSS_.
her, _Ed:_ her _1633-69_]
[31 erre, _1669:_ erre _1633-54_]
[40 she alone, _1633:_ she, alone, _1635-69_]
[41 get them, she o'r skip] get them, she do skip _A18_ (doth), _N_, _TC:_ get them, she skip oare _A25_, _C_, _O'F_ (skips): get to them, shee skipp _B_, _P_]
[44 whether _1633:_ whither _1635-69_]
[47 grieves _1633:_ grieve _1635-69_]
_To the Countesse of Bedford._
Honour is so sublime perfection, And so refinde; that when God was alone And creaturelesse at first, himselfe had none;
But as of the elements, these which wee tread, Produce all things with which wee'are joy'd or fed, 5 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 wonne 10 From grosse, by Stilling, this is better done By despis'd dung, then by the fire or Sunne.
Care not then, Madame,'how low your praysers lye; In labourers balads oft more piety God findes, then in _Te Deums_ melodie. 15
And, ordinance rais'd on Towers, so many mile Send not their voice, nor last so long a while As fires from th'earths low vaults in _Sicil_ Isle.
Should I say I liv'd darker then were true, Your radiation can all clouds subdue; 20 But one,'tis best light to contemplate you.
You, for whose body God made better clay, Or tooke Soules stuffe such as shall late decay, Or such as needs small change at the last day.
This, as an Amber drop enwraps a Bee, 25 Covering discovers your quicke Soule; that we May in your through-shine front your hearts thoughts see.
You teach (though wee learne not) a thing unknowne To our late times, the use of specular stone, Through which all things within without were shown. 30
Of such were Temples; so and of such you are; _Beeing_ and _seeming_ is your equall care, And _vertues_ whole _summe_ is but _know_ and _dare_.
But as our Soules of growth and Soules of sense Have birthright of our reasons Soule, yet hence 35 They fly not from that, nor seeke presidence:
Natures first lesson, so, discretion, Must not grudge zeale a place, nor yet keepe none, Not banish it selfe, nor religion.
Discretion is a wisemans Soule, and so 40 Religion is a Christians, and you know How these are one; her _yea_, is not her _no_.
Nor may we hope to sodder still and knit These two, and dare to breake them; nor must wit Be colleague to religion, but be it. 45
In those poor types of God (round circles) so Religions tipes the peeclesse centers flow, And are in all the lines which all wayes goe.
If either ever wrought in you alone Or principally, then religion 50 Wrought your ends, and your wayes discretion.
Goe thither stil, goe the same way you went, Who so would change, do covet or repent; Neither can reach you, great and innocent.
[To the Countesse of Bedford. _1633-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _S96:_ To the Countess of B. _N_, _TCD_]
[10 part] parts _N_, _O'F_, _TCD_]
[12 or Sunne. _1633_, _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TCD:_ or Sun: _1669:_ of Sunne: _1635-54_, _Chambers_]
[13 praysers _N_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ prayers _S96:_ prayses _1633-69_]
[16 Towers,] Towers _1633_]
[20-1 subdue; But one, _Ed:_ subdue; But One _Chambers:_ subdue, But one, _1633-69:_ subdue But one; _Grolier and Grosart_. _See note_]
[26 Covering discovers] Coverings discover _1669_]
[27 your hearts thoughts _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TCD:_ our hearts thoughts _1633-69_. _See note_]
[31 so and of such _N_, _TCD:_ so and such _1633-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _S96_]
[33 is but to know and dare. _N_]
[36-7
They fly not from that, nor seeke presidence: Natures first lesson, so, discretion, _&c._
_1633-69_ (presidence. _1633_; precedence: _1669_)
They fly not from that, nor seek precedence, Natures first lesson; so discretion _&c._
_Chambers and Grolier_ (discretion, _Grolier_). _See note_]
[40-2] _These lines precede_ 34-9 _in_ _1635-69_, _B_, _N_, _S96_, _TCD:_ _om. O'F_]
[42 one; _Ed:_ one, _1633-69_ _yea, ... no_] _ital. Ed._]
[48 all wayes _1719:_ alwayes _1633-69_]
[50-1
'twas Religion, Yet you neglected not Discretion.
_S96_]
[53 do covet] doth covet _1669_, _O'F_, _S96_]
_To the Countesse 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 thinke my selfe to bee, So many resurrections waken mee. That thankfullnesse your favours have begot 5 In mee, embalmes mee, that I doe not rot. This season as 'tis Easter, as 'tis spring, Must both to growth and to confession bring My thoughts dispos'd unto your influence; so, These verses bud, so these confessions grow. 10 First I confesse I have to others lent Your flock, and over prodigally spent Your treasure, for since I had never knowne Vertue or beautie, but as they are growne In you, I should not thinke or say they shine, 15 (So as I have) in any other Mine. Next I confesse this my confession, For, 'tis some fault thus much to touch upon Your praise to you, where half rights seeme too much, And make your minds sincere complexion blush. 20 Next I confesse my'impenitence, for I Can scarce repent my first fault, since thereby Remote low Spirits, which shall ne'r read you, May in lesse lessons finde enough to doe, By studying copies, not Originals, 25 _Desunt cætera._
[To the Countesse _&c._ _1633-69_ (_following in 1635-69_ That unripe side _&c._, _p._ 417, _and_ If her disdaine _&c._, _p._ 430), _O'F_]
[5 begot] forgot _1633 some copies_]
[6 embalmes mee, _Ed_: embalmes mee; _1633-69_
rot. _Ed_: rot; _1633-69_]
[9 influence; _Ed_: influence, _1633-69_]
[10 grow. _Ed_: grow; _1633-69_]
[14 or _1633-39_: and _1650-69_]
[16 Mine. _Ed:_ Mine; _1633-69_]
[18 upon _Ed:_ upon, _1633-69_]
_A Letter to the Lady_ Carey, _and M^rs_ Essex Riche, _From_ Amyens.
MADAME,
Here where by All All Saints invoked are, 'Twere too much schisme to be singular, And 'gainst a practise generall to warre.
Yet turning to Saincts, should my'humility To other Sainct then you directed bee, 5 That were to make my schisme, heresie.
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, 10 I thought it some Apostleship in mee To speake things which by faith alone I see.
That is, of you, who are a firmament Of virtues, where no one is growne, or spent, They'are your materials, not your ornament. 15
Others whom wee call vertuous, are not so In their whole substance, but, their vertues grow But in their humours, and at seasons show.
For when through tastlesse flat humilitie In dow bak'd men some harmelessenes we see, 20 'Tis but his _flegme_ that's _Vertuous_, and not Hee:
Soe is the Blood sometimes; who ever ran To danger unimportun'd, he was than No better then a _sanguine_ Vertuous man.
So cloysterall men, who, in pretence of feare 25 All contributions to this life forbeare, Have Vertue in _Melancholy_, and only there.
Spirituall _Cholerique_ Crytiques, which in all Religions find faults, and forgive no fall, Have, through this zeale, Vertue but in their Gall. 30
We'are thus but parcel guilt; to Gold we'are growne When Vertue is our Soules complexion; Who knowes his Vertues name or place, hath none.
Vertue'is but aguish, when 'tis severall, By occasion wak'd, and circumstantiall. 35 True vertue is _Soule_, Alwaies in all deeds _All_.
This Vertue thinking to give dignitie To your soule, found there no infirmitie, For, your soule was as good Vertue, as shee;
Shee therefore wrought upon that part of you 40 Which is scarce lesse then soule, as she could do, And so hath made your beauty, Vertue too.
Hence comes it, that your Beauty wounds not hearts, As Others, with prophane and sensuall Darts, But as an influence, vertuous thoughts imparts. 45
But if such friends by the honor of your sight Grow capable of this so great a light, As to partake your vertues, and their might,
What must I thinke that influence must doe, Where it findes sympathie and matter too, 50 Vertue, and beauty of the same stuffe, as you?
Which is, your noble worthie sister, shee Of whom, if what in this my Extasie And revelation of you both I see,
I should write here, as in short Galleries 55 The Master at the end large glasses ties, So to present the roome 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. 60
May therefore this be enough to testifie My true devotion, free from flattery; He that beleeves himselfe, doth never lie.
[A Letter to _&c._ _1633-69_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ To the Lady Carey and her Sister M^rs Essex Rich. From Amiens. _O'F:_ To the Lady Co: of C. _N_, _TCD:_ To the Ladie Carey. _or_ A Letter to the Ladie Carey. _B_, _Cy_, _S96:_ _no title_, _P:_ To M^rs Essex Rich and her sister frô Amiens. _M_]
[13 who are] who is _1633_]
[19 humilitie _1633-54_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _M_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ humidity _1669_, _Chambers_]
[26 contributions] contribution _B_, _D_, _N_, _TCD_]
[30 this zeale, _1635-69_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ their zeale, _1633_, _Lec_]
[31 Gold] Golds _1633 some copies_]
[33 aguish,] anguish, _1650-54_]
[57 our eyes,] your eyes, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _P_]
[60 by the] to the _1669_
other, _1669:_ other _1633-54_]
_To the Countesse of Salisbury._ August. 1614.
Faire, great, and good, since seeing you, wee see What Heaven can doe, and what any Earth can be: Since now your beauty shines, now when the Sunne Growne stale, is to so low a value runne, That his disshevel'd beames and scattered fires 5 Serve but for Ladies Periwigs and Tyres In lovers Sonnets: you come to repaire Gods booke of creatures, teaching what is faire. Since now, when all is withered, shrunke, and dri'd, All Vertues ebb'd out to a dead low tyde, 10 All the worlds frame being crumbled into sand, Where every man thinks by himselfe to stand, Integritie, friendship, and confidence, (Ciments of greatnes) being vapor'd hence, And narrow man being fill'd with little shares, 15 Court, Citie, Church, are all shops of small-wares, All having blowne to sparkes their noble fire, And drawne their sound gold-ingot into wyre; All trying by a love of littlenesse To make abridgments, and to draw to lesse, 20 Even that nothing, which at first we were; Since in these times, your greatnesse doth appeare, And that we learne 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 25 So much as to accuse, much lesse mend it, (For who can judge, or witnesse of those times Where all alike are guiltie of the crimes?) Where he that would be good, is thought by all A monster, or at best fantasticall; 30 Since now you durst be good, and that I doe Discerne, by daring to contemplate you, That there may be degrees of faire, great, good, Through your light, largenesse, vertue understood: If in this sacrifice of mine, be showne 35 Any small sparke of these, call it your owne. And if things like these, have been said by mee Of others; call not that Idolatrie. For had God made man first, and man had seene The third daies fruits, and flowers, and various greene, 40 He might have said the best that he could say Of those faire creatures, which were made that day; And when next day he had admir'd the birth Of Sun, Moone, Stars, fairer then late-prais'd earth, Hee might have said the best that he could say, 45 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 condemne a man, If when he spoke them, they were both true than. 50 How faire a proofe of this, in our soule growes? Wee first have soules of growth, and sense, and those, When our last soule, our soule immortall came, Were swallowed into it, and have no name. Nor doth he injure those soules, which doth cast 55 The power and praise of both them, on the last; No more doe I wrong any; I adore The same things now, which I ador'd before, The subject chang'd, and measure; the same thing In a low constable, and in the King 60 I reverence; His power to work on mee: So did I humbly reverence each degree Of faire, great, good; but more, now I am come From having found their _walkes_, to find their _home_. And as I owe my first soules thankes, that they 65 For my last soule did fit and mould my clay, So am I debtor unto them, whose worth, Enabled me to profit, and take forth This new great lesson, thus to study you; Which none, not reading others, first, could doe. 70 Nor lacke I light to read this booke, though I In a darke Cave, yea in a Grave doe lie; For as your fellow Angells, so you doe Illustrate them who come to study you. The first whom we in Histories doe finde 75 To have profest all Arts, was one borne blinde: He lackt those eyes beasts have as well as wee, Not those, by which Angels are seene and see; So, though I'am borne without those eyes to live, Which fortune, who hath none her selfe, doth give, 80 Which are, fit meanes to see bright courts and you, Yet may I see you thus, as now I doe; I shall by that, all goodnesse have discern'd, And though I burne my librarie, be learn'd.
[To the Countesse _&c._ _1633-69_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ To the Countess of Salisbury. _O'F:_ To the Countess of S. _N_, _TCD_]
[2 and what _1633_, _1669_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ what _1635-54_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCD_]
[16 Court,] Courts, _1669_]
[17 noble fire,] nobler fire, _O'F_]
[24 him] him, _1633_
that's _1650-69:_ thats _1633-39_]
[29-30 _Chambers includes in parenthesis_]
[30 fantasticall; _Ed:_ fantasticall: _1633-69_]
[34 light, largenesse,] lights largeness, _1669_]
[38 Idolatrie.] Adulterie: _N_, _TCD_]
[40 greene,] greene _1633_]
[42 day; _Ed:_ day: _1633-69_]
[46 yesterday; _Ed:_ yesterday: _1633-69_]
[54 name. _1633-39:_ name _1654-69_]
[57 any; I adore _1633_, _D_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_ any, if I adore _1635-69_, _O'F_ (if _being inserted_)]
[61 mee: _D_, _N_, _TCD:_ mee; _1633-69_]
[63 good; _Ed:_ good, _1633-69_]
[77-8 _om._ _D_, _H49_, _Lec_]
_To the Lady Bedford._
You that are she and you, that's double shee, In her dead face, halfe of your selfe shall see; Shee was the other part, for so they doe Which build them friendships, become one of two; So two, that but themselves no third can fit, 5 Which were to be so, when they were not yet; Twinnes, though their birth _Cusco_, and _Musco_ take, As divers starres one Constellation make; Pair'd like two eyes, have equall motion, so Both but one meanes to see, one way to goe. 10 Had you dy'd first, a carcasse shee had beene; And wee your rich Tombe in her face had seene; She like the Soule is gone, and you here stay, Not a live friend; but th'other halfe of clay. And since you act that part, As men say, here 15 Lies such a Prince, when but one part is there, And do all honour and devotion due Unto the whole, so wee all reverence you; For, such a friendship who would not adore In you, who are all what both were before, 20 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 diffus'd, and spread in infinite, 25 Shall recollect, and in one All unite: So madame, as her Soule to heaven is fled, Her flesh rests in the earth, as in the bed; Her vertues do, as to their proper spheare, Returne to dwell with you, of whom they were: 30 As perfect motions are all circular, So they to you, their sea, whence lesse streames are. Shee was all spices, you all metalls; so In you two wee did both rich Indies know. And as no fire, nor rust can spend or waste 35 One dramme of gold, but what was first shall last, Though it bee forc'd in water, earth, salt, aire, Expans'd in infinite, none will impaire; So, to your selfe you may additions take, But nothing can you lesse, or changed make. 40 Seeke not in seeking new, to seeme to doubt, That you can match her, or not be without; But let some faithfull booke in her roome be, Yet but of _Iudith_ no such booke as shee.
[To the _&c._ _1635-69_, _O'F:_ Elegie to the Lady Bedford. _1633_, _Cy_, _H40_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _TCD:_ Elegia Sexta. _S:_ _In 1633, Cy, H40, N, TCD it follows, in P precedes, the Funerall Elegy_ Death (_p._ 284), _to which it is apparently a covering letter:_ _In L74 it follows the_ Elegy on the Lady Marckham: _O'F places it among the_ Letters, _S among the_ Elegies]
[1 she and you,] she, and you _1633-69_, _Chambers_. _See note_]
[4 two;] the two; _1669_]
[6 yet; _Ed:_ yet _1633-39:_ yet. _1650-69_]
[8 make; _Ed:_ make, _1633-69_]
[10 goe. _Ed:_ goe; _1633-69_]
[13 stay,] stay _1633-35_
th'other] thother _1633_
clay. _Ed:_ clay; _1633-69_]
[16 there, _Ed:_ there; _1633-69_]
[17 honour] honour: _1633_
due] due; _1633_]
[20 were] was _1633_]
[22 as all in you] as in you all _O'F:_ that in you all _Cy_, _H40_, _L74_, _N_, _S_
is. _Ed:_ is; _1633-69_]
[28 the bed;] a bed; _Cy_, _H40_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _S:_ her bed; _P_]
[30 were:] were; _1633_]
[32 are.] are; _1633_]
[34 know.] know; _1633_]
[41 doubt, _1633:_ doubt; _1635-69_]
[42 can] _twice in 1633_]
AN ANATOMIE OF THE WORLD.
_Wherein_,
By occasion of the untimely death of Mistris ELIZABETH DRVRY, the frailty and the decay of this whole World is represented.
* * * * *
The first Anniversary.
* * * * *
_To the praise of the dead_,
_and the_ ANATOMIE.
Well dy'd the World, that we might live to see This world of wit, in his Anatomie: No evill wants his good; so wilder heires Bedew their Fathers Tombes, with forced teares, Whose state requites their losse: whiles thus we gain, 5 Well may wee walke in blacks, but not complaine. Yet how can I consent the world is dead While this Muse lives? which in his spirits stead Seemes to informe a World; and bids it bee, In spight of losse or fraile mortalitie? 10 And thou the subject of this welborne thought, Thrice noble maid, couldst not have found nor sought A fitter time to yeeld to thy sad Fate, Then whiles this spirit lives, that can relate Thy worth so well to our last Nephews eyne, 15 That they shall wonder both at his and thine: Admired match! where strives in mutuall grace The cunning pencill, and the comely face: A taske which thy faire goodnesse made too much For the bold pride of vulgar pens to touch; 20 Enough is us to praise them that praise thee, And say, that but enough those prayses bee, Which hadst thou liv'd, had hid their fearfull head From th'angry checkings of thy modest red: Death barres reward and shame: when envy's gone, 25 And gaine, 'tis safe to give the dead their owne. As then the wise Egyptians wont to lay More on their Tombes, then houses: these of clay, But those of brasse, or marble were: so wee Give more unto thy Ghost, then unto thee. 30 Yet what wee give to thee, thou gav'st to us, And may'st but thanke thy selfe, for being thus: Yet what thou gav'st, and wert, O happy maid, Thy grace profest all due, where 'tis repayd. So these high songs that to thee suited bin 35 Serve but to sound thy Makers praise, in thine, Which thy deare soule as sweetly sings to him Amid the Quire of Saints, and Seraphim, As any Angels tongue can sing of thee; The subjects differ, though the skill agree: 40 For as by infant-yeares men judge of age, Thy early love, thy vertues, did presage What an high part thou bear'st in those best songs, Whereto no burden, nor no end belongs. Sing on thou virgin Soule, whose lossfull gaine 45 Thy lovesick parents have bewail'd in vaine; Never may thy Name be in our songs forgot, Till wee shall sing thy ditty and thy note.
[An Anatomie _&c._ _1611-33:_ Anatomie _&c._ _1635-69_
The first Anniversary. _1612-69:_ _om. 1611_. _See note_
To the praise of the dead _&c._ _1611-69_ (Dead _1611_)]
[8 While] Whiles _1639-69_]
[21 is] it is _1699_]
[25 shame: _1611_, _1612-25:_ shame, _1633-69_]
[26 gaine, _1633-69:_ gaine; _1612-25_]
[34 where] were _1621-25_]
[35 bin _1633-39:_ bine _1611:_ bine, _1612-21:_ bine. _1625:_ bin, _1650-69_]
[36 praise, in thine, _1611_, _1612-25:_ praise and thine, _1633-69_]
[38 Quire _1611_, _1612-25:_ quire _1633-69_]
[39 tongue _1611_, _1612-39:_ tongues _1650-69_]
[41 infant-yeares _1611_, _1621-25:_ infant yeares _1633-69_]
[42 vertues, _1611_, _1612-25:_ vertues _1633-69_
presage _1612-25:_ presage, _1633-69_]
[43 What an hie ... best songs, _1611-12:_ What hie ... best songs _1621-25:_ What high ... best of songs, _1633-69_]
[47 our _1611_, _1612-54:_ _om. 1669_
forgot,] forgot. _1621-25_]
An Anatomy of the World.
_The first Anniversary._
[Sidenote: _The entrie into the worke._] When that rich Soule which to her heaven is gone, Whom all do celebrate, who know they have one, (For who is sure he hath a Soule, unlesse It see, and judge, and follow worthinesse, And by Deedes praise it? hee who doth not this, 5 May lodge an In-mate soule, but 'tis not his.) When that Queene ended here her progresse time, And, as t'her standing house to heaven did climbe, Where loath to make the Saints attend her long, She's now a part both of the Quire, and Song, 10 This World, in that great earthquake languished; For in a common bath of teares it bled, Which drew the strongest vitall spirits out: But succour'd then with a perplexed doubt, Whether the world did lose, or gaine in this, 15 (Because since now no other way there is, But goodnesse, to see her, whom all would see, All must endeavour to be good as shee,) This great consumption to a fever turn'd, And so the world had fits; it joy'd, it mourn'd; 20 And, as men thinke, that Agues physick are, And th'Ague being spent, give over care, So thou sicke World, mistak'st thy selfe to bee Well, when alas, thou'rt in a Lethargie. Her death did wound and tame thee than, and than 25 Thou might'st have better spar'd the Sunne, or Man. That wound was deep, but 'tis more misery, That thou hast lost thy sense and memory. 'Twas heavy then to heare thy voyce of mone, But this is worse, that thou art speechlesse growne. 30 Thou hast forgot thy name, thou hadst; thou wast Nothing but shee, and her thou hast o'rpast. For as a child kept from the Font, untill A prince, expected long, come to fulfill The ceremonies, thou unnam'd had'st laid, 35 Had not her comming, thee her Palace made: Her name defin'd thee, gave thee forme, and frame, And thou forgett'st to celebrate thy name. Some moneths she hath beene dead (but being dead, Measures of times are all determined) 40 But long she'ath beene away, long, long, yet none Offers to tell us who it is that's gone. But as in states doubtfull of future heires, When sicknesse without remedie empaires The present Prince, they're loth it should be said, 45 The Prince doth languish, or the Prince is dead: So mankinde feeling now a generall thaw, A strong example gone, equall to law, The Cyment which did faithfully compact, And glue all vertues, now resolv'd, and slack'd, 50 Thought it some blasphemy to say sh'was dead, Or that our weaknesse was discovered In that confession; therefore spoke no more Then tongues, the Soule being gone, the losse deplore. But though it be too late to succour thee, 55 Sicke World, yea, dead, yea putrified, since shee Thy'intrinsique balme, and thy preservative, Can never be renew'd, thou never live, I (since no man can make thee live) will try, What wee may gaine by thy Anatomy. 60 Her death hath taught us dearely, that thou art Corrupt and mortall in thy purest part. Let no man say, the world it selfe being dead, 'Tis labour lost to have discovered The worlds infirmities, since there is none 65 Alive to study this dissection; [Sidenote: _What life the world hath stil._] For there's a kinde of World remaining still, Though shee which did inanimate and fill The world, be gone, yet in this last long night, Her Ghost doth walke; that is, a glimmering light, 70 A faint weake love of vertue, and of good, Reflects from her, on them which understood Her worth; and though she have shut in all day, The twilight of her memory doth stay; Which, from the carcasse of the old world, free, 75 Creates a new world, and new creatures bee Produc'd: the matter and the stuffe of this, Her vertue, and the forme our practice is: And though to be thus elemented, arme These creatures, from home-borne intrinsique harme, 80 (For all assum'd unto this dignitie, So many weedlesse Paradises bee, Which of themselves produce no venemous sinne, Except some forraine Serpent bring it in) Yet, because outward stormes the strongest breake, 85 And strength it selfe by confidence growes weake, This new world may be safer, being told [Sidenote: _The sicknesses of the World._] The dangers and diseases of the old: For with due temper men doe then forgoe, Or covet things, when they their true worth know. 90 [Sidenote: _Impossibility of health._] There is no health; Physitians say that wee, At best, enjoy but a neutralitie. And can there bee worse sicknesse, then to know That we are never well, nor can be so? Wee are borne ruinous: poore mothers cry, 95 That children come not right, nor orderly; Except they headlong come and fall upon An ominous precipitation. How witty's ruine! how importunate Upon mankinde! it labour'd to frustrate 100 Even Gods purpose; and made woman, sent For mans reliefe, cause of his languishment. They were to good ends, and they are so still, But accessory, and principall in ill; For that first marriage was our funerall: 105 One woman at one blow, then kill'd us all, And singly, one by one, they kill us now. We doe delightfully our selves allow To that consumption; and profusely blinde, Wee kill our selves to propagate our kinde. 110 And yet we do not that; we are not men: There is not now that mankinde, which was then, When as, the Sunne and man did seeme to strive, [Sidenote: _Shortnesse of life._] (Joynt tenants of the world) who should survive; When, Stagge, and Raven, and the long-liv'd tree, 115 Compar'd with man, dy'd in minoritie; When, if a slow pac'd starre had stolne away From the observers marking, he might stay Two or three hundred yeares to see't againe, And then make up his observation plaine; 120 When, as the age was long, the sise was great; Mans growth confess'd, and recompenc'd the meat; So spacious and large, that every Soule Did a faire Kingdome, and large Realme controule: And when the very stature, thus erect, 125 Did that soule a good way towards heaven direct. Where is this mankinde now? who lives to age, Fit to be made _Methusalem_ his page? Alas, we scarce live long enough to try Whether a true made clocke run right, or lie. 130 Old Grandsires talke of yesterday with sorrow, And for our children wee reserve to morrow. So short is life, that every peasant strives, In a torne house, or field, to have three lives. And as in lasting, so in length is man 135 [Sidenote: _Smalnesse of stature._] Contracted to an inch, who was a spanne; For had a man at first in forrests stray'd, Or shipwrack'd in the Sea, one would have laid A wager, that an Elephant, or Whale, That met him, would not hastily assaile 140 A thing so equall to him: now alas, The Fairies, and the Pigmies well may passe As credible; mankinde decayes so soone, We'are scarce our Fathers shadowes cast at noone: Onely death addes t'our length: nor are wee growne 145 In stature to be men, till we are none. But this were light, did our lesse volume hold All the old Text; or had wee chang'd to gold Their silver; or dispos'd into lesse glasse Spirits of vertue, which then scatter'd was. 150 But 'tis not so: w'are not retir'd, but dampt; And as our bodies, so our mindes are crampt: 'Tis shrinking, not close weaving that hath thus, In minde, and body both bedwarfed us. Wee seeme ambitious, Gods whole worke t'undoe; 155 Of nothing hee made us, and we strive too, To bring our selves to nothing backe; and wee Doe what wee can, to do't so soone as hee. With new diseases on our selves we warre, And with new Physicke, a worse Engin farre. 160 Thus man, this worlds Vice-Emperour, in whom All faculties, all graces are at home; And if in other creatures they appeare, They're but mans Ministers, and Legats there, To worke on their rebellions, and reduce 165 Them to Civility, and to mans use: This man, whom God did wooe, and loth t'attend Till man came up, did downe to man descend, This man, so great, that all that is, is his, Oh what a trifle, and poore thing he is! 170 If man were any thing, he's nothing now: Helpe, or at least some time to wast, allow T'his other wants, yet when he did depart With her whom we lament, hee lost his heart. She, of whom th'Ancients seem'd to prophesie, 175 When they call'd vertues by the name of _shee_; Shee in whom vertue was so much refin'd, That for Allay unto so pure a minde Shee tooke the weaker Sex; shee that could drive The poysonous tincture, and the staine of _Eve_, 180 Out of her thoughts, and deeds; and purifie All, by a true religious Alchymie; Shee, shee is dead; shee's dead: when thou knowest this, Thou knowest how poore a trifling thing man is. And learn'st thus much by our Anatomie, 185 The heart being perish'd, no part can be free. And that except thou feed (not banquet) on The supernaturall food, Religion, Thy better Growth growes withered, and scant; Be more then man, or thou'rt lesse then an Ant. 190 Then, as mankinde, so is the worlds whole frame Quite out of joynt, almost created lame: For, before God had made up all the rest, Corruption entred, and deprav'd the best: It seis'd the Angels, and then first of all 195 The world did in her cradle take a fall, And turn'd her braines, and tooke a generall maime, Wronging each joynt of th'universall frame. The noblest part, man, felt it first; and than Both beasts and plants, curst in the curse of man. 200 [Sidenote: _Decay of nature in other parts._] So did the world from the first houre decay, That evening was beginning of the day, And now the Springs and Sommers which we see, Like sonnes of women after fiftie bee. And new Philosophy calls all in doubt, 205 The Element of fire is quite put out; The Sun is lost, and th'earth, and no mans wit Can well direct him where to looke for it. And freely men confesse that this world's spent, When in the Planets, and the Firmament 210 They seeke so many new; they see that this Is crumbled out againe to his Atomies. 'Tis all in peeces, all cohaerence gone; All just supply, and all Relation: Prince, Subject, Father, Sonne, are things forgot, 215 For every man alone thinkes he hath got To be a Phœnix, and that then can bee None of that kinde, of which he is, but hee. This is the worlds condition now, and now She that should all parts to reunion bow, 220 She that had all Magnetique force alone, To draw, and fasten sundred parts in one; She whom wise nature had invented then When she observ'd that every sort of men Did in their voyage in this worlds Sea stray, 225 And needed a new compasse for their way; She that was best, and first originall Of all faire copies, and the generall Steward to Fate; she whose rich eyes, and brest Guilt the West Indies, and perfum'd the East; 230 Whose having breath'd in this world, did bestow Spice on those Iles, and bad them still smell so, And that rich Indie which doth gold interre, Is but as single money, coyn'd from her: She to whom this world must it selfe refer, 235 As Suburbs, or the Microcosme of her, Shee, shee is dead; shee's dead: when thou knowst this, Thou knowst how lame a cripple this world is. And learn'st thus much by our Anatomy, That this worlds generall sickenesse doth not lie 240 In any humour, or one certaine part; But as thou sawest it rotten at the heart, Thou seest a Hectique feaver hath got hold Of the whole substance, not to be contrould, And that thou hast but one way, not t'admit 245 The worlds infection, to be none of it. For the worlds subtilst immateriall parts Feele this consuming wound, and ages darts. For the worlds beauty is decai'd, or gone, [Sidenote: _Disformity of parts._] Beauty, that's colour, and proportion. 250 We thinke the heavens enjoy their Sphericall, Their round proportion embracing all. But yet their various and perplexed course, Observ'd in divers ages, doth enforce Men to finde out so many Eccentrique parts, 255 Such divers downe-right lines, such overthwarts, As disproportion that pure forme: It teares The Firmament in eight and forty sheires, And in these Constellations then arise New starres, and old doe vanish from our eyes: 260 As though heav'n suffered earthquakes, peace or war, When new Towers rise, and old demolish't are. They have impal'd within a Zodiake The free-borne Sun, and keepe twelve Signes awake To watch his steps; the Goat and Crab controule, 265 And fright him backe, who else to either Pole (Did not these Tropiques fetter him) might runne: For his course is not round; nor can the Sunne Perfit a Circle, or maintaine his way One inch direct; but where he rose to-day 270 He comes no more, but with a couzening line, Steales by that point, and so is Serpentine: And seeming weary with his reeling thus, He meanes to sleepe, being now falne nearer us. So, of the Starres which boast that they doe runne 275 In Circle still, none ends where he begun. All their proportion's lame, it sinkes, it swels. For of Meridians, and Parallels, Man hath weav'd out a net, and this net throwne Upon the Heavens, and now they are his owne. 280 Loth to goe up the hill, or labour thus To goe to heaven, we make heaven come to us. We spur, we reine the starres, and in their race They're diversly content t'obey our pace. But keepes the earth her round proportion still? 285 Doth not a Tenarif, or higher Hill Rise so high like a Rocke, that one might thinke The floating Moone would shipwracke there, and sinke? Seas are so deepe, that Whales being strooke to day, Perchance to morrow, scarse at middle way 290 Of their wish'd journies end, the bottome, die. And men, to sound depths, so much line untie, As one might justly thinke, that there would rise At end thereof, one of th'Antipodies: If under all, a Vault infernall bee, 295 (Which sure is spacious, except that we Invent another torment, that there must Millions into a straight hot roome be thrust) Then solidnesse, and roundnesse have no place. Are these but warts, and pock-holes in the face 300 Of th'earth? Thinke so: but yet confesse, in this The worlds proportion disfigured is; [Sidenote: _Disorder in the world._] That those two legges whereon it doth rely, Reward and punishment are bent awry. And, Oh, it can no more be questioned, 305 That beauties best, proportion, is dead, Since even griefe it selfe, which now alone Is left us, is without proportion. Shee by whose lines proportion should bee Examin'd, measure of all Symmetree, 310 Whom had that Ancient seen, who thought soules made Of Harmony, he would at next have said That Harmony was shee, and thence infer, That soules were but Resultances from her, And did from her into our bodies goe, 315 As to our eyes, the formes from objects flow: Shee, who if those great Doctors truly said That the Arke to mans proportions was made, Had been a type for that, as that might be A type of her in this, that contrary 320 Both Elements, and Passions liv'd at peace In her, who caus'd all Civill war to cease. Shee, after whom, what forme so'er we see, Is discord, and rude incongruitie; Shee, shee is dead, shee's dead; when thou knowst this 325 Thou knowst how ugly a monster this world is: And learn'st thus much by our Anatomie, That here is nothing to enamour thee: And that, not only faults in inward parts, Corruptions in our braines, or in our hearts, 330 Poysoning the fountaines, whence our actions spring, Endanger us: but that if every thing Be not done fitly'and in proportion, To satisfie wise, and good lookers on, (Since most men be such as most thinke they bee) 335 They're lothsome too, by this Deformitee. For good, and well, must in our actions meete; Wicked is not much worse than indiscreet. But beauties other second Element, Colour, and lustre now, is as neere spent. 340 And had the world his just proportion, Were it a ring still, yet the stone is gone. As a compassionate Turcoyse which doth tell By looking pale, the wearer is not well, As gold falls sicke being stung with Mercury, 345 All the worlds parts of such complexion bee. When nature was most busie, the first weeke, Swadling the new borne earth, God seem'd to like That she should sport her selfe sometimes, and play, To mingle, and vary colours every day: 350 And then, as though shee could not make inow, Himselfe his various Rainbow did allow. Sight is the noblest sense of any one, Yet sight hath only colour to feed on, And colour is decai'd: summers robe growes 355 Duskie, and like an oft dyed garment showes. Our blushing red, which us'd in cheekes to spred, Is inward sunke, and only our soules are red. Perchance the world might have recovered, If she whom we lament had not beene dead: 360 But shee, in whom all white, and red, and blew (Beauties ingredients) voluntary grew, As in an unvext Paradise; from whom Did all things verdure, and their lustre come, Whose composition was miraculous, 365 Being all colour, all Diaphanous, (For Ayre, and Fire but thick grosse bodies were, And liveliest stones but drowsie, and pale to her,) Shee, shee, is dead; shee's dead: when thou know'st this, Thou knowst how wan a Ghost this our world is: 370 And learn'st thus much by our Anatomie, That it should more affright, then pleasure thee. And that, since all faire colour then did sinke, 'Tis now but wicked vanitie, to thinke [Sidenote: _Weaknesse in the want of correspondence of heaven and earth._] To colour vicious deeds with good pretence, 375 Or with bought colors to illude mens sense. Nor in ought more this worlds decay appeares, Then that her influence the heav'n forbeares, Or that the Elements doe not feele this, The father, or the mother barren is. 380 The cloudes conceive not raine, or doe not powre, In the due birth time, downe the balmy showre; Th'Ayre doth not motherly sit on the earth, To hatch her seasons, and give all things birth; Spring-times were common cradles, but are tombes; 385 And false-conceptions fill the generall wombes; Th'Ayre showes such Meteors, as none can see, Not only what they meane, but what they bee; Earth such new wormes, as would have troubled much Th'Ægyptian _Mages_ to have made more such. 390 What Artist now dares boast that he can bring Heaven hither, or constellate any thing, So as the influence of those starres may bee Imprison'd in an Hearbe, or Charme, or Tree, And doe by touch, all which those stars could doe? 395 The art is lost, and correspondence too. For heaven gives little, and the earth takes lesse, And man least knowes their trade and purposes. If this commerce twixt heaven and earth were not Embarr'd, and all this traffique quite forgot, 400 She, for whose losse we have lamented thus, Would worke more fully, and pow'rfully on us: Since herbes, and roots, by dying lose not all, But they, yea Ashes too, are medicinall, Death could not quench her vertue so, but that 405 It would be (if not follow'd) wondred at: And all the world would be one dying Swan, To sing her funerall praise, and vanish than. But as some Serpents poyson hurteth not, Except it be from the live Serpent shot, 410 So doth her vertue need her here, to fit That unto us; shee working more then it. But shee, in whom to such maturity Vertue was growne, past growth, that it must die; She, from whose influence all Impressions came, 415 But, by Receivers impotencies, lame, Who, though she could not transubstantiate All states to gold, yet guilded every state, So that some Princes have some temperance; Some Counsellers some purpose to advance 420 The common profit; and some people have Some stay, no more then Kings should give, to crave; Some women have some taciturnity, Some nunneries some graines of chastitie. She that did thus much, and much more could doe, 425 But that our age was Iron, and rustie too, Shee, shee is dead; shee's dead; when thou knowst this, Thou knowst how drie a Cinder this world is. And learn'st thus much by our Anatomy, That 'tis in vaine to dew, or mollifie 430 It with thy teares, or sweat, or blood: nothing Is worth our travaile, griefe, or perishing, But those rich joyes, which did possesse her heart, Of which she's now partaker, and a part. [Sidenote: _Conclusion._] But as in cutting up a man that's dead, 435 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 worlds carcasse would not last, if I Were punctuall in this Anatomy; 440 Nor smels it well to hearers, if one tell Them their disease, who faine would think they're well. Here therefore be the end: And, blessed maid, Of whom is meant what ever hath been said, Or shall be spoken well by any tongue, 445 Whose name refines course lines, and makes prose song, Accept this tribute, and his first yeares rent, Who till his darke short tapers end be spent, As oft as thy feast sees this widowed earth, Will yearely celebrate thy second birth, 450 That is, thy death; for though the soule of man Be got when man is made, 'tis borne but than When man doth die; our body's as the wombe, And, as a Mid-wife, death directs it home. And you her creatures, whom she workes upon, 455 And have your last, and best concoction From her example, and her vertue, if you In reverence to her, do thinke it due, That no one should her praises thus rehearse, As matter fit for Chronicle, not verse; 460 Vouchsafe to call to minde that God did make A last, and lasting'st peece, a song. He spake To _Moses_ to deliver unto all, That song, because hee knew they would let fall The Law, the Prophets, and the History, 465 But keepe the song still in their memory: Such an opinion (in due measure) made Me this great Office boldly to invade: Nor could incomprehensiblenesse deterre Mee, from thus trying to emprison her, 470 Which when I saw that a strict grave could doe, I saw not why verse might not do so too. Verse hath a middle nature: heaven keepes Soules, The Grave keepes bodies, Verse the Fame enroules.
[An Anatomy _&c._ _1611-69_ The first Anniversary. _1612-69_ (First _1612-25_): _om. 1611_]
[_The entrie &c._ _1612-21:_ _om. 1625-33:_ _1611 and 1635-69 have no notes_]
[2 Whom _1611_, _1612-25_, _1669:_ Who _1633:_ whõ _1635-54_]
[5 Deedes _1611_, _1612-25:_ deeds, _1633-69_]
[6 In-mate _1611-12:_ Inmate _1621-25:_ immate _1633:_ inmate _1635-69_]
[10 Song, _1611:_ Song. _1612-33:_ Song: _1635-69_]
[14 then _1611_, _1612-39:_ them _1650-69_]
[18 shee, _1611:_ shee _1612_, _1669:_ shee. _1621-54_]
[22 care, _1611-21:_ care. _1625-33_]
[24 Lethargie.] Letargee. _1611_, _1612-25_]
[26 Man. _1611_, _1621-25:_ man. _1633-69_]
[31 name, _1611_, _1612-25:_ name _1633-69_]
[33 Font, _1611:_ Fount, _1612-69_]
[36 Palace _1611-12_, _1621-25:_ palace _1633-69_]
[40 times _1611_, _1612-33:_ time _1635-69_]
[48 law, _1612_, _1669:_ law. _1611_, _1621-25:_ law; _1633-54_]
[50 glue] give _1650-69_]
[_What life &c._ _1612-21:_ _om. 1625-33_]
[70 walke; _1611_, _1612-25:_ walke, _1633-69_]
[71 good, _1633:_ good _1612-25_, _1635-69_]
[75 old world, free, _1611-12_, _1633-69:_ old world, free _1621-25_]
[79 though] thought _1621-33_]
[80 home-borne] homborne _1611_, _1621-25:_ homeborne _1633-69_]
[85 Yet, _1612-25:_ Yet _1633-69_]
[_The sicknesses &c._ _1612:_ _The sicknesse &c._ _1621:_ _The sicknes &c._ _1625-33_]
[89 then] them _1650-69_]
[99 ruine! _Ed:_ ruine? _1611_, _1612-25:_ ruine, _1633-69_]
[100 mankinde! _Ed:_ mankinde? _1611_, _1612-69_]
[113 When as, the Sunne and man _1633-39:_ _no commas_ _1650-69:_ When as the Sunne and man, _1611_, _1612-25_]
[114 survive; _1650-69:_ survive. _1611_, _1612-39_]
[116 minoritie; _1650-69:_ minoritee. _1611_, _1621-25:_ minoritie, _1633-39_]
[131 Grandsires _1611_, _1612-21:_ Gransires _1625-69_
sorrow, _1611-21:_ sorrow. _1625:_ sorrow: _1633-69_]
[133 peasant _1611_, _1612-25:_ pesant _1633-69_]
[134 lives. _1611_, _1633:_ lives _1612:_ lives, _1621-25_]
[135 man _1611:_ man. _1612-25:_ man, _1633-69_]
[145 addes _1611-21:_ adds _1635-69:_ ads _1625_, _1633_]
[149 silver; _1611-12:_ silver _1621-25:_ silver, _1633-69_]
[150 scatter'd] scattred _1612-25_]
[152 bodies, _1611-25:_ bodies _1633-39_]
[153 close weaving _1633-69:_ close-weaning _1611-12:_ close weaning _1621-25_]
[161 Thus man, _1611_, _1612-33:_ This man, _1635-69_, _Chambers_]
[166 use:] use. _1611_, _1621-33_]
[167 t'attend] t'atend _1633_]
[169 man, _1611:_ man _1612-69_]
[171 any thing, _1611-12:_ any thing; _1621-33_]
[172 wast, _1633:_ wast, _1611:_ waste, _1635-69_]
[178 Allay _1611_, _1612-25:_ allay _1633-69_]
[179 Sex; _1611:_ Sex, _1621-25:_ Sex: _1633-69_]
[181 thoughts, _1611-12_, _1635-69:_ thought, _1621-33_]
[183 Shee, shee _1611_, _1612-25:_ She, she _1633-69_]
[186 no] no no _1621_]
[188 Religion, _1611_, _1650-69:_ Religion. _1612-25:_ Religion: _1633-39_]
[189 Growth _1611:_ grouth _1612-25:_ growth _1633-69_
withered] whithered _1621-25_]
[191 Then, _1611_, _1621-25:_ Then _1633-69_]
[195 Angels, _1612-69:_ Angells: _1611_]
[200 man. _1611_, _1612-25:_ man, _1633-39:_ man: _1650-69_]
[210 Firmament _1611-12:_ firmament _1621-69_]
[212 Atomies.] Atomis. _1611_, _1612-25_]
[213 cohaerence _1611_, _1612-25:_ coherence _1633-69_]
[217 then _1611_, _1612-69:_ there _Grosart, who with Chambers attributes to 1669_]
[223 invented] innented _1621_]
[228 copies, _1633-69:_ copies; _1611-12:_ copies _1621-25_]
[229 Fate; _1612-69:_ Fate: _1611_
brest _1611:_ brest: _1612-25:_ breast, _1633_]
[230 West Indies, _1611:_ West-Indies, _1621-69_
East; _1611:_ East, _1621-69_]
[234 money, _1611-21:_ money _1625-69_]
[237 knowst _1611:_ knowest _1612-69:_ _and so in_ 238]
[237 this,] this _1633-35_]
[238 is. _1611_, _1612-33:_ is, _1635-69_]
[244 contrould,] contrould. _1611_, _1612-25_]
[251 Sphericall, _1650-69:_ Sphericall _1611_, _1612-39_]
[252 all. _1611_, _1612-25:_ all, _1633-69_]
[257 forme: _1633-69:_ forme. _1611_, _1612-25_]
[258 sheires, _1633-35:_ sheeres, _1611_, _1612-25:_ shieres, _1639-69_]
[267 Tropiques _1611_, _1612-25:_ tropiques _1633-69_]
[273 with] of _1635-69_]
[284 pace.] peace. _1612-33_]
[286 Tenarif, _1611_, _1612-25:_ Tenarus _1633-69_
Hill _1611_, _1612-25:_ hill _1633-69_]
[288 there, _1611_, _1612-21:_ there _1625-69_]
[289 strooke _1611_, _1612-25:_ strucke _1633-69_]
[290 to morrow, _1611_, _1612-25:_ to morrow _1633-69_]
[295 Vault _1611_, _1612-25:_ vault _1633-69_]
[298 straight] strait _1611-25_]
[300 pock-holes] pockholes _1633-69_]
[301 th'earth?] th'earth; _1633_]
[306 beauties best, proportion, _1611_, _1612-39:_ beauty's best proportion _Chambers:_ _1650-69_ _drop the second comma_]
[313 infer, _1611-12:_ infer. _1621-25:_ infer _1633-69_]
[318 proportions _1611-12:_ proportion _1621-69_]
[321 Elements, _1611-12:_ Elements _1621-69_]
[325 Shee, shee _1611_, _1612-25:_ She, she _1633-69_
shee's] she's _1633-69_
knowst _1611:_ knowest _1612-25:_ know'st _1633-69_]
[326 knowst _1611_, _1612-25:_ knowest _1633-69_]
[336 Deformitee. _1611_, _1612-25:_ deformitie. _1633-69_]
[351 inow, _1611_, _1612-25:_ enough, _1633:_ enow, _1635-69_]
[352 allow.] allow, _1621-33_]
[366 Diaphanous, _1611_, _1612-25:_ diaphanous, _1633-69_]
[369 Shee, shee, _1611_, _1612-25_ (shee _1625_): She, she _1633-69_ (_but_ Shee, _1633_, _in pass-over word_)]
[370 knowst _1611:_ knowest _1621-69_]
[374 vanitie, to thinke _1633-69:_ vanity to think, _1611_, _1612-25_]
[379-80 feele this, ... barren is. _1611_, _1612-69:_ feele this. ... barren is; _Chambers_. _See note_]
[383 Th'Ayre _1611_, _1612-21:_ Th'ayre _1625-69_]
[387 Th'Ayre _1611:_ Th'ayre _1612-69_]
[390 _Mages_] _No change of type_, _1611-12_]
[394 Charme, _1611-21:_ Charme _1625-54_]
[404 Ashes _1611_, _1612-25:_ ashes _1633-69_]
[407 Swan, _1611_, _1612-25:_ swan, _1633-69_]
[415 Impressions _1611:_ Impression _1612-25:_ impression _1633-69_]
[416 But, _1611:_ But _1621-69_
Receivers _1611-12:_ _rest no capital_]
[421 have] have, _1633_]
[427 is dead;] is dead, _1633-69_
shee's dead; _1611-25:_ she's dead; _1633-69_]
[431 nothing] no thing _1611-21_]
[442 they're] thy're _1633_]
[443 And, _1611_, _1612-25:_ and, _1633-69_]
[467 (in due measure) _1611_, _1612-25_ (_but 1625 drops second bracket_): _commas_ _1633-69_]
[468 Office _1611_, _1612-25:_ office _1633-69_]
[473 nature: _1611-25:_ nature, _1633-69_]
A Funerall ELEGIE.
'Tis lost, to trust a Tombe with such a guest, Or to confine her in a marble chest. Alas, what's Marble, Jeat, or Porphyrie, Priz'd with the Chrysolite of either eye, Or with those Pearles, and Rubies, which she was? 5 Joyne the two Indies in one Tombe, 'tis glasse; And so is all to her materials, Though every inch were ten Escurials, Yet she's demolish'd: can wee keepe her then In works of hands, or of the wits of men? 10 Can these memorials, ragges of paper, give Life to that name, by which name they must live? Sickly, alas, short-liv'd, aborted bee Those carcasse verses, whose soule is not shee. And can shee, who no longer would be shee, 15 Being such a Tabernacle, stoop to be In paper wrapt; or, when shee would not lie In such a house, dwell in an Elegie? But 'tis no matter; wee may well allow Verse to live so long as the world will now, 20 For her death wounded it. The world containes Princes for armes, and Counsellors for braines, Lawyers for tongues, Divines for hearts, and more, The Rich for stomackes, and for backes, the Poore; The Officers for hands, Merchants for feet, 25 By which, remote and distant Countries meet. But those fine spirits which do tune, and set This Organ, are those peeces which beget Wonder and love; and these were shee; and shee Being spent, the world must needs decrepit bee; 30 For since death will proceed to triumph still, He can finde nothing, after her, to kill, Except the world it selfe, so great as shee. Thus brave and confident may Nature bee, Death cannot give her such another blow, 35 Because shee cannot such another show. But must wee say she's dead? may't not be said That as a sundred clocke is peecemeale laid, Not to be lost, but by the makers hand Repollish'd, without errour then to stand, 40 Or as the Affrique Niger streame enwombs It selfe into the earth, and after comes (Having first made a naturall bridge, to passe For many leagues) farre greater then it was, May't not be said, that her grave shall restore 45 Her, greater, purer, firmer, then before? Heaven may say this, and joy in't, but can wee Who live, and lacke her, here this vantage see? What is't to us, alas, if there have beene An Angell made a Throne, or Cherubin? 50 Wee lose by't: and as aged men are glad Being tastlesse growne, to joy in joyes they had, So now the sick starv'd world must feed upon This joy, that we had her, who now is gone. Rejoyce then Nature, and this World, that you, 55 Fearing the last fires hastning to subdue Your force and vigour, ere it were neere gone, Wisely bestow'd and laid it all on one. One, whose cleare body was so pure and thinne, Because it need disguise no thought within. 60 'Twas but a through-light scarfe, her minde t'inroule; Or exhalation breath'd out from her Soule. One, whom all men who durst no more, admir'd: And whom, who ere had worth enough, desir'd; As when a Temple's built, Saints emulate 65 To which of them, it shall be consecrate. But, as when heaven lookes on us with new eyes, Those new starres every Artist exercise, What place they should assigne to them they doubt, Argue,'and agree not, till those starres goe out: 70 So the world studied whose this peece should be, Till shee can be no bodies else, nor shee: But like a Lampe of Balsamum, desir'd Rather t'adorne, then last, she soone expir'd, Cloath'd in her virgin white integritie, 75 For marriage, though it doe not staine, doth dye. To scape th'infirmities which wait upon Woman, she went away, before sh'was one; And the worlds busie noyse to overcome, Tooke so much death, as serv'd for _opium_; 80 For though she could not, nor could chuse to dye, She'ath yeelded to too long an extasie: Hee which not knowing her said History, Should come to reade the booke of destiny, How faire, and chast, humble, and high she'ad been, 85 Much promis'd, much perform'd, at not fifteene, And measuring future things, by things before, Should turne the leafe to reade, and reade no more, Would thinke that either destiny mistooke, Or that some leaves were torne out of the booke. 90 But 'tis not so; Fate did but usher her To yeares of reasons use, and then inferre Her destiny to her selfe, which liberty She tooke but for thus much, thus much to die. Her modestie not suffering her to bee 95 Fellow-Commissioner with Destinie, She did no more but die; if after her Any shall live, which dare true good prefer, Every such person is her deligate, T'accomplish that which should have beene her Fate. 100 They shall make up that Booke and shall have thanks Of Fate, and her, for filling up their blankes. For future vertuous deeds are Legacies, Which from the gift of her example rise; And 'tis in heav'n part of spirituall mirth, 105 To see how well the good play her, on earth.
[Funerall ELEGIE. _1611_, _1612-69:_ _whole poem printed in italics_ _1612-25:_ _in roman 1611_]
[1 lost, _1611_, _1612-25:_ lost _1633:_ losse _1635-69_]
[2 chest. _1611-21:_ chest, _1625-69_]
[8 Escurials,] escurials. _1611-25_]
[13 aborted _1611_, _1612-33:_ abortive _1635-69_]
[17 or, _1612-25:_ or _1633-69_]
[18 a] an _1635-69_]
[22-5 Princes, Counsellors _&c._ _all in capitals except_ Officers _1611_, _1612-25:_ _later editions erratic_]
[24: backes, _1611:_ backes _1612-25:_ backs _1633-69_
Poore] _spelt_ Pore _1611-12_]
[28 peeces] peeces, _1633-69_]
[30 _1625 inserts marginal note_, Smalnesse of stature. _See p._ 235]
[33 as _1611-21:_ _om. 1625:_ was _1633-69_]
[47 in't,] in't; _1612-21:_ in'ts, _1625_]
[48 her, here _1611_, _1612-25:_ her, here, _1633:_ her here, _1635-69_]
[58 one. _1612-25:_ one; _1633-69_]
[64 worth] worke _1633_]
[74 expir'd, _1633-69:_ expir'd; _1611_, _1612-25_]
[75 integritie, _1633-69:_ integritie; _1611-25_]
[76 it doe _1611_, _1612-25:_ it doth _1633-69_
dye. _1611_, _1612-69_ (_spelt_ die _1633-69_): _Chambers closes the sentence at_ 74 expir'd _and prints_ 75-7 _thus_--
Clothed in her virgin white integrity --For marriage, though it doth not stain, doth dye-- To 'scape _&c._
]
[83 said _1611_, _1612-33:_ sad _1635-69_]
[94 tooke _1611_, _1612-25:_ tooke, _1633-69_]
[98 prefer, _1611_, _1612-25:_ prefer; _1633-69_]
OF THE PROGRESSE OF THE SOULE.
_Wherein_,
By occasion of the Religious death of Mistris ELIZABETH DRVRY, the incommodities of the Soule in this life, and her exaltation in the next, are contemplated.
* * * * *
The second Anniversary.
* * * * *
_The Harbinger to the_
Progresse.
PROGRESSE.
Two Soules move here, and mine (a third) must move Paces of admiration, and of love; Thy Soule (deare virgin) whose this tribute is, Mov'd from this mortall Spheare to lively blisse; And yet moves still, and still aspires to see 5 The worlds last day, thy glories full degree: Like as those starres which thou o'r-lookest farre, Are in their place, and yet still moved are: No soule (whiles with the luggage of this clay It clogged is) can follow thee halfe way; 10 Or see thy flight, which doth our thoughts outgoe So fast, that now the lightning moves but slow: But now thou art as high in heaven flowne As heaven's from us; what soule besides thine owne Can tell thy joyes, or say he can relate 15 Thy glorious Journals in that blessed state? I envie thee (Rich soule) I envy thee, Although I cannot yet thy glory see: And thou (great spirit) which hers follow'd hast So fast, as none can follow thine so fast; 20 So far, as none can follow thine so farre, (And if this flesh did not the passage barre 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 25 Can see thee less'ned in thine ayery way; So while thou mak'st her soule by progresse knowne Thou mak'st a noble progresse of thine owne, From this worlds carkasse having mounted high To that pure life of immortalitie; 30 Since thine aspiring thoughts themselves so raise That more may not beseeme a creatures praise, Yet still thou vow'st her more; and every yeare Mak'st a new progresse, while thou wandrest here; Still upward mount; and let thy Makers praise 35 Honor thy Laura, and adorne thy laies. And since thy Muse her head in heaven shrouds, Oh let her never stoope below the clouds: And if those glorious sainted soules may know Or what wee doe, or what wee sing below, 40 Those acts, those songs shall still content them best Which praise those awfull Powers that make them blest.
[Of the Progresse _&c._ _1612-69:_ The second Anniversary. _1612-69_ (_in 1612-21 it stands at head of page_)]
[The Harbinger _&c._] _In 1612-25 this poem printed in italics_]
[8 are:] are _1612-25_]
[12 that now] as now _1635-69_, _Chambers_]
[27 soule] soules _1612_]
[28 owne, _1635-69:_ owne. _1612-33_]
[34 while] whilst _1669_]
[35 upward] upwards _1612_]
OF THE PROGRESSE OF THE SOULE.
_The second Anniversarie._
[Sidenote: _The entrance._[1]] Nothing could make me sooner to confesse That this world had an everlastingnesse, Then to consider, that a yeare is runne, Since both this lower world's, and the Sunnes Sunne, The Lustre, and the vigor of this All, 5 Did set; 'twere blasphemie to say, did fall. But as a ship which hath strooke saile, doth runne By force of that force which before, it wonne: Or as sometimes in a beheaded man, Though at those two Red seas, which freely ranne, 10 One from the Trunke, another from the Head, His soule be sail'd, to her eternall bed, His eyes will twinckle, and his tongue will roll, As though he beckned, and cal'd backe his soule, He graspes his hands, and he pulls up his feet, 15 And seemes to reach, and to step forth to meet His soule; 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: 20 So struggles this dead world, now shee is gone; For there is motion in corruption. As some daies are at the Creation nam'd, Before the Sunne, the which fram'd daies, was fram'd, So after this Sunne's set, some shew appeares, 25 And orderly vicissitude of yeares. Yet a new Deluge, and of _Lethe_ flood, Hath drown'd us all, All have forgot all good, Forgetting her, the maine reserve of all. Yet in this deluge, grosse and generall, 30 Thou seest me strive for life; my life shall bee, To be hereafter prais'd, for praysing thee; Immortall Maid, who though thou would'st refuse The name of Mother, be unto my Muse A Father, since her chast Ambition is, 35 Yearely to bring forth such a child as this. These Hymnes may worke on future wits, and so May great Grand children of thy prayses grow. And so, though not revive, embalme and spice The world, which else would putrifie with vice. 40 For thus, Man may extend thy progeny, Untill man doe but vanish, and not die. These Hymnes thy issue, may encrease so long, As till Gods great _Venite_ change the song. [Sidenote: _A iust disestimation[2] of this world._] Thirst for that time, O my insatiate soule, 45 And serve thy thirst, with Gods safe-sealing Bowle. Be thirstie still, and drinke still till thou goe To th'only Health, to be Hydroptique so. Forget this rotten world; And unto thee Let thine owne times as an old storie bee. 50 Be not concern'd: studie not why, nor when; Doe not so much as not beleeve a man. For though to erre, be worst, to try truths forth, Is far more businesse, then this world is worth. The world is but a carkasse; thou art fed 55 By it, but as a worme, that carkasse bred; And why should'st thou, poore worme, consider more, When this world will grow better then before, Then those thy fellow wormes doe thinke upon That carkasses last resurrection. 60 Forget this world, and scarce thinke of it so, As of old clothes, cast off a yeare agoe. To be thus stupid is Alacritie; Men thus Lethargique have best Memory. Look upward; that's towards her, whose happy state 65 We now lament not, but congratulate. Shee, to whom all this world was but a stage, Where all sat harkning how her youthfull age Should be emploi'd, because in all shee did, Some Figure of the Golden times was hid. 70 Who could not lacke, what e'r this world could give, Because shee was the forme, that made it live; Nor could complaine, that this world was unfit To be staid in, then when shee was in it; Shee that first tried indifferent desires 75 By vertue, and vertue by religious fires, Shee to whose person Paradise adher'd, As Courts to Princes, shee whose eyes ensphear'd Star-light enough, t'have made the South controule, (Had shee beene there) the Star-full Northerne Pole, 80 Shee, shee is gone; she is gone; when thou knowest this, What fragmentary rubbidge this world is Thou knowest, and that it is not worth a thought; He honors it too much that thinkes it nought. [Sidenote: _Contemplation of our state in our death-bed._] Thinke then, my soule, that death is but a Groome, 85 Which brings a Taper to the outward roome, Whence thou spiest first a little glimmering light, And after brings it nearer to thy sight: For such approaches doth heaven make in death. Thinke thy selfe labouring now with broken breath, 90 And thinke those broken and soft Notes to bee Division, and thy happyest Harmonie. Thinke thee laid on thy death-bed, loose and slacke; And thinke that, but unbinding of a packe, To take one precious thing, thy soule from thence. 95 Thinke thy selfe parch'd with fevers violence, Anger thine ague more, by calling it Thy Physicke; chide the slacknesse of the fit. Thinke that thou hear'st thy knell, and think no more, But that, as Bels cal'd thee to Church before, 100 So this, to the Triumphant Church, calls thee. Thinke Satans Sergeants round about thee bee, And thinke that but for Legacies they thrust; Give one thy Pride, to'another give thy Lust: Give them those sinnes which they gave thee before, 105 And trust th'immaculate blood to wash thy score. Thinke thy friends weeping round, and thinke that they Weepe but because they goe not yet thy way. Thinke that they close thine eyes, and thinke in this, That they confesse much in the world, amisse, 110 Who dare not trust a dead mans eye with that, Which they from God, and Angels cover not. Thinke that they shroud thee up, and think from thence They reinvest thee in white innocence. Thinke that thy body rots, and (if so low, 115 Thy soule exalted so, thy thoughts can goe,) Think thee a Prince, who of themselves create Wormes which insensibly devoure their State. Thinke that they bury thee, and thinke that right Laies thee to sleepe but a Saint Lucies night. 120 Thinke these things cheerefully: and if thou bee Drowsie or slacke, remember then that shee, Shee whose Complexion was so even made, That which of her Ingredients should invade The other three, no Feare, no Art could guesse: 125 So far were all remov'd from more or lesse. But as in Mithridate, or just perfumes, Where all good things being met, no one presumes To governe, or to triumph on the rest, Only because all were, no part was best. 130 And as, though all doe know, that quantities Are made of lines, and lines from Points arise, None can these lines or quantities unjoynt, And say this is a line, or this a point, So though the Elements and Humors were 135 In her, one could not say, this governes there. Whose even constitution might have wonne Any disease to venter on the Sunne, Rather then her: and make a spirit feare, That hee to disuniting subject were. 140 To whose proportions if we would compare Cubes, th'are unstable; Circles, Angular; She who was such a chaine as Fate employes To bring mankinde all Fortunes it enjoyes; So fast, so even wrought, as one would thinke, 145 No Accident could threaten any linke; Shee, shee embrac'd a sicknesse, gave it meat, The purest blood, and breath, that e'r it eate; And hath taught us, that though a good man hath Title to heaven, and plead it by his Faith, 150 And though he may pretend a conquest, since Heaven was content to suffer violence, Yea though hee plead a long possession too, (For they're in heaven on earth who heavens workes do) Though hee had right and power and place, before, 155 Yet Death must usher, and unlocke the doore. [Sidenote: _Incommodities of the Soule in the Body._[3]] Thinke further on thy selfe, my Soule, and thinke How thou at first wast made but in a sinke; Thinke that it argued some infirmitie, That those two soules, which then thou foundst in me, 160 Thou fedst upon, and drewst into thee, both My second soule of sense, and first of growth. Thinke but how poore thou wast, how obnoxious; Whom a small lumpe of flesh could poyson thus. This curded milke, this poore unlittered whelpe 165 My body, could, beyond escape or helpe, Infect thee with Originall sinne, and thou Couldst neither then refuse, nor leave it now. Thinke that no stubborne sullen Anchorit, Which fixt to a pillar, or a grave, doth sit 170 Bedded, and bath'd in all his ordures, dwels So fowly as our Soules in their first-built Cels. Thinke in how poore a prison thou didst lie After, enabled but to suck, and crie. Thinke, when'twas growne to most,'twas a poore Inne, 175 A Province pack'd up in two yards of skinne, And that usurp'd or threatned with the rage Of sicknesses, or their true mother, Age. But thinke that Death hath now enfranchis'd thee, [Sidenote: _Her liberty by death._] Thou hast thy'expansion now, and libertie; 180 Thinke that a rustie Peece, discharg'd, is flowne In peeces, and the bullet is his owne, And freely flies: This to thy Soule allow, Thinke thy shell broke, thinke thy Soule hatch'd but now. And think this slow-pac'd soule, which late did cleave 185 To'a body, and went but by the bodies leave, Twenty, perchance, or thirty mile a day, Dispatches in a minute all the way Twixt heaven, and earth; she stayes not in the ayre, To looke what Meteors there themselves prepare; 190 She carries no desire to know, nor sense, Whether th'ayres middle region be intense; For th'Element of fire, she doth not know, Whether she past by such a place or no; She baits not at the Moone, nor cares to trie 195 Whether in that new world, men live, and die. _Venus_ retards her not, to'enquire, how shee Can, (being one starre) _Hesper_, and _Vesper_ bee; Hee that charm'd _Argus_ eyes, sweet _Mercury_, Workes not on her, who now is growne all eye; 200 Who, if she meet the body of the Sunne, Goes through, not staying till his course be runne; Who findes in _Mars_ his Campe no corps of Guard; Nor is by _Iove_, nor by his father barr'd; But ere she can consider how she went, 205 At once is at, and through the Firmament. And as these starres were but so many beads Strung on one string, speed undistinguish'd leads Her through those Spheares, as through the beads, a string, Whose quick succession makes it still one thing: 210 As doth the pith, which, lest our bodies slacke, Strings fast the little bones of necke, and backe; So by the Soule doth death string Heaven and Earth; For when our Soule enjoyes this her third birth, (Creation gave her one, a second, grace,) 215 Heaven is as neare, and present to her face, As colours are, and objects, in a roome Where darknesse was before, when Tapers come. This must, my Soule, thy long-short Progresse bee; To'advance these thoughts, remember then, that she, 220 She; whose faire body no such prison was, But that a Soule might well be pleas'd to passe 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; 225 Shee, in whose body (if we dare preferre This low world, to so high a marke as shee,) The Westerne treasure, Easterne spicerie, Europe, and Afrique, and the unknowne rest Were easily found, or what in them was best; 230 And when w'have made this large discoverie Of all, in her some one part then will bee Twenty such parts, whose plenty and riches is Enough to make twenty such worlds as this; Shee, whom had they knowne who did first betroth 235 The Tutelar Angels, and assign'd one, both To Nations, Cities, and to Companies, To Functions, Offices, and Dignities, And to each severall man, to him, and him, They would have given her one for every limbe; 240 She, of whose soule, if wee may say, 'twas Gold, Her body was th'Electrum, and did hold Many degrees of that; wee understood Her by her sight; her pure, and eloquent blood Spoke in her cheekes, and so distinctly wrought, 245 That one might almost say, her body thought; Shee, shee, thus richly and largely hous'd, is gone: And chides us slow-pac'd snailes who crawle upon Our prisons prison, earth, nor thinke us well, Longer, then whil'st wee beare our brittle shell. 250 [Sidenote: _Her ignorance in this life and knowledge in the next._[4]] But 'twere but little to have chang'd our roome, If, as we were in this our living Tombe Oppress'd with ignorance, wee still were so. Poore soule, in this thy flesh what dost thou know? Thou know'st thy selfe so little, as thou know'st not, 255 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 poyson of mans sinne. Nor dost thou, (though thou know'st, that thou art so) By what way thou art made immortall, know. 260 Thou art too narrow, wretch, to comprehend Even thy selfe: yea though thou wouldst but bend To know thy body. Have not all soules thought For many ages, that our body'is wrought Of Ayre, and Fire, and other Elements? 265 And now they thinke of new ingredients, And one Soule thinkes one, and another way Another thinkes, and 'tis an even lay. Knowst thou but how the stone doth enter in The bladders cave, and never breake the skinne? 270 Know'st thou how blood, which to the heart doth flow, Doth from one ventricle to th'other goe? And for the putrid stuffe, which thou dost spit, Know'st thou how thy lungs have attracted it? There are no passages, so that there is 275 (For ought thou know'st) piercing of substances. And of those many opinions which men raise Of Nailes and Haires, dost thou know which to praise? What hope have wee to know our selves, when wee Know not the least things, which for our use be? 280 Wee see in Authors, too stiffe to recant, A hundred controversies of an Ant; And yet one watches, starves, freeses, and sweats, To know but Catechismes and Alphabets Of unconcerning things, matters of fact; 285 How others on our stage their parts did Act; What _Cæsar_ did, yea, and what _Cicero_ said. Why grasse is greene, or why our blood is red, Are mysteries which none have reach'd unto. In this low forme, poore soule, what wilt thou doe? 290 When wilt thou shake off this Pedantery, Of being taught by sense, and Fantasie? Thou look'st through spectacles; small things seeme great Below; But up unto the watch-towre get, And see all things despoyl'd of fallacies: 295 Thou shalt not peepe through lattices of eyes, Nor heare through Labyrinths of eares, nor learne By circuit, or collections to discerne. In heaven thou straight know'st all, concerning it, And what concernes it not, shalt straight forget. 300 There thou (but in no other schoole) maist bee Perchance, as learned, and as full, as shee, Shee who all libraries had throughly read At home in her owne thoughts, and practised So much good as would make as many more: 305 Shee whose example they must all implore, Who would or doe, or thinke well, and confesse That all the vertuous Actions they expresse, Are but a new, and worse edition Of her some one thought, or one action: 310 She who in th'art of knowing Heaven, was growne Here upon earth, to such perfection, That she hath, ever since to Heaven she came, (In a far fairer print,) but read the same: Shee, shee not satisfied with all this waight, 315 (For so much knowledge, as would over-fraight Another, did but ballast her) is gone As well t'enjoy, as get perfection. And cals us after her, in that shee tooke, (Taking her selfe) our best, and worthiest booke. 320 [Sidenote: _Of our company in this life, and in the next._] Returne not, my Soule, from this extasie, And meditation of what thou shalt bee, To earthly thoughts, till it to thee appeare, With whom thy conversation must be there. With whom wilt thou converse? what station 325 Canst thou choose out, free from infection, That will not give thee theirs, nor drinke in thine? Shalt thou not finde a spungie slacke Divine Drinke and sucke in th'instructions of Great men, And for the word of God, vent them agen? 330 Are there not some Courts (and then, no things bee So like as Courts) which, in this let us see, That wits and tongues of Libellers are weake, Because they do more ill, then these can speake? The poyson's gone through all, poysons affect 335 Chiefly the chiefest parts, but some effect In nailes, and haires, yea excrements, will show; So lyes the poyson of sinne in the most low. Up, up, my drowsie Soule, where thy new eare Shall in the Angels songs no discord heare; 340 Where thou shalt see the blessed Mother-maid Joy in not being that, which men have said. Where she is exalted more for being good, Then for her interest of Mother-hood. Up to those Patriarchs, which did longer sit 345 Expecting Christ, then they'have enjoy'd him yet. Up to those Prophets, which now gladly see Their Prophesies growne to be Historie. Up to th'Apostles, who did bravely runne All the Suns course, with more light then the Sunne. 350 Up to those Martyrs, who did calmly bleed Oyle to th'Apostles Lamps, dew to their seed. Up to those Virgins, who thought, that almost They made joyntenants with the Holy Ghost, If they to any should his Temple give. 355 Up, up, for in that squadron there doth live She, who hath carried thither new degrees (As to their number) to their dignities. Shee, who being to her selfe a State, injoy'd All royalties which any State employ'd; 360 For shee made warres, and triumph'd; reason still Did not o'rthrow, but rectifie her will: And she made peace, for no peace is like this, That beauty, and chastity together kisse: She did high justice, for she crucified 365 Every first motion of rebellious pride: And she gave pardons, and was liberall, For, onely her selfe except, she pardon'd all: Shee coy'nd, in this, that her impressions gave To all our actions all the worth they have: 370 She gave protections; the thoughts of her brest Satans rude Officers could ne'r arrest. As these prerogatives being met in one, Made her a soveraigne State; religion Made her a Church; and these two made her all. 375 She who was all this All, and could not fall To worse, by company, (for she was still More Antidote, then all the world was ill,) Shee, shee doth leave it, and by Death, survive All this, in Heaven; whither who doth not strive 380 The more, because shees there, he doth not know That accidentall joyes in Heaven doe grow. But pause, my soule; And study, ere thou fall On accidentall joyes, th'essentiall. [Sidenote: _Of essentiall joy in this life and in the next._] Still before Accessories doe abide 385 A triall, must the principall be tride. And what essentiall joy can'st thou expect Here upon earth? what permanent effect Of transitory causes? Dost thou love Beauty? (And beauty worthy'st is to move) 390 Poore cousened cousenor, _that_ she, and _that_ thou, Which did begin to love, are neither now; You are both fluid, chang'd since yesterday; Next day repaires, (but ill) last dayes decay. Nor are, (although the river keepe the name) 395 Yesterdaies waters, and to daies the same. So flowes her face, and thine eyes, neither now That Saint, nor Pilgrime, which your loving vow Concern'd, remaines; but whil'st you thinke you bee Constant, you'are hourely in inconstancie. 400 Honour may have pretence unto our love, Because that God did live so long above Without this Honour, and then lov'd it so, That he at last made Creatures to bestow Honour on him; not that he needed it, 405 But that, to his hands, man might grow more fit. But since all Honours from inferiours flow, (For they doe give it; Princes doe but shew Whom they would have so honor'd) and that this On such opinions, and capacities 410 Is built, as rise and fall, to more and lesse: Alas, 'tis but a casuall happinesse. Hath ever any man to'himselfe assign'd This or that happinesse to'arrest his minde, But that another man which takes a worse, 415 Thinks him a foole for having tane that course? They who did labour Babels tower to'erect, Might have considered, that for that effect, All this whole solid Earth could not allow Nor furnish forth materialls enow; 420 And that this Center, to raise such a place, Was farre too little, to have beene the Base; No more affords this world, foundation To erect true joy, were all the meanes in one. But as the Heathen made them severall gods, 425 Of all Gods Benefits, and all his Rods, (For as the Wine, and Corne, and Onions are Gods unto them, so Agues bee, and Warre) And as by changing that whole precious Gold To such small Copper coynes, they lost the old, 430 And lost their only God, who ever must Be sought alone, and not in such a thrust: So much mankinde true happinesse mistakes; No Joy enjoyes that man, that many makes. Then, Soule, to thy first pitch worke up againe; 435 Know that all lines which circles doe containe, For once that they the Center touch, doe touch Twice the circumference; and be thou such; Double on heaven thy thoughts on earth emploid; All will not serve; Only who have enjoy'd 440 The sight of God, in fulnesse, can thinke it; For it is both the object, and the wit. This is essentiall joy, where neither hee Can suffer diminution, nor wee; 'Tis such a full, and such a filling good; 445 Had th'Angels once look'd on him, they had stood. To fill the place of one of them, or more, Shee whom wee celebrate, is gone before. She, who had Here so much essentiall joy, As no chance could distract, much lesse destroy; 450 Who with Gods presence was acquainted so, (Hearing, and speaking to him) as to know His face in any naturall Stone, or Tree, Better then when in Images they bee: Who kept by diligent devotion, 455 Gods Image, in such reparation, Within her heart, that what decay was growne, Was her first Parents fault, and not her owne: Who being solicited to any act, Still heard God pleading his safe precontract; 460 Who by a faithfull confidence, was here Betroth'd to God, and now is married there; Whose twilights were more cleare, then our mid-day; Who dreamt devoutlier, then most use to pray; Who being here fil'd with grace, yet strove to bee, 465 Both where more grace, and more capacitie 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 joyes admit) essentiall. 470 [Sidenote: _Of accidentall joys in both places._] But could this low world joyes essentiall touch, Heavens accidentall joyes would passe them much. How poore and lame, must then our casuall bee? If thy Prince will his subjects to call thee _My Lord_, and this doe swell thee, thou art than, 475 By being greater, growne to bee lesse Man. When no Physitian of redresse can speake, A joyfull casuall violence may breake A dangerous Apostem in thy breast; And whil'st thou joyest in this, the dangerous rest, 480 The bag may rise up, and so strangle thee. What e'r was casuall, may ever bee. What should the nature change? Or make the same Certaine, which was but casuall, when it came? All casuall joy doth loud and plainly say, 485 Only by comming, that it can away. Only in Heaven joyes strength is never spent; And accidentall things are permanent. Joy of a soules arrivall ne'r decaies; For that soule ever joyes and ever staies. 490 Joy that their last great Consummation Approaches in the resurrection; When earthly bodies more celestiall Shall be, then Angels were, for they could fall; This kinde of joy doth every day admit 495 Degrees of growth, but none of losing it. In this fresh joy, 'tis no small part, that shee, Shee, in whose goodnesse, he that names degree, Doth injure her; ('Tis losse to be cal'd best, There where the stuffe is not such as the rest) 500 Shee, who left such a bodie, as even shee Only in Heaven could learne, how it can bee Made better; for shee rather was two soules, Or like to full on both sides written Rols, Where eyes might reade upon the outward skin, 505 As strong Records for God, as mindes within; Shee, who by making full perfection grow, Peeces a Circle, and still keepes it so, Long'd for, and longing for it, to heaven is gone, Where shee receives, and gives addition. 510 [Sidenote: _Conclusion._] Here in a place, where mis-devotion frames A thousand Prayers to Saints, whose very names The ancient Church knew not, Heaven knows not yet: And where, what lawes of Poetry admit, Lawes of Religion have at least the same, 515 Immortall Maide, I might invoke thy name. Could any Saint provoke that appetite, Thou here should'st make me a French convertite. But thou would'st not; nor would'st thou be content, To take this, for my second yeares true Rent, 520 Did this Coine beare any other stampe, then his, That gave thee power to doe, me, to say this. Since his will is, that to posteritie, Thou should'st for life, and death, a patterne bee, And that the world should notice have of this, 525 The purpose, and th'authoritie is his; Thou art the Proclamation; and I am The Trumpet, at whose voyce the people came.
[Footnote 1: _The entrance._ _1612-21_: _om. 1625-33_: _no notes, 1635-69_]
[Footnote 2: _disestimation_] _estimation_ _1625_]
[Footnote 3: _Incommodities &c._ _1612-21:_ _om. 1625-33_]
[Footnote 4: _Her ignorance &c.:_ _1612-25:_ _om. 1633_]
[5 All, _1612_: all, _1625-69_]
[10 Though] Through _1612-25_]
[12 be fail'd,] he fail'd, _1621-33_]
[13 twinckle] twincke _1625_]
[20 strings: _Ed_: strings. _1612-69_]
[23 are _Ed:_ are, _1612-69_]
[24 was fram'd, _1612-25:_ was fram'd: _1633-69_]
[27 Deluge, _1612-25:_ deluge, _1633-69_]
[29 all. _Ed:_ all, _1612-33:_ all; _1635-69_]
[33 Maid, _1612-25_, _1669:_ maid, _1633-54_]
[35 is, _1612-25:_ is _1633-69_]
[43 thy] they _1621-25_
issue, _1612-33:_ issue _1635-69_. _See note_]
[46 safe-sealing] safe-fealing _1621-39_]
[47 goe] goe; _1612-25_]
[48 Health, _1612-33:_ Health; _1635-69_, _Chambers and Grolier_
so. _1612-21:_ so, _1625-69_, _Chambers and Grolier_. _See note_]
[50 bee. _Ed:_ bee _1612-35:_ bee, _1639-69_]
[51 why, _1612-21:_ why _1625-69_
nor] or _1669_]
[57 more, _1612-25:_ more _1633-69_]
[67 was but] twas but _1612-25_]
[81 Shee, shee _1621-25:_ Shee, she _1633-69_]
[82 is] is. _1612-25_]
[96 parch'd _1612-21_, _1639-69:_ pach'd _1625:_ patch'd _1633-35_]
[99 knell,] knell _1633_]
[101 So this, _1612-33:_ So, this _1635-69_]
[103 thrust;] trust; _1669_]
[113 shroud] shourd _1621-25_]
[116 exalted] exhalted _1621_
goe,] goe. _1612-21_]
[123 Complexion _1612-25:_ complexion _1633-69_]
[124 Ingredients _1612-25:_ ingredients _1633-69_]
[134 a point, _1612-21:_ a-point. _1625:_ a point: _1633-69_]
[136 there. _1612-25:_ there, _1633-69_]
[137 wonne] worne _1612-25:_ woon _1633_]
[140 to _1612-25:_ too _1633-69_]
[146 Accident _1612-25:_ accident _1633-69_]
[156 Death _1612-25:_ death _1633-69_]
[161 thee, both _1612-25:_ thee both _1633-69_]
[172 first-built _1612-25:_ first built _1633-69_]
[173 didst] dost _1669_]
[177 the rage _1612-25:_ a rage _1633-69_]
[179 Death _1612-25:_ death _1633-69_]
[181 Peece, discharg'd, _1612:_ Peece, discharg'd _1625:_ Peece discharg'd _1633:_ Peece discharg'd, _1635-69_]
[183 This _1612-25:_ this _1633-69_]
[185 soule, _1612-21:_ soule _1625-69_]
[187 Twenty, perchance,] Twentie, perchance _1625:_ Twenty perchance _1633-69_]
[197 _Venus_] _no ital. 1612-25, and so with_ Hesper _&c._
retards] recards _1612-25_]
[201 Who, if _1612-25:_ Who if _1633-69_]
[204 barr'd;] bard; _1612-39_]
[209 the] those _1669_]
[214 her] _om. 1650-69_]
[219-20 _text 1612-25_ (_but_ soul _1612-25, and_ then _1625 and_ shee _1612-25_):
This must, my Soule, thy long-short Progresse bee, To'advance these thoughts; Remember then that she,
_1633-69_, _Chambers and Grolier_. _See note_]
[231 discoverie] Discoveree. _1612-25_]
[232 Of all,] Of all _1612-25_]
[236 assign'd _Ed:_ assigned _1612-69_]
[238 Dignities, _1612-25:_ dignities, _1633-69_]
[241 Gold, _1612-25:_ gold, _1633-69_]
[243 understood] unstood _1621-25_]
[249 well,] well _1612-25_]
[251 little] little _1633_]
[265 Ayre, and Fire, _1612-25:_ aire, and fire, _1633-69_]
[266 ingredients, _1612:_ ingredients. _1621-69_]
[268 'tis] ty's _1612-21_]
[270 breake _1612:_ brake _1621-33:_ break _1635-69_]
[287 said. _1612-25:_ said, _1633-69_]
[291 Pedantery] Pedantry _1650-69_]
[292 taught] thought _1612-25_]
[300 shalt] shall _1612-25_, _1669_]
[308 all] aie _1612-21:_ are _1625_]
[314 print,] point, _1612-33_]
[323 earthly] early _1625_]
[324 there.] there, _1633-39_]
[326 choose _1612-25:_ chose _1633-69_]
[327 will not] will nor _1612-25_]
[328 Divine _1612-25:_ Divine, _1633-69_]
[329 Great _1612-25:_ great _1633-69_]
[333 wits _1612-25:_ wits, _1633-69_]
[336 some] some, _1633_]
[338 lyes] wise _1612-25_]
[353 thought] thoughts _1612-25_]
[366 rebellious] rebellions _1635-69_]
[369 impressions _1612-25:_ _rest_ impression]
[378 ill,)] _last bracket dropped 1612-33_]
[380 whither] _spelt_ whether _1612-33_]
[383 study, _1635-69:_ study _1612-33_]
[391 _that_ ... _that_] _no italics 1612-25_]
[397 eies, _1612-21:_ eyes _1625:_ eyes; _1633-69_, _Chambers_. _See note_]
[398 Saint, _1612-25:_ Saint _1633-69_
vow] row _1612-25_]
[399 remaines;] remaines, _1612-25_]
[402 that] _in italics 1633-69_]
[404 Creatures _1612-25:_ creatures _1633-69_]
[416 Thinks] Thinke _1612-25_]
[420 enow] enough _1633_]
[421 this _1612:_ his _1621-69_]
[421-2 place, ... little, _1612:_ place ... little, _1621-33_]
[423 affords] affoords _1612-25_
world, foundation _1633-69:_ worlds, foundatione _1612-25_]
[426 Benefits ... Rods] _capitals from 1612-25_]
[428 Warre] _no capital 1612-39_]
[429 that] the _1625_]
[433 much] much, _1633-39_]
[435 up] upon _1612-25_]
[449 Here _1612-25:_ here _1633-69_]
[463 cleare,] cleane, _1635_]
[475 _My Lord_] _no italics 1612-25_]
[477 redresse] Reders _1612-25_]
[482 What e'r] What eye _1612-25_]
[500 where] waere _1612_]
[501 even] ever _1625_]
[506: within; _Ed:_ within, _1612-39:_ within. _1650-69_]
[516: invoke] inroque _1612-25_]
[518 French _1635-69:_ french _1612-33_]
[520 Rent] Rent. _1633_]
* * * * *
Epicedes And Obseqvies
EPICEDES AND OBSEQVIES
_Vpon_
The deaths of sundry Personages.
* * * * *
_Elegie upon the untimely death of the incomparable Prince Henry._
Looke to mee faith, and looke to my faith, God; For both my centers feele this period. Of waight one center, one of greatnesse is; And Reason is that center, Faith is this; For into'our reason flow, and there do end 5 All, that this naturall world doth comprehend: Quotidian things, and equidistant hence, Shut in, for man, in one circumference. But for th'enormous greatnesses, which are So disproportion'd, and so angulare, 10 As is Gods essence, place and providence, Where, how, when, what soules do, departed hence, These things (eccentrique else) on faith do strike; Yet neither all, nor upon all, alike. For reason, put to'her best extension, 15 Almost meetes faith, and makes both centers one. And nothing ever came so neare to this, As contemplation of that Prince, wee misse. For all that faith might credit mankinde could, Reason still seconded, that this prince would. 20 If then least moving of the center, make More, then if whole hell belch'd, the world to shake, What must this do, centers distracted so, That wee see not what to beleeve or know? Was it not well beleev'd till now, that hee, 25 Whose reputation was an extasie On neighbour States, which knew not why to wake, Till hee discover'd what wayes he would take; For whom, what Princes angled, when they tryed, Met a _Torpedo_, and were stupified; 30 And others studies, how he would be bent; Was his great fathers greatest instrument, And activ'st spirit, to convey and tie This soule of peace, through Christianity? Was it not well beleev'd, that hee would make 35 This generall peace, th'Eternall overtake, And that his times might have stretch'd out so farre, As to touch those, of which they emblems are? For to confirme this just beleefe, that now The last dayes came, wee saw heav'n did allow, 40 That, but from his aspect and exercise, In peacefull times, Rumors of war did rise. But now this faith is heresie: we must Still stay, and vexe our great-grand-mother, Dust. Oh, is God prodigall? hath he spent his store 45 Of plagues, on us; and onely now, when more Would ease us much, doth he grudge misery; And will not let's enjoy our curse; to dy? As, for the earth throwne lowest downe of all, T'were an ambition to desire to fall, 50 So God, in our desire to dye, doth know Our plot for ease, in being wretched so. Therefore we live; though such a life wee have, As but so many mandrakes on his grave. What had his growth, and generation done, 55 When, what we are, his putrefaction Sustaines in us; Earth, which griefes animate? Nor hath our world now, other Soule then that. And could griefe get so high as heav'n, that Quire, Forgetting this their new joy, would desire 60 (With griefe to see him) hee had staid below, To rectifie our errours, They foreknow. Is th'other center, Reason, faster then? Where should we looke for that, now we'are not men? For if our Reason be'our connexion 65 Of causes, now to us there can be none. For, as, if all the substances were spent, 'Twere madnesse, to enquire of accident, So is't to looke for reason, hee being gone, The onely subject reason wrought upon. 70 If Fate have such a chaine, whose divers links Industrious man discerneth, as hee thinks; When miracle doth come, and so steale in A new linke, man knowes not, where to begin: At a much deader fault must reason bee, 75 Death having broke off such a linke as hee. But now, for us, with busie proofe to come, That we'have no reason, would prove wee had some. So would just lamentations: Therefore wee May safelyer say, that we are dead, then hee. 80 So, if our griefs wee do not well declare, We'have double excuse; he'is not dead; and we are. Yet I would not dy yet; for though I bee Too narrow, to thinke him, as hee is hee, (Our Soules best baiting, and midd-period, 85 In her long journey, of considering God) Yet, (no dishonour) I can reach him thus, As he embrac'd the fires of love, with us. Oh may I, (since I live) but see, or heare, That she-Intelligence which mov'd this spheare, 90 I pardon Fate, my life: Who ere thou bee, Which hast the noble conscience, thou art shee, I conjure thee by all the charmes he spoke, By th'oathes, which onely you two never broke, By all the soules yee sigh'd, that if you see 95 These lines, you wish, I knew your history. So much, as you, two mutuall heav'ns were here, I were an Angell, singing what you were.
[Epicedes _&c._ _1635-69:_ Elegie upon _&c._ _1613_, _in the_ Lachrymae Lachrymarum _&c. of Joshua Sylvester_. _See note:_ Elegie on Prince Henry. _1633-54_, _O'F:_ _similarly_, _Cy_, _N_, _TCD:_ An Elegie on the untimely _&c._ _1669_]
[8 man _1633-69:_ men _1613_]
[17 neare] nere _1633_]
[18 that _1633-69:_ the _1613_]
[19 might credit _1633-69:_ could credit _1613_]
[21 moving _1633-69:_ movings _1613_]
[22 shake, _1650-69:_ shake. _1633-39_]
[26 extasie _Ed:_ exstasie, _1633-69_]
[31 bent; _Ed:_ bent, _1613_, _1633-69_]
[34 through _1613-33:_ to _1635-69_
Christianity? _1669:_ Christianity: _1633-54_]
[42 did _1633:_ should _1613_, _1635-69_]
[44 great-grand-mother, _1613:_ great grand mother, _1633:_ great grand-mother, _1635-69_]
[46 us;] us, _1633_]
[48 to dy? _Ed:_ to dy. _1633:_ to die! _1635-54:_ _no stop_, _1669_]
[57 animate?] animate; _1633_]
[66 Of _1633-69:_ With _1613_]
[67 as, _1613:_ as _1633-69_]
[69 So is't to] So is' to _1669_]
[71 Fate _1633-69:_ Faith _1613_]
[72 thinks; _Ed:_ thinks, _1613_, _1633-69_]
[73 come, _1633-69:_ joine; _1613_
so steale in _1633-69:_ to steal-in _1613_]
[77 proofe _1633-69:_ proofes _1613_]
[78 some. _1633:_ some, _1635-69_]
[80 hee. _1633:_ hee, _1635-69_]
[82 and we are. _1633-54:_ we are. _1613_, _1669_]
[83 I would not _1633-54:_ would not I _1669_]
[91 Who _Ed:_ who _1633-69_]
[92 shee, _1633-69:_ she. _Chambers_]
[97 So much, as you, _1633-69:_ So, much as you _Chambers_]
_To the Countesse of_ Bedford.
MADAME,
_I have learn'd by those lawes wherein I am a[1] little conversant, that hee which bestowes any cost upon the dead, obliges him which is dead, but not the[2] heire; I do not therefore send this paper to your Ladyship, that you should thanke mee for it, or thinke that I thanke you in it; your favours and benefits to mee are so much above my merits, that they are even above my gratitude, if that were to be judged by words which must expresse it: But, Madame, since your noble brothers fortune being yours, the evidences also concerning it are yours,[3] so his vertue[4] being yours, the evidences concerning it,[5] belong also to you, of which by your acceptance this may be one peece, in which quality I humbly present it, and as a testimony how intirely your familie possesseth_
Your Ladiships most humble and thankfull servant
JOHN DONNE.
[To the Countesse _&c._ _1633-69_, _and in most of the MSS. as next page_]
[Footnote 1: a _1633-54:_ _om. 1669_]
[Footnote 2: the] his _1669_]
[Footnote 3: yours, _1633:_ yours: _1635-69_]
[Footnote 4: vertue _1633:_ vertues _1635-69_]
[Footnote 5: it, _1633:_ that _1635-69_]
_Obsequies to the Lord Harrington, brother to the Lady Lucy, Countesse of Bedford._
Faire soule, which wast, not onely, as all soules bee, Then when thou wast infused, harmony, But did'st continue so; and now dost beare A part in Gods great organ, this whole Spheare: If looking up to God; or downe to us, 5 Thou finde that any way is pervious, Twixt heav'n and earth, and that mans actions doe Come to your knowledge, and affections too, See, and with joy, mee to that good degree Of goodnesse growne, that I can studie thee, 10 And, by these meditations refin'd, Can unapparell and enlarge my minde, And so can make by this soft extasie, This place a map of heav'n, my selfe of thee. Thou seest mee here at midnight, now all rest; 15 Times dead-low water; when all mindes devest To morrows businesse, 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 clyent, whose last hearing is 20 To morrow, sleeps, when the condemned man, (Who when hee opes his eyes, must shut them than Againe by death,) although sad watch hee keepe, Doth practice dying by a little sleepe, Thou at this midnight seest mee, and as soone 25 As that Sunne rises to mee, midnight's noone, All the world growes transparent, and I see Through all, both Church and State, in seeing thee; And I discerne by favour of this light, My selfe, the hardest object of the sight. 30 God is the glasse; 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 wayes, and end. Though God be our true glasse, through which we see 35 All, since the beeing of all things is hee, Yet are the trunkes which doe to us derive Things, in proportion fit, by perspective, Deeds of good men; for by their living here, Vertues, indeed remote, seeme to be neare. 40 But where can I affirme, or where arrest My thoughts on his deeds? which shall I call best? For fluid vertue cannot be look'd on, Nor can endure a contemplation. As bodies change, and as I do not weare 45 Those Spirits, humors, blood I did last yeare, And, as if on a streame I fixe mine eye, That drop, which I looked on, is presently Pusht with more waters from my sight, and gone, So in this sea of vertues, can no one 50 Bee'insisted on; vertues, as rivers, passe, Yet still remaines that vertuous man there was. And as if man feed on mans flesh, and so Part of his body to another owe, Yet at the last two perfect bodies rise, 55 Because God knowes where every Atome lyes; So, if one knowledge were made of all those, Who knew his minutes well, hee might dispose His vertues into names, and ranks; but I Should injure Nature, Vertue, and Destinie, 60 Should I divide and discontinue so, Vertue, which did in one intirenesse grow. For as, hee that would say, spirits are fram'd Of all the purest parts that can be nam'd, Honours not spirits halfe so much, as hee 65 Which sayes, they have no parts, but simple bee; So is't of vertue; for a point and one Are much entirer then a million. And had Fate meant to have his vertues told, It would have let him live to have beene old; 70 So, then that vertue in season, and then this, We might have seene, and said, that now he is Witty, now wise, now temperate, now just: In good short lives, vertues are faine to thrust, And to be sure betimes to get a place, 75 When they would exercise, lacke time, and space. So was it in this person, forc'd to bee For lack of time, his owne epitome: So to exhibit in few yeares as much, As all the long breath'd Chronicles can touch. 80 As when an Angell down from heav'n doth flye, Our quick thought cannot keepe him company, Wee cannot thinke, now hee is at the Sunne, Now through the Moon, now he through th'aire doth run, Yet when he's come, we know he did repaire 85 To all twixt Heav'n and Earth, Sunne, Moon, and Aire; And as this Angell in an instant knowes, And yet wee know, this sodaine knowledge growes By quick amassing severall formes of things, Which he successively to order brings; 90 When they, whose slow-pac'd lame thoughts cannot goe So fast as hee, thinke that he doth not so; Just as a perfect reader doth not dwell, On every syllable, nor stay to spell, Yet without doubt, hee doth distinctly see 95 And lay together every A, and B; So, in short liv'd good men, is'not understood Each severall vertue, but the compound good; For, they all vertues paths in that pace tread, As Angells goe, and know, and as men read. 100 O why should then these men, these lumps of Balme Sent hither, this worlds tempests to becalme, Before by deeds they are diffus'd and spred, And so make us alive, themselves be dead? O Soule, O circle, why so quickly bee 105 Thy ends, thy birth and death, clos'd up in thee? Since one foot of thy compasse still was plac'd In heav'n, the other might securely'have pac'd In the most large extent, through every path, Which the whole world, or man the abridgment hath. 110 Thou knowst, that though the tropique circles have (Yea and those small ones which the Poles engrave,) All the same roundnesse, evennesse, and all The endlesnesse of the equinoctiall; Yet, when we come to measure distances, 115 How here, how there, the Sunne affected is, When he doth faintly worke, and when prevaile, Onely great circles, than can be our scale: So, though thy circle to thy selfe expresse All, tending to thy endlesse happinesse, 120 And wee, by our good use of it may trye, 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 ambitions, irrelegions ice, 125 Zeales agues, and hydroptique avarice, Infirmities which need the scale of truth, As well as lust, and ignorance of youth; Why did'st thou not for these give medicines too, And by thy doing tell us what to doe? 130 Though as small pocket-clocks, whose every wheele Doth each mismotion and distemper feele, Whose _hand_ gets shaking palsies, and whose _string_ (His sinewes) slackens, and whose _Soule_, the spring, Expires, or languishes, whose pulse, the _flye_, 135 Either beates not, or beates unevenly, Whose voice, the _Bell_, doth rattle, or grow dumbe, Or idle,'as men, which to their last houres come, If these clockes be not wound, or be wound still, Or be not set, or set at every will; 140 So, youth is easiest to destruction, If then wee follow all, or follow none. Yet, as in great clocks, which in steeples chime, Plac'd to informe whole towns, to'imploy their time, An error doth more harme, being generall, 145 When, small clocks faults, only'on the wearer fall; So worke the faults of age, on which the eye Of children, servants, or the State relie. Why wouldst not thou then, which hadst such a soule, A clock so true, as might the Sunne controule, 150 And daily hadst from him, who gave it thee, Instructions, such as it could never be Disordered, stay here, as a generall And great Sun-dyall, to have set us All? O why wouldst thou be any instrument 155 To this unnaturall course, or why consent To this, not miracle, but Prodigie, That when the ebbs, longer then flowings be, Vertue, whose flood did with thy youth begin, Should so much faster ebb out, then flow in? 160 Though her flood was blowne in, by thy first breath, All is at once sunke in the whirle-poole death. Which word I would not name, but that I see Death, else a desert, growne a Court by thee. Now I grow sure, that if a man would have 165 Good companie, his entry is a grave. Mee thinkes all Cities, now, but Anthills bee, Where, when the severall labourers I see, For children, house, Provision, taking paine, They'are all but Ants, carrying eggs, straw, and grain; 170 And Church-yards are our cities, unto which The most repaire, that are in goodnesse rich. There is the best concourse, and confluence, There are the holy suburbs, and from thence Begins Gods City, New Jerusalem, 175 Which doth extend her utmost gates to them. At that gate then Triumphant soule, dost thou Begin thy Triumph; But since lawes allow That at the Triumph day, the people may, All that they will, 'gainst the Triumpher say, 180 Let me here use that freedome, and expresse My griefe, though not to make thy Triumph lesse. By law, to Triumphs none admitted bee, Till they as Magistrates get victorie; Though then to thy force, all youthes foes did yield, 185 Yet till fit time had brought thee to that field, To which thy ranke in this state destin'd thee, That there thy counsailes might get victorie, And so in that capacitie remove All jealousies 'twixt Prince and subjects love, 190 Thou could'st no title, to this triumph have, Thou didst intrude on death, usurp'dst a grave. Then (though victoriously) thou hadst fought as yet But with thine owne affections, with the heate Of youths desires, and colds of ignorance, 195 But till thou should'st successefully advance Thine armes 'gainst forraine enemies, which are Both Envy, and acclamations popular, (For, both these engines equally defeate, Though by a divers Mine, those which are great,) 200 Till then thy War was but a civill War, For which to Triumph, none admitted are. No more are they, who though with good successe, In a defensive war, their power expresse; Before men triumph, the dominion 205 Must be _enlarg'd_ and not _preserv'd_ alone; Why should'st thou then, whose battailes were to win Thy selfe, from those straits nature put thee in, And to deliver up to God that state, Of which he gave thee the vicariate, 210 (Which is thy soule and body) as intire As he, who takes endeavours, doth require, But didst not stay, t'enlarge his kingdome too, By making others, what thou didst, to doe; Why shouldst thou Triumph now, when Heav'n no more 216 Hath got, by getting thee, then't had before? For, Heav'n 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 bee 220 Left safe from present warre, and likely doubt Of imminent commotions to breake out: And hath he left us so? or can it bee His territory was no more then Hee? No, we were all his charge, the Diocis 225 Of ev'ry exemplar man, the whole world is, And he was joyned in commission With Tutelar Angels, sent to every one. But though this freedome to upbraid, and chide Him who Triumph'd, were lawfull, it was ty'd 230 With this, that it might never reference have Unto the Senate, who this triumph gave; Men might at Pompey jeast, but they might not At that authoritie, by which he got Leave to Triumph, before, by age, he might; 235 So, though, triumphant soule, I dare to write, Mov'd with a reverentiall anger, thus, That thou so earely wouldst abandon us; Yet I am farre from daring to dispute With that great soveraigntie, whose absolute 240 Prerogative hath thus dispens'd with thee, 'Gainst natures lawes, which just impugners bee Of early triumphs; And I (though with paine) Lessen our losse, to magnifie thy gaine Of triumph, when I say, It was more fit, 245 That all men should lacke thee, then thou lack it. Though then in our time, be not suffered That testimonie of love, unto the dead, To die with them, and in their graves be hid, As Saxon wives, and French soldurii did; 250 And though in no degree I can expresse Griefe in great Alexanders great excesse, Who at his friends death, made whole townes devest Their walls and bullwarks which became them best: Doe not, faire soule, this sacrifice refuse, 255 That in thy grave I doe interre my Muse, Who, by my griefe, great as thy worth, being cast Behind hand, yet hath spoke, and spoke her last.
[Obsequies to _&c._ _B_, _S96_ _and similarly_ _A25_, _C_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TCD:_ Obsequies to the Lord Harringtons brother. To the Countesse of Bedford. _1633-54:_ Obsequies on the Lord Harrington, &c. To the Countess of Bedford. _1669_]
[7 mans _1633_, _D_, _H49:_ mens _1635-69 and most MSS_.]
[11 these _1633-69:_ those _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _O'F_, _S_, _TCD_]
[15 midnight, now _1633-69:_ midnight; now _Chambers:_ midnight now, _Grolier_]
[26 that Sunne] this Sunne _N_, _TCD_]
[30 hardest] hardyest _1669_]
[34 end. _D:_ end; _1633-69_]
[35 our true glasse, _1633-69_ (glass, _1633_): truly our glass _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_
see] see. _1633_ _some copies_, _1635_]
[38 Things, in proportion fit, by perspective, _D:_ Things, in proportion fit by perspective, _1633:_ Things, in proportion, fit by perspective, _1635-54_, _Chambers:_ Things in proportion, fit by perspective, _1669_. _See note_]
[39 men; _D:_ men, _1633:_ men: _1635-69_]
living _1633:_ beeing _1635-69_, _Chambers and Grolier_]
[40 neare. _1635-69:_ nere; _1633_]
[44 contemplation. _Ed:_ contemplation; _1633-69_]
[51 on; _Ed:_ on, _1633-69_]
[52 was. _Ed:_ was; _1633-69_]
[53 feed _1635-69 and MSS.:_ feeds _1633_]
[63 would _1633:_ should _1635-69_]
[69 to have his _1633_, _A25_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD:_ to'have had his _1635-69_, _O'F_, _Chambers_]
[70 old; _Ed:_ old, _1633-39:_ old. _1650-69_]
[71 So, then that _Ed:_ So then, that _1633:_ So, then, that _1635-69_]
[76 exercise] exercse _1633_ _some copies:_ encrease _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ exercise: they _S_
lacke _1633-54:_ last _1669_
time] room _A25_, _B_, _JC_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_]
[78 epitome: _D:_ epitome. _1633-69_]
[80 Chronicles] Chroniclers _1669_
can touch.] can touch; _1633_]
[84 he] _om. 1669_, _O'F_]
[86 Aire; _1669:_ Aire. _1633-35:_ Air, _1639-54_]
[87 instant] instant, _1633_]
[98 good; _Ed:_ good. _1633-69_]
[102 this _A25_, _B_, _C_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TCD:_ the _1633-69_
tempests _A25_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _N_, _S96_, _TCD:_ tempest _1633-69_, _O'F_, _S_]
[106 death, _Ed:_ death _1633-69_]
[110 man] man, _1633_
hath.] hath, _1633_ _some copies_, _1633-39_]
[117 When ... when _1633-69_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ Where ... where _rest of MSS._]
[118 circles, than can _D:_ circles, then, can _1633-69_]
[121 it] that _many MSS._]
[125 ambitions,] ambition, _1669_]
[126 agues, _Ed:_ agues; _1633-69_]
[127-8 _in brackets_ _1635-69_]
[128 As well as lust, _1669:_ As well, as lust _1633-54_]
[130 tell us _1633_, _1669_, _A25_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _S_, _TCD:_ set us _1635-54_, _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _and Chambers_]
[133 _hand_ gets _A25_, _B_, _C_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _N_, _S_, _TCD:_ _hands_ get _1633-54:_ _hands_ gets _1669_. _See note_]
[135 _flye_, _1633:_ _flee_, _1635-69_]
[138 houres come, _1633-54:_ hour come, _1669:_ hours are come, _Chambers_]
[142 none. _1635-69:_ none; _1633_]
[146 fall; _Ed:_ fall. _1633-69_]
[154 great] grave _A25_, _C_]
[155 wouldst] wouldest _1639-54_
any _1633-35_, _and MSS.:_ an _1639-69_, _Chambers_]
[158 when _1633-69:_ where _C_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TCD:_ whereas _B_]
[161 was _1633:_ were _1635-69_]
[165 grow sure, _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ am sure, _1635-69_]
[170 and _1633-69:_ or _A25_, _B_, _C_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_]
[176 them. _D:_ them; _1633_, _1639-69:_ them, _1635_]
[178 Triumph; _1633:_ Triumph. _1635-69_]
[184 victorie; _Ed:_ victorie, _1633-69_]
[186 brought] wrought _1639_, _Chambers_]
[192 usurp'dst _B_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _TCD:_ usurp'st _1633_, _Lec_, _S96:_ usurpe _1635-69_, _A25_, _JC_, _O'F_, _Chambers_]
[193 Then _1635-69:_ That _1633_]
[198 acclamations _1669_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD:_ acclamation _1633-54_]
[202 are. _D:_ are; _1633-69_]
[204 expresse; _Ed:_ expresse. _1633-69_]
[212 endeavours, _1633-54_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD:_ Indentours, _1669_, _Chambers_]
[216 'thad] t'had _1633-39_]
[218 were. _D:_ were; _1633-69_]
[222 out: _1635-69:_ out. _1633_]
[224 His _1633-54:_ This _1669_
then _1633-69:_ but _D_, _H49_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_]
[231 reference] reverence _1650-54_]
[239 I am] am I _B_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_]
[241 with _1633-69_, _O'F:_ for _A25_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD_]
[247 time,] times, _1669_, _B_, _JC_, _O'F_, _N_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_]
[250 soldurii _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ soldarii _1633-69_]
[251 expresse] expresse, _1633_]
[257 Who, _1633:_ Which, _1639-69_]
_Elegie on the Lady_ Marckham.
Man is the World, and death th'Ocean, To which God gives the lower parts of man. This Sea invirons all, and though as yet God hath set markes, and bounds, twixt us and it, Yet doth it rore, and gnaw, and still pretend, 5 And breaks our bankes, when ere it takes a friend. Then our land waters (teares of passion) vent; Our waters, then, above our firmament, (Teares which our Soule doth for her sins let fall) Take all a brackish taft, and Funerall, 10 And even these teares, which should wash sin, are sin. We, after Gods _Noe_, drowne our world againe. Nothing but man of all invenom'd things Doth worke upon itselfe, with inborne stings. Teares are false Spectacles, we cannot see 15 Through passions mist, what wee are, or what shee. In her this sea of death hath made no breach, But as the tide doth wash the slimie beach, And leaves embroder'd workes upon the sand, So is her flesh refin'd by deaths cold hand. 20 As men of China,'after an ages stay, Do take up Porcelane, where they buried Clay; So at this grave, her limbecke, which refines The Diamonds, Rubies, Saphires, Pearles, and Mines, Of which this flesh was, her soule shall inspire 25 Flesh of such stuffe, as God, when his last fire Annuls this world, to recompence it, shall, Make and name then, th'Elixar of this All. They say, the sea, when it gaines, loseth too; If carnall Death (the yonger brother) doe 30 Usurpe the body,'our soule, which subject is To th'elder death, by sinne, 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; 35 For, none to death sinnes, that to sinne is loth, Nor doe 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 sinne, yet made her repent. 40 Of what small spots pure white complaines! Alas, How little poyson cracks a christall glasse! She sinn'd, but just enough to let us see That God's word must be true, All, sinners be. Soe much did zeale her conscience rarefie 45 That, extreme truth lack'd little of a lye, Making omissions, acts; laying the touch Of sinne, on things that sometimes may be such. As _Moses_ Cherubines, whose natures doe Surpasse all speed, by him are winged too: 50 So would her soule, already'in heaven, seeme then, To clyme by teares, the common staires of men. How fit she was for God, I am content To speake, that Death his vaine hast may repent. How fit for us, how even and how sweet, 55 How good in all her titles, and how meet, To have reform'd this forward heresie, That women can no parts of friendship bee; How Morall, how Divine shall not be told, Lest they that heare her vertues, thinke her old: 60 And lest we take Deaths part, and make him glad Of such a prey, and to his tryumph adde.
[Elegie _&c._ _1633-54:_ An Elegie _&c._ _1669:_ _similarly_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _C_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _S96_, _TC_]
[6 And breaks _1633-54:_ To break _1669_
bankes _D_, _Cy_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _P_, _TCC:_ bounds _A25_, _C:_ banke, _1633-69_, _N_ (s _added_), _TCD_]
[8 firmament,] firmament. _1633_]
[10 Funerall, _Ed:_ Funerall. _1633-69_]
[11 these _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ those _1633-69_]
[12 after Gods _Noe_, drowne _1633-54_ (_No_, _1633-54_): after God, new drown _1669_
our world _1669_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ the world _1633-54_, _A18_, _A25_, _JC_, _TCC_]
[16 mist] mistes _Cy_, _L74_, _N_, _TCD_]
[19 embroder'd _1635-54:_ embroderd _1633:_ embroider'd _1669_]
[21 stay, _Ed:_ stay _1633-69_]
[25 which _Ed:_ which, _1633-69_]
[28 then, _1633:_ then _1635-39:_ them _1650-69_]
[34 and both deaths dust. _Ed:_ and both Deaths' dust. _Grolier:_ and both, deaths dust. _1633:_ and both death's dust. _1635-69 and Chambers:_ and both dead dust. _D_, _Cy_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _S96_. _See note_]
[36 loth, _Ed:_ loth. _1633-69_]
[37 die; _Ed:_ die, _1633-69_]
[42 cracks _1633-69_, _A25_, _Cy_, _P_ (crackt): breakes _A18_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TC_
glasse! _Ed:_ glasse? _1633-69_]
[44-5 _omitted in 1633 between foot of one page and top of next_]
[45 rarefie,] rectify, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _S96_]
[48 sometimes _1633 and MSS.:_ sometime _1635-69_, _and Chambers_]
[52 teares,] tears _Chambers_
the ... men _in brackets_ _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[54 Death _D:_ death _1633-69_]
[58 women _1635-69_, _A18_, _A25_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _P_, _TC:_ woman _1633_, _Cy_
parts] parte _Cy_, _JC_. _This line written in large letters in several MSS._]
[60 vertues, _1633-35_, _1669:_ vertue, _1639-54_
thinke] thinks _1639_
old: _Ed:_ old. _1633-69_]
[62 tryumph _1633-69_, _A25_, _D_, _H40_, _Lec:_ triumphes _A18_, _B_, _H49_, _JC_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TC_]
_Elegie on M^{ris}_ Boulstred.
Death I recant, and say, unsaid by mee What ere hath slip'd, that might diminish thee. Spirituall treason, atheisme 'tis, to say, That any can thy Summons disobey. Th'earths face is but thy Table; there are set 5 Plants, cattell, men, dishes for Death to eate. In a rude hunger now hee millions drawes Into his bloody, or plaguy, or sterv'd jawes. Now hee will seeme to spare, and doth more wast, Eating the best first, well preserv'd to last. 10 Now wantonly he spoiles, and eates us not, But breakes off friends, and lets us peecemeale rot. Nor will this earth serve him; he sinkes the deepe Where harmelesse fish monastique silence keepe, Who (were Death dead) by Roes of living sand, 15 Might spunge that element, and make it land. He rounds the aire, and breakes the hymnique notes In birds (Heavens choristers,) organique throats, Which (if they did not dye) might seeme to bee A tenth ranke in the heavenly hierarchie. 20 O strong and long-liv'd death, how cam'st thou in? And how without Creation didst begin? Thou hast, and shalt see dead, before thou dyest, All the foure Monarchies, and Antichrist. How could I thinke thee nothing, that see now 25 In all this All, nothing else is, but thou. Our births and lives, vices, and vertues, bee Wastfull consumptions, and degrees of thee. For, wee to live, our bellowes weare, and breath, Nor are wee mortall, dying, dead, but death. 30 And though thou beest, O mighty bird of prey, So much reclaim'd by God, that thou must lay All that thou kill'st at his feet, yet doth hee Reserve but few, and leaves the most to thee. And of those few, now thou hast overthrowne 35 One whom thy blow makes, not ours, nor thine own. She was more stories high: hopelesse to come To her Soule, thou'hast offer'd at her lower roome. Her Soule and body was a King and Court: But thou hast both of Captaine mist and fort. 40 As houses fall not, though the King remove, Bodies of Saints rest for their soules above. Death gets 'twixt soules and bodies such a place As sinne insinuates 'twixt just men and grace, Both worke a separation, no divorce. 45 Her Soule is gone to usher up her corse Which shall be'almost another soule, for there Bodies are purer, then best Soules are here, Because in her, her virtues did outgoe Her yeares, would'st thou, O emulous death, do so? 50 And kill her young to thy losse? must the cost Of beauty,'and wit, apt to doe harme, be lost? What though thou found'st her proofe 'gainst sins of youth? Oh, every age a diverse sinne pursueth. Thou should'st have stay'd, and taken better hold, 55 Shortly, ambitious; covetous, when old, She might have prov'd: and such devotion Might once have stray'd to superstition. If all her vertues must have growne, yet might Abundant virtue'have bred a proud delight. 60 Had she persever'd just, there would have bin Some that would sinne, mis-thinking she did sinne. Such as would call her friendship, love, and faine To sociablenesse, a name profane; Or sinne, by tempting, or, not daring that, 65 By wishing, though they never told her what. Thus might'st thou'have slain more soules, had'st thou not crost Thy selfe, and to triumph, thine army lost. Yet though these wayes be lost, thou hast left one, Which is, immoderate griefe that she is gone. 70 But we may scape that sinne, yet weepe as much, Our teares are due, because we are not such. Some teares, that knot of friends, her death must cost, Because the chaine is broke, though no linke lost.
[Elegie on M^{ris} Boulstred. _1633-69_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ _in_ _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_ _this and the_ Elegie, Death, be not proud (_p._ 416) _are given as one poem_. _See note_]
[5 there are set] and the meate _A18_, _L74_, _N_, _TC_]
[6 dishes _1633_, _1650-69:_ dished _1635-39_, _A18_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TC_]
[10 first,] fruite _or_ fruites _A18_, _H49_, _L74_, _N_, _TC:_ first fruit _P_]
[14 keepe, _1635-39:_ keepe. _1633_, _1650-69_]
[15 by Roes _1633:_ the Roes _1635-54:_ the Rows _1669:_ by rows _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TC_]
[18 birds _Ed:_ birds, _1633-69_ (Heavens choristers)] _brackets from HN_]
[27 lives, _1635-69_, _A25_, _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_, _S:_ lifes, _HN:_ life, _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _Lec_, _N_, _TC_]
[34 to thee. _1633:_ for thee. _1635-69_]
[35 thou hast _1633-69:_ hast thou _HN_]
[36 blow] blow, _1633_]
[41 King _1633_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _HN_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _TC:_ Kings _1635-69_]
[45 worke _1633-69_, _HN_, _O'F_, _S:_ workes _A18_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _TC:_ makes _Lec_. _See note_]
[56 Shortly,] Shortly _1633_
ambitious; _1635-69:_ ambitious, _1633_]
[62 mis-thinking] mistaking _Cy_, _HN_, _O'F_ (_but altered to text_)]
[64 profane; _1669:_ profane, _1635-54:_ profane. _1633_]
[74 though _1635-69_, _A18_, _A25_, _HN_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ but _1633_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _Lec_]
[_Here follow in 1635-54_ By our first strange (_p._ 111), Madame, That I (_p._ 291), _and_ Death be not proud, (_p._ 422). _In 1669_ My Fortune and (_p._ 292) _precedes_ Madame, That I]
ELEGIE.
_Death._
Language thou art too narrow, and too weake To ease us now; great sorrow cannot speake; If we could sigh out accents, and weepe words, Griefe weares, and lessens, that tears breath affords. Sad hearts, the lesse they seeme the more they are, 5 (So guiltiest men stand mutest at the barre) Not that they know not, feele not their estate, But extreme sense hath made them desperate. Sorrow, to whom we owe all that we bee; Tyrant, in the fift and greatest Monarchy, 10 Was't, that she did possesse all hearts before, Thou hast kil'd her, to make thy Empire more? Knew'st thou some would, that knew her not, lament, As in a deluge perish th'innocent? Was't not enough to have that palace wonne, 15 But thou must raze it too, that was undone? Had'st thou staid there, and look'd out at her eyes, All had ador'd thee that now from thee flies, For they let out more light, then they tooke in, They told not when, but did the day beginne. 20 She was too Saphirine, and cleare for thee; Clay, flint, and jeat now thy fit dwellings be; Alas, shee was too pure, but not too weake; Who e'r saw Christall Ordinance but would break? And if wee be thy conquest, by her fall 25 Th'hast lost thy end, for in her perish all; Or if we live, we live but to rebell, They know her better now, that knew her well. If we should vapour out, and pine, and die; Since, shee first went, that were not miserie. 30 Shee chang'd our world with hers; now she is gone, Mirth and prosperity is oppression; For of all morall vertues she was all, The Ethicks speake of vertues Cardinall. Her soule was Paradise; the Cherubin 35 Set to keepe it was grace, that kept out sinne. Shee had no more then let in death, for wee All reape consumption from one fruitfull tree. God tooke her hence, lest some of us should love Her, like that plant, him and his lawes above, 40 And when wee teares, hee mercy shed in this, To raise our mindes to heaven where now she is; Who if her vertues would have let her stay Wee'had had a Saint, have now a holiday. Her heart was that strange bush, where, sacred fire, 45 Religion, did not consume, but'inspire Such piety, so chast use of Gods day, That what we turne to _feast_, she turn'd to _pray_, And did prefigure here, in devout tast, The rest of her high Sabaoth, which shall last. 50 Angels did hand her up, who next God dwell, (For she was of that order whence most fell) Her body left with us, lest some had said, Shee could not die, except they saw her dead; For from lesse vertue, and lesse beautiousnesse, 55 The Gentiles fram'd them Gods and Goddesses. The ravenous earth that now wooes her to be Earth too, will be a _Lemnia_; and the tree That wraps that christall in a wooden Tombe, Shall be tooke up spruce, fill'd with diamond; 60 And we her sad glad friends all beare a part Of griefe, for all would waste a Stoicks heart.
[Elegie. _1633:_ Elegie XI. Death. _1635-54_ (_being places among the_ Elegies): Elegie XI. _1669:_ An Elegie upon the death of M^{ris} Boulstred. _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _H40_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ _no title, HN_]
[2 sorrow _1633_, _B_, _Cy_, _H40_, _HN_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _TC:_ sorrowes _1635-69_, _O'F_, _S_]
[8 desperate. _Ed:_ desperate; _1633-69_]
[10 Tyrant, _1633_, _1669_ (_no comma_): Tyran, _1635-54_]
[20 beginne. _Ed:_ beginne; _1633-69_]
[21 for _1635-69:_ to _1633_]
[26 for in her _1633 and all the MSS.:_ in her we _1635-69_, _Chambers_]
[28 They ... that ... well; _1633_, _Cy_, _H40_, _HN_, _L74_, _N_, _S_, _TC:_ That know her better now, who knew her well. _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_]
[29 and pine, and] or pine, or _Cy_, _H40_, _HN_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96:_ or pine, and _L74_, _TCC_]
[30 miserie. _Ed:_ miserie; _1633-69_]
[34 The Ethicks speake _1633_, _A18_, _Cy_, _H40_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _TC:_ That Ethickes speake _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _S:_ The ethenickes spake _HN_
Cardinall. _Ed:_ Cardinall; _1633-69_]
[36 that kept out] to keep out _HN_, _P_
sinne. _Ed:_ sinne; _1633-69_]
[37 She had no more; then let in death for we _1669_]
[38 tree. _Ed:_ tree; _1633-69_]
[41-2 And when we see his mercy shewne in this 'Twill _&c._ _S_]
[44 holiday. _Ed:_ holiday; _1633-69_
_All the MSS. omit_ have, _but O'F inserts it later_]
[48 That what _1633-69:_ That when _HN_
turne] turn'd _Cy_, _HN_, _P_, _S96_
to _feast_, _Ed:_ to feast, _1633-69_
feast] feasts _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_
to _pray_, _Ed:_ to pray, _1633-69_]
[50 last.] last; _1633_]
[53 Her body left _1633_, _A18_, _HN_, _N_, _TC:_ Her bodie's left _1635-69_]
[56 fram'd] fain'd _Cy_, _P:_ form'd _H40_, _HN_]
[57 wooes] woes _1633_
be] be, _1633_]
[58 _All the MSS. omit_ a _before_ Lemnia, _but O'F inserts_]
[61 sad glad _1633-69:_ glad sad _B_, _Cy_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_]
[62 waste _1633_, _A18_, _Cy_, _H40_, _HN_, _L74_, _N_, _P_, _TC:_ breake _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_]
_Elegie on the L. C._
Sorrow, who to this house scarce knew the way: Is, Oh, heire of it, our All is his prey. This strange chance claimes strange wonder, and to us Nothing can be so strange, as to weepe thus. 'Tis well his lifes loud speaking workes deserve, 5 And give praise too, our cold tongues could not serve: 'Tis well, hee kept teares from our eyes before, That to fit this deepe ill, we might have store. Oh, if a sweet briar, climbe up by'a tree, If to a paradise that transplanted bee, 10 Or fell'd, and burnt for holy sacrifice, Yet, that must wither, which by it did rise, As we for him dead: though no familie Ere rigg'd a soule for heavens discoverie With whom more Venturers more boldly dare 15 Venture their states, with him in joy to share. Wee lose what all friends lov'd, him; he gaines now But life by death, which worst foes would allow, If hee could have foes, in whose practise grew All vertues, whose names subtile Schoolmen knew. 20 What ease, can hope that wee shall see'him, beget, When wee must die first, and cannot dye yet? His children are his pictures, Oh they bee Pictures of him dead, senselesse, cold as he. Here needs no marble Tombe, since hee is gone, 25 He, and about him, his, are turn'd to stone.
[Elegie _&c._ _1635-69_, _following_ Death be not proud (_p._ 422): Elegie, Funerall Elegie, _or no title_, _B_, _Cy_, _HN_, _O'F_, _S96:_ Elegie VI. (_being placed among the_ Elegies) _1633:_ Elegie. (_being eighth among_ Elegies) _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ Elegia tercia. _S:_ Elegie XIII^a. _JC_, _W_]
[1 who _1633-39:_ that _1650-69_]
[2 prey. _1633:_ prey, _1633-54:_ Pay. _1669_]
[4 thus. _1669:_ thus; _1633-54_]
[13 dead: _1633-69:_ dead. _HN_, _Grolier_]
[16 Venture their states] Venter estates _B_
share. _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _W:_ share _1633:_ share, _1635-69_, _Chambers and Grolier_. _See note_]
[17 him;] him, _1633_]
[20 names] name _1635-69_
knew. _Ed:_ knew; _1635-69_]
[24 he. _1650-69:_ he, _1633-39_]
_An hymne to the Saints, and to Marquesse Hamylton._
_To Sir Robert Carr._
SIR,
_I Presume you rather try what you can doe in me, then what I can doe 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 bee not worthy of him, nor of you, nor of mee, smother it, and bee that the sacrifice. If you had commanded mee to have waited on his body to Scotland and preached there, I would have embraced the obligation with more alacrity; But, I thanke you that you would command me that which I was loath to doe, for, even that hath given a tincture of merit to the obedience of_
Your poore friend and servant in Christ Jesus
I. D.
[2 verse; _1635-69:_ verse, _1633_]
[3 best] at the best _A18_, _TCC_
subjects. _1635-69:_ subjects, _1633:_ subject, _A18_, _TCC_]
[6-7 of him ... sacrifice. _1635-69:_ of you nor of him, we will smother it, and be it your sacrifice. _1633:_ of him, nor of you, nor of anye; smother it, and bee that the sacrifice. _A18_, _TCC_]
[9 the _1635-69:_ your _1633_, _A18_, _TCC_
more] much _1633_]
[10 loath] loather _1633_]
in Christ Jesus] _om._ _A18_, _TCC_]
Whether that soule which now comes up to you Fill any former ranke or make a new; Whether it take a name nam'd there before, Or be a name it selfe, and _order_ more Then was in heaven till now; (for may not hee 5 Bee so, if every severall Angell bee A _kind_ alone?) What ever order grow Greater by him in heaven, wee doe not so. One of your orders growes by his accesse; But, by his losse grow all our _orders_ lesse; 10 The name of _Father_, _Master_, _Friend_, the name Of _Subject_ and of _Prince_, in one are lame; Faire mirth is dampt, and conversation black, The _household_ widdow'd, and the _garter_ slack; The _Chappell_ wants an eare, _Councell_ a tongue; 15 _Story_, a theame; and _Musicke_ lacks a song; Blest _order_ that hath him! the losse of him Gangreend all _Orders_ here; all lost a limbe. Never made body such hast to confesse What a soule was; All former comelinesse 20 Fled, in a minute, when the soule was gone, And, having lost that beauty, would have none; So fell our _Monasteries_, in one instant growne Not to lesse houses, but, to heapes of stone; So sent this body that faire forme it wore, 25 Unto the spheare of formes, and doth (before His soule shall fill up his sepulchrall stone,) Anticipate a Resurrection; For, as in his fame, now, his soule is here, So, in the forme thereof his bodie's there. 30 And if, faire soule, not with first _Innocents_ Thy station be, but with the _Pænitents_, (And, who shall dare to aske then when I am Dy'd scarlet in the blood of that pure Lambe, Whether that colour, which is scarlet then, 35 Were black or white before in eyes of men?) When thou rememb'rest what sins thou didst finde Amongst those many friends now left behinde, And seest such sinners as they are, with thee Got thither by repentance, Let it bee 40 Thy wish to wish all there, to wish them cleane; Wim _him_ a _David_, _her_ a _Magdalen_.
[An hymne _&c._ _1633-69_, _in all of which it is classed with the_ Divine Poems, _following_ Resurrection. _In 1635-69 it is preceded by the letter_ To Sir Robert Carr.: _in 1633 the letter follows_, _and has no heading:_ _similarly in_ _A18_, _O'F_, _TCC_. _See note_]
[1 Whether] Whither _1633_, _and so in_ 3]
[2 new; _Ed:_ new, _1633-69_]
[6 so,] so? _1633_]
[7 alone?) _1635-54:_ alone;) _1633:_ alone) _1669_]
[8 so. _Ed:_ so; _1633-69_]
[12 are _1633_, _A18_, _TCC:_ is _1635-69_, _O'F_]
[16 song; _1633:_ song. _1635-69_]
[17 him! _Ed:_ him, _1633-69_]
[18 Gangreend _1635-69:_ Gangred _1633_
limbe. _1633-35:_ limbe: _1639-69_]
[22 none; _Ed:_ none: _1650-69:_ none, _1633-39_]
[23 one instant _1633:_ an instant _1635-69_]
[25 this _1633_, _A18_, _TCC:_ his _1635-69_]
[29 For, as in his _1633-39:_ For, as it his _1650-54:_ For, as it is his _1669_]
[30 there. _Ed:_ there; _1633-39:_ there, _1650-69_]
[36 in eyes] in the eyes _A18_, _O'F_, _TCC_]
Epitaphs. Epitaph On Himselfe.
EPITAPHS.
EPITAPH ON HIMSELFE.
_To the Countesse of Bedford._
MADAME,
That I might make your Cabinet my tombe, And for my fame which I love next my soule, Next to my soule provide the happiest roome, Admit to that place this last funerall Scrowle. Others by Wills give Legacies, but I 5 Dying, of you doe beg a Legacie.
My fortune and my will this custome breake, When we are senselesse grown to make stones speak, Though no stone tell thee what I was, yet thou In my graves inside see what thou art now: 10 Yet th'art not yet so good; till us death lay To ripe and mellow there, w'are stubborne clay, Parents make us earth, and soules dignifie Vs to be glasse, here to grow gold we lie; Whilst in our soules sinne bred and pampered is, 15 Our soules become worme-eaten Carkasses.
[Epitaph. _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_
On himselfe. _1635-69_
To the Countesse of Bedford. _O'F_, _S96:_ _no heading, and epistle only_, _A25_, _C_ _The introductory epistle, and the first ten lines of the epitaph, the whole with heading_ Elegie., _is printed 1635-54 among the_ Funerall Elegies. _The full epitaph without epistle and with heading_ On himselfe. _is included among the_ Divine Poems, _where it follows the_ Lamentations of Jeremy. _In his note Chambers_ (II. 234) _reverses these facts_. _In 1669_ On himselfe. _is transferred to the_ Funerall Elegies _and is followed immediately by the_ Elegie, _i.e. the epistle and incomplete epitaph_. _They are here given for the first time in a separate group_]
[5 Others by Wills _1635-69:_ Others by testaments _A25_, _C_, _O'F_ (_altered to_ wills), _S96:_ Men by testament _B:_ Then by testament _H40:_ O then by testament _D_, _H49_]
[10 now: _1650-69:_ now, _1635-39_]
[12 there, _1635_, _1669:_ thee, _1639-54_]
_Omnibus._
My Fortune and my choice this custome break, When we are speechlesse grown, to make stones speak, Though no stone tell thee what I was, yet thou In my graves inside seest what thou art now: Yet thou'art not yet so good, till death us lay 5 To ripe and mellow here, we are stubborne Clay. Parents make us earth, and soules dignifie Vs to be glasse; here to grow gold we lie. Whilst in our soules sinne bred and pamper'd is, Our soules become wormeaten carkases; 10 So we our selves miraculously destroy. Here bodies with lesse miracle enjoy Such priviledges, enabled here to scale Heaven, when the Trumpets ayre shall them exhale. Heare this, and mend thy selfe, and thou mendst me, 15 By making me being dead, doe good to thee, And thinke me well compos'd, that I could now A last-sicke houre to syllables allow.
[Omnibus. _D_, _H49:_ To all. _H40_, _RP31:_ Another on the same. (_i.e. M^{rs} Boulstred_) _P:_ On himselfe. _1635-69:_ _no title_, _B_, _S96:_ _in MSS. this complete epitaph follows the epistle_ (_p._ 291); _but in B they are separated by various poems and in P the epistle is not given_]
[3 tell] tel _1635_]
[4 seest] see _D_, _H49:_ _compare incomplete version_.]
[5 Yet _1635-69:_ Nay _S96_
thou'art _Ed:_ thou art _1635-69_]
[8 lie. _Ed:_ lie; _1635-69_]
[14 them] then _1669_]
[16 to thee, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _O'F_, _S96:_ for thee, _1635-69_]
Infinitati Sacrum,
INFINITATI SACRUM,
16. _Augusti_ 1601.
Metempsychosis.
METEMPSYCHOSIS.
_Poêma Satyricon._
* * * * *
Epistle.
EPISTLE.
Others at the Porches and entries of their Buildings set their Armes; I, my picture; if any colours can deliver a minde so plaine, and flat, and through light as mine. Naturally at a new Author, I doubt, and sticke, and doe not say quickly, good. I censure much and taxe; And this liberty costs mee more then others, by how much my owne things are worse then others. Yet I would not be so rebellious against my selfe, as not to doe it, since I love it; nor so unjust to others, to do it _sine talione_. As long as I give them as good hold upon mee, they must pardon mee my bitings. I forbid no reprehender, but him that like the Trent Councell forbids not bookes, but Authors, damning what ever such a name hath or shall write. None writes so ill, that he gives not some thing exemplary, to follow, or flie. Now when I beginne this booke, I have no purpose to come into any mans debt[1]; how my stocke will hold out I know not; perchance waste, perchance increase in use; if I doe borrow any thing of Antiquitie, besides that I make account that I pay it to posterity, with as much and as good: You shall still finde mee to acknowledge it, and to thanke not him onely that hath digg'd out treasure for mee, but that hath lighted mee a candle to the place. All which I will bid you remember, (for I will have no such Readers as I can teach) is, that the Pithagorian doctrine doth not onely carry one soule from man to man, nor man to beast, but indifferently to plants also: and therefore you must not grudge to finde the same soule in an Emperour, in a Post-horse, and in a Mucheron,[2] since no unreadinesse in the soule, but an indisposition in the organs workes this. And therefore though this soule could not move when it was a Melon, yet it may remember, and now tell mee,[3] at what lascivious banquet it was serv'd. And though it could not speake, when it was a spider, yet it can remember and now tell me, who used it for poyson to attaine dignitie. How ever the bodies have dull'd her other faculties, her memory hath ever been her owne, which makes me so seriously deliver you by her relation all her passages from her first making when shee was that apple[4] which Eve eate,[5] to this time when shee is hee,[6] whose life you shall finde in the end of this booke.
[Infinitati _&c._ _1633-69:_ (_in 1633 it is the first poem; in 1633-69 it follows the_ Funerall Elegies, _from which it is separated by some prose letters, and precedes_ Divine Poems _as here_), _A18_, _G_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_
Metempsychosis. _1650-69:_ Metempsycosis. _1633-39_]
[Footnote 1: debt; _Ed:_ debt, _1633-69_]
[Footnote 2: Mucheron, _1633_, _N_, _TC:_ Mushrome, _G:_ Maceron, _1635-69_, _O'F_]
[Footnote 3: and can now tell mee, _1635-69_]
[Footnote 4: apple] aple _1633_]
[Footnote 5: eate, _1633-69:_ ate, _O'F:_ eat, _mod. editors_]
[Footnote 6: shee is hee, _1633_, _A18_, _G_, _N_, _TC:_ shee is shee, _1635-69_]
The Progresse Of The Soule.
THE PROGRESSE OF THE SOULE.
_First Song._
I.
I sing the progresse of a deathlesse soule, Whom Fate, which God made, but doth not controule, Plac'd in most shapes; all times before the law Yoak'd us, and when, and since, in this I sing. And the great world to his aged evening; 5 From infant morne, through manly noone I draw. What the gold Chaldee, or silver Persian saw, Greeke brasse, or Roman iron, is in this one; A worke t'outweare _Seths_ pillars, bricke and stone, And (holy writt excepted) made to yeeld to none. 10
II.
Thee, eye of heaven, this great Soule envies not, By thy male force, is all wee have, begot. In the first East, thou now beginst to shine, Suck'st early balme, and Iland spices there, And wilt anon in thy loose-rein'd careere 15 At Tagus, Po, Sene, Thames, and Danow dine, And see at night thy Westerne land of Myne, Yet hast thou not more nations seene then shee, That before thee, one day beganne to bee, And thy fraile light being quench'd, shall long, long out live thee. 20
III.
Nor, holy _Ianus_, in whose soveraigne boate The Church, and all the Monarchies did floate; That swimming Colledge, and free Hospitall Of all mankinde, that cage and vivarie Of fowles, and beasts, in whose wombe, Destinie 25 Us, and our latest nephewes did install (From thence are all deriv'd, that fill this All,) Did'st thou in that great stewardship embarke So diverse shapes into that floating parke, As have beene moved, and inform'd by this heavenly sparke. 30
IV.
Great Destiny the Commissary of God, That hast mark'd out a path and period For every thing; who, where wee of-spring tooke, Our wayes and ends seest at one instant; Thou Knot of all causes, thou whose changelesse brow 35 Ne'r smiles nor frownes, O vouch thou safe to looke And shew my story, in thy eternall booke: That (if my prayer be fit) I may'understand So much my selfe, as to know with what hand, How scant, or liberall this my lifes race is spand. 40
V.
To my sixe lustres almost now outwore, Except thy booke owe mee so many more, Except my legend be free from the letts Of steepe ambition, sleepie povertie, Spirit-quenching sicknesse, dull captivitie, 45 Distracting businesse, and from beauties nets, And all that calls from this, and to others whets, O let me not launch out, but let mee save Th'expense of braine and spirit; that my grave His right and due, a whole unwasted man may have. 50
VI.
But if my dayes be long, and good enough, In vaine this sea shall enlarge, or enrough It selfe; for I will through the wave, and fome, And shall, in sad lone wayes a lively spright, Make my darke heavy Poëm light, and light. 55 For though through many streights, and lands I roame, I launch at paradise, and I saile towards home; The course I there began, shall here be staid, Sailes hoised there, stroke here, and anchors laid In Thames, which were at Tigrys, and Euphrates waide. 60
VII.
For the great soule which here amongst us now Doth dwell, and moves that hand, and tongue, and brow, Which, as the Moone the sea, moves us; to heare Whose story, with long patience you will long; (For 'tis the crowne, and last straine of my song) 65 This soule to whom _Luther_, and _Mahomet_ were Prisons of flesh; this soule which oft did teare, And mend the wracks of th'Empire, and late Rome, And liv'd when every great change did come, Had first in paradise, a low, but fatall roome. 70
VIII.
Yet no low roome, nor then the greatest, lesse, If (as devout and sharpe men fitly guesse) That Crosse, our joy, and griefe, where nailes did tye That All, which alwayes was all, every where; Which could not sinne, and yet all sinnes did beare; 75 Which could not die, yet could not chuse but die; Stood in the selfe same roome in Calvarie, Where first grew the forbidden learned tree, For on that tree hung in security This Soule, made by the Makers will from pulling free. 80
IX.
Prince of the orchard, faire as dawning morne, Fenc'd with the law, and ripe as soone as borne That apple grew, which this Soule did enlive, Till the then climing serpent, that now creeps For that offence, for which all mankinde weepes, 85 Tooke it, and t'her whom the first man did wive (Whom and her race, only forbiddings drive) He gave it, she, t'her husband, both did eate; So perished the eaters, and the meate: And wee (for treason taints the blood) thence die and sweat. 90
X.
Man all at once was there by woman slaine, And one by one we'are here slaine o'er againe By them. The mother poison'd the well-head, The daughters here corrupt us, Rivolets; No smalnesse scapes, no greatnesse breaks their nets; 95 She thrust us out, and by them we are led Astray, from turning, to whence we are fled. Were prisoners Judges, 'twould seeme rigorous, Shee sinn'd, we beare; part of our paine is, thus To love them, whose fault to this painfull love yoak'd us. 100
XI.
So fast in us doth this corruption grow, That now wee dare aske why wee should be so. Would God (disputes the curious Rebell) make A law, and would not have it kept? Or can His creatures will, crosse his? Of every man 105 For one, will God (and be just) vengeance take? Who sinn'd? t'was not forbidden to the snake Nor her, who was not then made; nor is't writ That Adam cropt, or knew the apple; yet The worme and she, and he, and wee endure for it. 110
XII.
But snatch mee heavenly Spirit from this vaine Reckoning their vanities, lesse is their gaine Then hazard still, to meditate on ill, Though with good minde; their reasons, like those toyes Of glassie bubbles, which the gamesome boyes 115 Stretch to so nice a thinnes through a quill That they themselves breake, doe themselves spill: Arguing is heretiques game, and Exercise As wrastlers, perfects them; Not liberties Of speech, but silence; hands, not tongues, end heresies. 120
XIII.
Just in that instant when the serpents gripe, Broke the slight veines, and tender conduit-pipe, Through which this soule from the trees root did draw Life, and growth to this apple, fled away This loose soule, old, one and another day. 125 As lightning, which one scarce dares say, he saw, 'Tis so soone gone, (and better proofe the law Of sense, then faith requires) swiftly she flew To a darke and foggie Plot; Her, her fates threw There through th'earths pores, and in a Plant hous'd her anew. 130
XIV.
The plant thus abled, to it selfe did force A place, where no place was; by natures course As aire from water, water fleets away From thicker bodies, by this root thronged so His spungie confines gave him place to grow: 135 Just as in our streets, when the people stay To see the Prince, and have so fill'd the way That weesels scarce could passe, when she comes nere They throng and cleave up, and a passage cleare, As if, for that time, their round bodies flatned were. 140
XV.
His right arme he thrust out towards the East, West-ward his left; th'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 145 His other legge, which feet with toes upbeare. Grew on his middle parts, the first day, haire, To show, that in loves businesse hee should still A dealer bee, and be us'd well, or ill: His apples kindle, his leaves, force of conception kill. 150
XVI.
A mouth, but dumbe, he hath; blinde eyes, deafe eares, And to his shoulders dangle subtile haires; A young _Colossus_ there hee stands upright, And as that ground by him were conquered A leafie garland weares he on his head 155 Enchas'd with little fruits, so red and bright That for them you would call your Loves lips white; So, of a lone unhaunted place possest, Did this soules second Inne, built by the guest, This living buried man, this quiet mandrake, rest. 160
XVII.
No lustfull woman came this plant to grieve, But 'twas because there was none yet but Eve: And she (with other purpose) kill'd it quite; Her sinne had now brought in infirmities, And so her cradled child, the moist red eyes 165 Had never shut, nor slept since it saw light; Poppie she knew, she knew the mandrakes might, And tore up both, and so coold her childs blood; Unvirtuous weeds might long unvex'd have stood; But hee's short liv'd, that with his death can doe most good. 170
XVIII.
To an unfetterd soules quick nimble hast Are falling stars, and hearts thoughts, but slow pac'd: Thinner then burnt aire flies this soule, and she Whom foure new comming, and foure parting Suns Had found, and left the Mandrakes tenant, runnes 175 Thoughtlesse of change, when her firme destiny Confin'd, and enjayld her, that seem'd so free, Into a small blew shell, the which a poore Warme bird orespread, and sat still evermore, Till her inclos'd child kickt, and pick'd it selfe a dore. 180
XIX.
Outcrept a sparrow, this soules moving Inne, On whose raw armes stiffe feathers now begin, As childrens teeth through gummes, to breake with paine, His flesh is jelly yet, and his bones threds, All a new downy mantle overspreads, 185 A mouth he opes, which would as much containe As his late house, and the first houre speaks plaine, And chirps alowd for meat. Meat fit for men His father steales for him, and so feeds then One, that within a moneth, will beate him from his hen. 190
XX.
In this worlds youth wise nature did make hast, Things ripened sooner, and did longer last; Already this hot cocke, in bush and tree, In field and tent, oreflutters his next hen; He asks her not, who did so tast, nor when, 195 Nor if his sister, or his neece shee be; Nor doth she pule for his inconstancie If in her sight he change, nor doth refuse The next that calls; both liberty doe use; Where store is of both kindes, both kindes may freely chuse. 200
XXI.
Men, till they tooke laws which made freedome lesse, Their daughters, and their sisters did ingresse; Till now unlawfull, therefore ill, 'twas not. So jolly, that it can move, this soule is, The body so free of his kindnesses, 205 That selfe-preserving it hath now forgot, And slackneth so the soules, and bodies knot, Which temperance streightens; freely on his she friends He blood, and spirit, pith, and marrow spends, Ill steward of himself, himselfe in three yeares ends. 210
XXII.
Else might he long have liv'd; man did not know Of gummie blood, which doth in holly grow, How to make bird-lime, nor how to deceive With faind calls, hid nets, or enwrapping snare, The free inhabitants of the Plyant aire. 215 Man to beget, and woman to conceive Askt not of rootes, nor of cock-sparrowes, leave: Yet chuseth hee, though none of these he feares, Pleasantly three, then streightned twenty yeares To live, and to encrease his race, himselfe outweares. 220
XXIII.
This cole with overblowing quench'd and dead, The Soule from her too active organs fled T'a brooke. A female fishes sandie Roe With the males jelly, newly lev'ned was, For they had intertouch'd as they did passe, 225 And one of those small bodies, fitted so, This soule inform'd, and abled it to rowe It selfe with finnie oares, which she did fit: Her scales seem'd yet of parchment, and as yet Perchance a fish, but by no name you could call it. 230
XXIV.
When goodly, like a ship in her full trim, A swan, so white that you may unto him Compare all whitenesse, but himselfe to none, Glided along, and as he glided watch'd, And with his arched necke this poore fish catch'd. 235 It mov'd with state, as if to looke upon Low things it scorn'd, and yet before that one Could thinke he sought it, he had swallowed cleare This, and much such, and unblam'd devour'd there All, but who too swift, too great, or well armed were. 240
XXV.
Now swome a prison in a prison put, And now this Soule in double walls was shut, Till melted with the Swans digestive fire, She left her house the fish, and vapour'd forth; Fate not affording bodies of more worth 245 For her as yet, bids her againe retire T'another fish, to any new desire Made a new prey; For, he that can to none Resistance make, nor complaint, sure is gone. Weaknesse invites, but silence feasts oppression. 250
XXVI.
Pace with her native streame, this fish doth keepe, And journeyes with her, towards the glassie deepe, But oft retarded, once with a hidden net Though with greate windowes, for when Need first taught These tricks to catch food, then they were not wrought 255 As now, with curious greedinesse to let None scape, but few, and fit for use, to get, As, in this trap a ravenous pike was tane, Who, though himselfe distrest, would faine have slain This wretch; So hardly are ill habits left again. 260
XXVII.
Here by her smallnesse shee two deaths orepast, Once innocence scap'd, and left the oppressor fast. The net through-swome, she keepes the liquid path, And whether she leape up sometimes to breath And suck in aire, or finde it underneath, 265 Or working parts like mills or limbecks hath To make the water thinne, and airelike faith Cares not; but safe the Place she's come unto Where fresh, with salt waves meet, and what to doe She knowes not, but betweene both makes a boord or two. 270
XXVIII.
So farre from hiding her guests, water is, That she showes them in bigger quantities Then they are. Thus doubtfull of her way, For game and not for hunger a sea Pie Spied through this traiterous spectacle, from high, 275 The seely fish where it disputing lay, And t'end her doubts and her, beares her away: Exalted she'is, but to the exalters good, As are by great ones, men which lowly stood. It's rais'd, to be the Raisers instrument and food. 280
XXIX.
Is any kinde subject to rape like fish? Ill unto man, they neither doe, nor wish: Fishers they kill not, nor with noise awake, They doe not hunt, nor strive to make a prey Of beasts, nor their yong sonnes to beare away; 285 Foules they pursue not, nor do undertake To spoile the nests industrious birds do make; Yet them all these unkinde kinds feed upon, To kill them is an occupation, And lawes make Fasts, and Lents for their destruction. 290
XXX.
A sudden stiffe land-winde in that selfe houre To sea-ward forc'd this bird, that did devour The fish; he cares not, for with ease he flies, Fat gluttonies best orator: at last So long hee hath flowen, and hath flowen so fast 295 That many leagues at sea, now tir'd hee lyes, And with his prey, that till then languisht, dies: The soules no longer foes, two wayes did erre, The fish I follow, and keepe no calender Of the other; he lives yet in some great officer. 300
XXXI.
Into an embrion fish, our Soule is throwne, And in due time throwne out againe, and growne To such vastnesse as, if unmanacled From Greece, Morea were, and that by some Earthquake unrooted, loose Morea swome, 305 Or seas from Africks body had severed And torne the hopefull Promontories head, This fish would seeme these, and, when all hopes faile, A great ship overset, or without faile Hulling, might (when this was a whelp) be like this whale. 310
XXXII.
At every stroake his brazen finnes do take, More circles in the broken sea they make Then cannons voices, when the aire they teare: His ribs are pillars, and his high arch'd roofe Of barke that blunts best steele, is thunder-proofe: 315 Swimme in him swallow'd Dolphins, without feare, And feele no sides, as if his vast wombe were Some Inland sea, and ever as hee went Hee spouted rivers up, as if he ment To joyne our seas, with seas above the firmament. 320
XXXIII.
He hunts not fish, but as an officer, Stayes in his court, at his owne net, and there All suitors of all sorts themselves enthrall; So on his backe lyes this whale wantoning, And in his gulfe-like throat, sucks every thing 325 That passeth neare. Fish chaseth fish, and all, Flyer and follower, in this whirlepoole fall; O might not states of more equality Consist? and is it of necessity That thousand guiltlesse smals, to make one great, must die? 330
XXXIV.
Now drinkes he up seas, and he eates up flocks, He justles Ilands, and he shakes firme rockes. Now in a roomefull house this Soule doth float, And like a Prince she sends her faculties To all her limbes, distant as Provinces. 335 The Sunne hath twenty times both crab and goate Parched, since first lanch'd forth this living boate; 'Tis greatest now, and to destruction Nearest; There's no pause at perfection; Greatnesse a period hath, but hath no station. 340
XXXV.
Two little fishes whom hee never harm'd, Nor fed on their kinde, two not throughly arm'd With hope that they could kill him, nor could doe Good to themselves by his death (they did not eate His flesh, nor suck those oyles, which thence outstreat) 345 Conspir'd against him, and it might undoe The plot or all, that the plotters were two, But that they fishes were, and could not speake. How shall a Tyran wife strong projects breake, If wreches can on them the common anger wreake? 350
XXXVI.
The flaile-finn'd Thresher, and steel-beak'd Sword-fish Onely attempt to doe, what all doe wish. The Thresher backs him, and to beate begins; The sluggard Whale yeelds to oppression, And t'hide himselfe from shame and danger, downe 355 Begins to sinke; the Swordfish upward spins, And gores him with his beake; his staffe-like finnes, So well the one, his sword the other plyes, That now a scoffe, and prey, this tyran dyes, And (his owne dole) feeds with himselfe all companies. 360
XXXVII.
Who will revenge his death? or who will call Those to account, that thought, and wrought his fall? The heires of slaine kings, wee see are often so Transported with the joy of what they get, That they, revenge and obsequies forget, 365 Nor will against such men the people goe, Because h'is now dead, to whom they should show Love in that act; Some kings by vice being growne So needy of subjects love, that of their own They thinke they lose, if love be to the dead Prince shown. 370
Xxxviii.
XXXVIII.
This Soule, now free from prison, and passion, Hath yet a little indignation That so small hammers should so soone downe beat So great a castle. And having for her house Got the streight cloyster of a wreched mouse 375 (As basest men that have not what to eate, Nor enjoy ought, doe farre more hate the great Then they, who good repos'd estates possesse) This Soule, late taught that great things might by lesse Be slain, to gallant mischiefe doth herselfe addresse. 380
XXXIX.
Natures great master-peece, an Elephant, The onely harmlesse great thing; the giant Of beasts; who thought, no more had gone, to make one wise But to be just, and thankfull, loth to offend, (Yet nature hath given him no knees to bend) 385 Himselfe he up-props, on himselfe relies, And foe to none, suspects no enemies, Still sleeping stood; vex't not his fantasie Blacke dreames; like an unbent bow, carelesly His sinewy Proboscis did remisly lie: 390
XL.
In which as in a gallery this mouse Walk'd, and surveid the roomes of this vast house, And to the braine, the soules bedchamber, went, And gnaw'd the life cords there; Like a whole towne Cleane undermin'd, the slaine beast tumbled downe; 395 With him the murtherer dies, whom envy sent To kill, not scape, (for, only hee that ment To die, did ever kill a man of better roome,) And thus he made his foe, his prey, and tombe: Who cares not to turn back, may any whither come. 400
XLI.
Next, hous'd this Soule a Wolves yet unborne whelp, Till the best midwife, Nature, gave it helpe, To issue. It could kill, as soone as goe. Abel, as white, and milde as his sheepe were, (Who, in that trade, of Church, and kingdomes, there 405 Was the first type) was still infested soe, With this wolfe, that it bred his losse and woe; And yet his bitch, his sentinell attends The flocke so neere, so well warnes and defends, That the wolfe, (hopelesse else) to corrupt her, intends. 410
XLII.
Hee tooke a course, which since, succesfully, Great men have often taken, to espie The counsels, or to breake the plots of foes. To Abels tent he stealeth in the darke, On whose skirts the bitch slept; ere she could barke, 415 Attach'd her with streight gripes, yet hee call'd those, Embracements of love; to loves worke he goes, Where deeds move more then words; nor doth she show, Nor <make> resist, nor needs hee streighten so His prey, for, were shee loose, she would nor barke, nor goe. 420
XLIII.
Hee hath engag'd her; his, she wholy bides; Who not her owne, none others secrets hides. If to the flocke he come, and Abell there, She faines hoarse barkings, but she biteth not, Her faith is quite, but not her love forgot. 425 At last a trap, of which some every where Abell had plac'd, ends all his losse, and feare, By the Wolves death; and now just time it was That a quicke soule should give life to that masse Of blood in Abels bitch, and thither this did passe. 430
XLIV.
Some have their wives, their sisters some begot, But in the lives of Emperours you shall not Reade of a lust the which may equall this; This wolfe begot himselfe, and finished What he began alive, when hee was dead; 435 Sonne to himselfe, and father too, hee is A ridling lust, for which Schoolemen would misse A proper name. The whelpe of both these lay In Abels tent, and with soft Moaba, His sister, being yong, it us'd to sport and play. 440
XLV.
Hee soone for her too harsh, and churlish grew, And Abell (the dam dead) would use this new For the field. Being of two kindes thus made, He, as his dam, from sheepe drove wolves away, And as his Sire, he made them his owne prey. 445 Five yeares he liv'd, and cosened with his trade, Then hopelesse that his faults were hid, betraid Himselfe by flight, and by all followed, From dogges, a wolfe; from wolves, a dogge he fled; And, like a spie to both sides false, he perished. 450
XLVI.
It quickned next a toyfull Ape, and so Gamesome it was, that it might freely goe From tent to tent, and with the children play. His organs now so like theirs hee doth finde, That why he cannot laugh, and speake his minde, 455 He wonders. Much with all, most he doth stay With Adams fift daughter _Siphatecia_, Doth gaze on her, and, where she passeth, passe, Gathers her fruits, and tumbles on the grasse, And wisest of that kinde, the first true lover was. 460
XLVII.
He was the first that more desir'd to have One then another; first that ere did crave Love by mute signes, and had no power to speake; First that could make love faces, or could doe The valters sombersalts, or us'd to wooe 465 With hoiting gambolls, his owne bones to breake To make his mistresse merry; or to wreake Her anger on himselfe. Sinnes against kinde They easily doe, that can let feed their minde With outward beauty; beauty they in boyes and beasts do find 470
XLVIII.
By this misled, too low things men have prov'd, And too high; beasts and angels have beene lov'd. This Ape, though else through-vaine, in this was wise, He reach'd at things too high, but open way There was, and he knew not she would say nay; 475 His toyes prevaile not, likelier meanes he tries, He gazeth on her face with teare-shot eyes, And up lifts subtly with his russet pawe Her kidskinne apron without feare or awe Of nature; nature hath no gaole, though shee hath law. 480
XLIX.
First she was silly and knew not what he ment. That vertue, by his touches, chaft and spent, Succeeds an itchie warmth, that melts her quite; She knew not first, nowe cares not what he doth, And willing halfe and more, more then halfe <loth>, 485 She neither puls nor pushes, but outright Now cries, and now repents; when _Tethlemite_ Her brother, entred, and a great stone threw After the Ape, who, thus prevented, flew. This house thus batter'd downe, the Soule possest a new. 490
L.
And whether by this change she lose or win, She comes out next, where the Ape would have gone in. _Adam_ and _Eve_ had mingled bloods, and now Like Chimiques equall fires, her temperate wombe Had stew'd and form'd it: and part did become 495 A spungie liver, that did richly allow, Like a free conduit, on a high hils brow, Life-keeping moisture unto every part; Part hardned it selfe to a thicker heart, Whose busie furnaces lifes spirits do impart. 500
LI.
Another part became the well of sense, The tender well-arm'd feeling braine, from whence, Those sinowie strings which do our bodies tie, Are raveld out; and fast there by one end, Did this Soule limbes, these limbes a soule attend; 505 And now they joyn'd: keeping some quality Of every past shape, she knew treachery, Rapine, deceit, and lust, and ills enow To be a woman. _Themech_ she is now, Sister and wife to _Caine_, _Caine_ that first did plow. 510
LII.
Who ere thou beest that read'st this sullen Writ, Which just so much courts thee, as thou dost it, Let me arrest thy thoughts; wonder with mee, Why plowing, building, ruling and the rest, Or most of those arts, whence our lives are blest, 515 By cursed _Cains_ race invented be, And blest _Seth_ vext us with Astronomie. Ther's nothing simply good, nor ill alone, Of every quality comparison, The onely measure is, and judge, opinion. 520
_The end of the Progresse of the Soule._
[7 gold] cold _1635-54_]
[10 writt _1635-69_, _G:_ writs _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ Writ's _Chambers_]
[12 begot.] begot, _1633_]
[13 East] east _1633 some copies_
beginst] begins _1633_]
[16 Danow dine,] Danon dine, _1633_]
[17 Myne, _1633_ (_but_ mine, _in some copies_): Mine, _1635-69_]
[19 one day before thee _O'F_]
[21 Nor, holy _Ianus_, _Ed:_ Nor holy _Ianus_ _1633-69_]
[27 From thence] For, thence _G_
All,)] All) _1633-69_]
[31 Commissary] commissary _1633 some copies_]
[33 every thing; _Ed:_ every thing, _1633-69_]
[34 instant; _1633:_ instant. _1635-69_]
[36 vouch thou safe _A18_, _G_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC:_ vouch safe thou _1633-69_]
[37 booke: _Ed:_ booke. _1633-69_]
[45 Spirit-quenching] Spright-quenching _G_]
[54 shall, _Ed:_ shall _1633:_ hold _1635-69_
lone _1635-69:_ love _1633_, _A18_, _G_, _N_, _TC_
wayes _Ed:_ wayes, _1633-69_
spright, _Ed:_ spright _1633-69_]
[59 hoised] hoisted _G_]
[61 For the] For this _G_, _N_, _TCD:_ For that _O'F_]
[63 Which, _Ed:_ Which _1633-69_]
us; _Ed:_ us, _1633-69_]
[69 when] where _A18_, _G_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_]
[71 no low] nor low _Chambers_]
[74 every where; _Ed:_ every where _1633:_ every where, _1635-69_]
[83 enlive, _G:_ enlive _1633-69:_ _om._ _1633_ _some copies, and_ _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[93 poyson'd _1669:_ poisoned _1633-54_]
[94 corrupt us, _1635-69:_ corrupts us, _1633:_ corrupt as _G_
Rivolets; _Ed:_ Rivolets, _1635-69:_ _om._ _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[95 breaks] breake _1633_ _some copies_
nets; _Ed:_ nets, _1633-69_]
[96 thrust] thrusts _1633_ (thrust _in some copies_)]
[97 fled.] fled, _1633_]
[99 beare; _1635-69_, _G:_ here, _1633:_ heare, _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[108 is't] i'st _1633_]
[112 vanities, _1633_, _G:_ vanitie, _1635-69_]
[114 minde; _Ed:_ minde, _1633-69_ reasons, _Ed:_ reasons _1633:_ reason's _1635-69_, _Chambers and Grolier_]
[115 which] with _1633_ _some copies_]
[117 breake, doe _1633_, _A18_, _G_, _N_, _TC:_ breake, and doe _1635-69_, _Chambers_
spill: _Ed:_ spill, _1633-69_]
[119 perfects] perfect _1633_ _some copies_]
[125 day. _1635-69:_ day, _1633_ (_corrected in some copies_)]
[126 dares] dare _1669_]
[127 proofe] proofes _O'F_]
[130 earths pores, _1669_, _A18_, _G_, _N:_ earths-pores, _1633:_ earth-pores, _1633_ (_some copies_), _1635-54_
anew] a new _1633_]
[135 grow: _1650-69:_ grow, _1633-39_]
[137 the Prince, and have so fill'd _G:_ the Princesse, and so fill'd _1633_ (_but some copies read_ the Prince, and so fill'd): the Prince, and so fill up _1635-69:_ the Prince, and so fill'd _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[144 bed, _Ed:_ bed; _1633-69_]
[146 upbeare. _Ed:_ upbeare; _1633:_ up beare; _1635-69_]
[147 middle parts _1633_, _G_, _O'F:_ middle part _1635-69:_ mid-parts _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[150 kindle, _G:_ kinde, _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC:_ kindle; _1635-69_]
[157 white; _1633:_ white, _1635-69_]
[159 guest, _Ed:_ guest _1633-69_. _See note_]
[165 moist red _1633-35:_ moist-red _1639-69_]
[166 slept] sleept _1633-35_
light; _Ed:_ light, _1633-69_]
[167 mandrakes might, _Ed:_ mandrakes might; _1633-54:_ mandrakes-might: _1669_]
[180 inclos'd _1635-69_, _G:_ encloth'd _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ encloth'd _altered to_ unclothed _then to_ enclosed _O'F:_ uncloath'd _1633_
pick'd] peck'd _A18_, _G_, _TC_]
[181 Outcrept _1633-35:_ Out crept _1639-69_]
[185 a new downy _1635-69_, _A18_, _G_, _TC:_ downy a new _1633_
overspreades, _1633-39:_ overspreads _1650-69_]
[193 cocke, _Ed:_ cocke _1633-69_
tree,] tree _1633_]
[194 tent, _Ed:_ tent _1633-69_
hen; _Ed:_ hen, _1633-69_]
[196 be; _Ed:_ be, _1633-69_]
[202 ingresse; _Ed:_ ingresse, _1633-69_]
[203-5
Till now unlawfull, therefore ill; 'twas not So jolly, that it can move this soule; Is The body so free of his kindnesses,
_1633_, _and 1669_ (Till now,):
Till now, unlawfull, therefore ill 'twas not So jolly, that it can more this soule. Is The body, so free of his kindnesses,
_1635-54_
Till now, unlawful, therefore ill 'twas not. So jolly, that it can move this soul, is The body, so free of his kindnesses,
_Chambers_, _and Grolier but_ 203 not; _and no commas in_ 204. _See note_]
[206 selfe-preserving] _no hyphen_ _1633-39_]
[207 soules,] souls _1669_]
[208 temperance] têperance _1633-39_]
[212 grow,] grow _1633-39_]
[214 hid _G:_ his _1633-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TC_
snare,] snare _1633-69_]
[220 encrease his race,] encrease, _1633_]
[223 brooke. A _Ed:_ brooke; a _1633-69_]
[225 they had intertouch'd _1635-69_, _G_, _O'F:_ they intertouched _1633:_ they intertouch'd _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[227 abled] able _1669_
rowe] roe _1633_]
[228 fit: _Ed:_ fit, _1633-69_]
[240 armed were.] arm'd were _1633_]
[249 sure is gone, _1633-39:_ is sure gone. _1650-54:_ is sure gone, _1669_]
[251 her _A18_, _G_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC:_ the _1633-69_]
[254-7 for when ... use, to get,] _in brackets_ _1635-69_]
[254 Need _G:_ need _1633-69_]
[255 then] thê _1633_]
[257 use, _Ed:_ use _1633-69_]
[262 fast. _Ed:_ fast; _1633-69_]
[266 mills _Ed:_ mills, _1633-69_]
[267 water _1635-69_, _G:_ wether _1633_, _A18_, _TC_
airelike _1633-35:_ ayre like _1639-69_ _and Chambers_
faith _1633-69:_ faith, _Chambers_. _See note_]
[268 not; _Ed:_ not, _1633-69_]
[270 two.] two _1633_]
[271 is,] is _1633_]
[273 Thus doubtfull _1633_, _A18_, _G_, _N_, _TC:_ Thus her doubtfull _1635-69_]
[277 away: _Ed:_ away, _1633-69_]
[279 _in brackets_ _1635-69_
stood. _1633-39:_ stood, _1650-69_]
[280 It's rais'd _1633-69:_ It rais'd _some copies of 1633_, _A18_, _G_, _N_, _TC_]
[287 industrious] industruous _1633_]
[290 Fasts, and Lents _1635-69:_ fasts, and lents _1633_]
[296 That many leagues at sea, _G:_ That leagues o'er-past at sea, _1633-69:_ That leagues at sea, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_ (_which inserts_ o'r past), _TC_. _See note_]
[297 dies:] dies, _1633_]
[301 throwne,] throwne _1633_]
[303 vastnesse as, if _Grolier:_ vastnesse, as if _1633-69_, _Chambers_]
[307 head, _1633:_ head; _1635-69:_ head. _Chambers_. _See note_]
[311 take,] take _1633_]
[315 thunder-proofe: _Ed:_ thunder-proofe, _1633-69_]
[316 swallow'd] swallowed _1633_]
[322 at] as _A18_, _G_, _TCC_]
[337 this _1633:_ his _1635-69_
boate; _Ed:_ boate, _1635-69:_ boate. _1633_]
[339 perfection; _Ed:_ perfection. _1633-35:_ perfection, _1639-69_]
[344-5 _brackets_, _1719:_ death: ... outstreat, _1633-69_
did not eate] doe not eate _G_]
[349 Tyran] Tyrant _1669_]
[351 flaile-finn'd] flaile-find _1633:_ flaile-finnd _1635-39_]
[358 well] were _1633_]
[359 tyran] tyrant _1669_]
[365 they, revenge _1635-69:_ they revenge, _1633:_ they, revenge, _1633_ _some copies_]
[367 h'is _1633:_ he's _1635-69_]
[368 act; _Ed:_ act. _1633-69_]
[383 who thought, no more had gone, to make one wise _1633_, _G_, _A18_, _N_, _TC_ (_the last four MSS. all drop_ more, _N and TCD leaving a space_): who thought none had, to make him wise, _1635-69_]
[386 relies,] relies _1633_]
[389 dreames; _Ed:_ dreames, _1633-69_]
[390: lie: _1635:_ lie. _1633, 1639-69_]
[395 downe; _Ed:_ downe, _1633-69_]
[396 dies,] dies _1633_]
[397-8 _brackets_, _Ed:_ scape, ... roome, _1633:_ scape; ... roome, _1635-69_
ment] went _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[403 goe. _Ed:_ goe, _1633:_ goe: _1635-69_]
[405 Who,] Who _1633_
trade, _1635-69:_ trade _1633_]
[413 foes. _Ed:_ foes, _1633-69_]
[419 Nor <make> resist, _Ed:_ Nor much resist, _1633-69:_ Nowe must resist _N:_ Nowe much resist _A18_, _G_, _TC:_ Resistance much _O'F_
needs] need _O'F_]
[420 nor barke, _1633-39:_ not barke _1650-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[422 hides.] hides, _1633_]
[427 plac'd, ends] plac'd end _1633_ _some copies_]
[435 dead; _Ed:_ dead, _1633-39:_ dead. _1650-69_]
[443 field. Being _Ed:_ field, being _1633-69_
thus] _om._ _1633_]
[453 play. _Ed:_ play, _1633-69_]
[470 beauty; _Ed:_ beauty, _1633-69_]
[472 lov'd. _Ed:_ lov'd; _1633-69_]
[479 or] of _1669_]
[480 shee hath] shee have _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[481 ment. _Ed:_ ment, _1633-69_]
483 quite; _Ed:_ quite, _1633-69_]
[484 nowe _1633_, _G:_ nor _1635-69_, _Chambers:_ then _A18_, _TC_]
[485 <loth>, _Ed:_ Tooth _1633_, _G:_ _A18_, _N_, _TC_ _leave a blank space: in TCC a later hand has inserted_ loath: wroth, _1635-69_]
[487 Tethlemite _A18_, _G_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC:_ Tethelemite _1633:_ Thelemite _1635-69_]
[489 flew. _1635-69:_ flew, _1633_]
[492 in. _1650-69:_ in, _1633-39_]
[498 Life-keeping] Life keeping _1633_
part; _Ed:_ part, _1633-69_]
[502 well-arm'd _1669:_ well arm'd _1633-54_]
[503 sinowie] sinewy _1639-54:_ sinew _1669_]
[504 out; _Ed:_ out, _1633-69_]
[505 this Soule] a Soule _A18_, _N_, _TC_ attend; _Ed:_ attend, _1633-69_]
[506-7 joyn'd: ... past shape, _1633:_ joyn'd, ... past shape; _1635-69_, _Chambers_, _Grolier_. _See note_]
[513 thoughts; _1650-69:_ thoughts, _1633-39_]
[517 Astronomie.] Astronomie, _1633_]
[519 comparison, _1633_, _1669_ (_no comma_): Comparison, _1635-54_]
[520 opinion. _1633:_ Opinion. _1635-69_]
[The end _&c._ _1635-69:_ _om._ _1633_]
DIVINE POEMS.
To _E._ of _D._ with six holy Sonnets.
See Sir, how as the Suns hot Masculine flame Begets strange creatures on Niles durty slime, In me, your fatherly yet lusty Ryme (For, these songs are their fruits) have wrought the same; But though the ingendring force from whence they came 5 Bee strong enough, and nature doe admit Seaven to be borne at once, I send as yet But six; they say, the seaventh hath still some maime. I choose your judgement, which the same degree Doth with her sister, your invention, hold, 10 As fire these drossie Rymes to purifie, Or as Elixar, to change them to gold; You are that Alchimist which alwaies had Wit, whose one spark could make good things of bad.
[Divine Poems. _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ _In 1635-69 this is the title at head of each page, but the new section is headed_ Holy Sonnets.
To E. of D. _&c._ _so headed 1633-69 but placed among_ Letters _&c._, _and so in O'F and_ (_but_ L. of D.) _W:_ _removed hither by Grosart_.]
[4 their fruits] the fruit _W_]
[6 doe _1633:_ doth _1635-69_]
[8 six;] six, _1633_
maime. _W:_ maime; _1633-69_]
[11 drossie] drosse _1650-54_]
_To the Lady Magdalen Herbert: of St. Mary Magdalen._
Her of your name, whose fair inheritance Bethina was, and jointure Magdalo: An active faith so highly did advance, That she once knew, more than the Church did know, The Resurrection; so much good there is 5 Deliver'd of her, that some Fathers be Loth to believe one Woman could do this; But, think these Magdalens were two or three. Increase their number, Lady, and their fame: To their Devotion, add your Innocence; 10 Take so much of th'example, as of the name; The latter half; and in some recompence That they did harbour Christ himself, a Guest, Harbour these Hymns, to his dear name addrest.
J.D.
[To the Lady Magdalen Herbert: _&c._ _Ed:_ To the Lady Magdalen Herbert, of _&c._ _Walton's_ The Life of M^r George Herbert. (1670, _pp._ 25-6.) _See note_]
[4 know, _1675:_ know _1670_]
HOLY SONNETS.
_La Corona._
1. _Deigne at my hands this crown of prayer and praise_, Weav'd in my low devout melancholie, Thou which of good, hast, yea art treasury, All changing unchang'd Antient of dayes; But doe not, with a vile crowne of fraile bayes, 5 Reward my muses white sincerity, But what thy thorny crowne gain'd, that give mee, A crowne of Glory, which doth flower alwayes; The ends crowne our workes, but thou crown'st our ends, For, at our end begins our endlesse rest; 10 The first last end, now zealously possest, With a strong sober thirst, my soule attends. 'Tis time that heart and voice be lifted high, _Salvation to all that will is nigh_.
[HOLY SONNETS. _1633-69_, _being general title to the two groups:_ Holy Sonnets written 20 years since. _H49_.]
[La Corona. _1633-69_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _S_, _TCC_, _TCD_, _W:_ The Crowne. _B_, _O'F_, _S96_]
[2 low _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _TC_, _W_ (_spelt_ lowe _in MSS._): lone _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _S:_ loves _S96_]
[3 treasury, _1633-69:_ a Treasurie, _B_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_]
[4 dayes; _Ed:_ dayes, _1633-69_]
[10 For] So _W_ end _1633_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_, _W:_ ends _1635-69_, _S96_
rest; _Ed:_ rest, _1633-69_]
[11 The] This _B_, _S_, _S96_, _W_
zealously] soberly _B_, _S96_, _W:_ _O'F corrects_]
[13 heart and voice] voice and heart _B_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _W_]
[14 _nigh_.] _nigh_, _1633_]
Annvnciation.
ANNVNCIATION.
2. _Salvation to all that will is nigh_; That All, which alwayes is All every where, Which cannot sinne, and yet all sinnes must beare, Which cannot die, yet cannot chuse but die, Loe, faithfull Virgin, yeelds himselfe to lye 5 In prison, in thy wombe; and though he there Can take no sinne, nor thou give, yet he'will weare Taken from thence, flesh, which deaths force may trie. Ere by the spheares time was created, thou Wast in his minde, who is thy Sonne, and Brother; 10 Whom thou conceiv'st, conceiv'd; yea thou art now Thy Makers maker, and thy Fathers mother; Thou'hast light in darke; and shutst in little roome, _Immensity cloysterd in thy deare wombe_.
[Annunciation.]
[1 _nigh;_ _1669:_ _nigh_, _1633-54_]
[9 created,] begotten, _B_, _S_, _S96_, _W:_ _O'F corrects_]
[10 Brother; _Ed:_ Brother, _1633-69_]
[11 conceiv'st, _1633:_ conceiv'st _1635-69:_ conceiv'dst, _O'F_, _S_, _W_, _and Grolier_ conceiv'd;] conceived; _1635-69_]
[12 mother; _Ed:_ mother, _1633-69_]
Nativitie.
NATIVITIE.
3. _Immensitie cloysterd in thy deare wombe_, Now leaves his welbelov'd imprisonment, There he hath made himselfe to his intent Weake enough, now into our world to come; But Oh, for thee, for him, hath th'Inne no roome? 5 Yet lay him in this stall, and from the Orient, Starres, and wisemen will travell to prevent Th'effect of _Herods_ jealous generall doome. Seest thou, my Soule, with thy faiths eyes, how he Which fils all place, yet none holds him, doth lye? 10 Was not his pity towards thee wondrous high, That would have need to be pittied by thee? Kisse him, and with him into Egypt goe, _With his kinde mother, who partakes thy woe_.
[Nativitie.]
[6 this] his _1669_]
[7 will] shall _B_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _W_]
[8 effect _1669_, _A18_, _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_, _W:_ effects _1633-54_, _D_, _H49_ jealous] dire and _B_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _W:_ zealous _A18, N, TC_
doome.] doome; _1633_]
[9 eyes, _1633_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _W:_ eye, _1635-69_, _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
TEMPLE.
4. _With his kinde mother who partakes thy woe_, _Ioseph_ turne backe; see where your child doth sit, Blowing, yea blowing out those sparks of wit, Which himselfe on the Doctors did bestow; The Word but lately could not speake, and loe, 5 It sodenly speakes 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 soule to his manhood, Nor had time mellowed him to this ripenesse, 10 But as for one which hath a long taske, 'tis good, With the Sunne to beginne his businesse, He in his ages morning thus began _By miracles exceeding power of man_.
[Temple.]
[5 loe, _Ed:_ loe _1633-69_]
[6 wonders, _1633-39:_ wonders: _1650-69_]
[11 for] to _W_
a long taske, _1633-69_, _D_, _H49:_ long taskes _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_, _W:_ longe taske _A18_, _TCC_
'tis] 'Tis _1633:_ thinks _W_]
Crvcifying.
CRVCIFYING.
5. _By miracles exceeding power of man_, Hee faith in some, envie in some begat, For, what weake spirits admire, ambitious, hate; In both affections many to him ran, But Oh! the worst are most, they will and can, 5 Alas, and do, unto the immaculate, Whose creature Fate is, now prescribe a Fate, Measuring selfe-lifes infinity to'a span, Nay to an inch. Loe, where condemned hee Beares his owne crosse, with paine, yet by and by 10 When it beares him, he must beare more and die. Now thou art lifted up, draw mee to thee, And at thy death giving such liberall dole, _Moyst, with one drop of thy blood, my dry soule_.
[Crucifying.]
[3 weake] meeke _B_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _W_]
[8 to'a span, _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_, _W:_ to span, _1633-69_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_]
[9 inch. Loe, _1635-69:_ inch, loe, _1633_]
[11 die. _1635-69:_ die; _1633_]
Resvrrection.
RESVRRECTION.
6. _Moyst with one drop of thy blood, my dry soule_ Shall (though she now be in extreme degree Too stony hard, and yet too fleshly,) bee Freed by that drop, from being starv'd, hard, or foule, And life, by this death abled, shall controule 5 Death, whom thy death slue; nor shall to mee Feare of first or last death, bring miserie, If in thy little booke my name thou enroule, Flesh in that long sleep is not putrified, But made that there, of which, and for which 'twas; 10 Nor can by other meanes be glorified. May then sinnes sleep, and deaths soone from me passe, That wak't from both, I againe risen may _Salute the last, and everlasting day_.
[Resurrection.]
[1 _soule_ _1635:_ _soule_, _1633_, _1639-69_]
[5 this] thy _B_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _W_]
[6 shall to] shall nowe to _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_]
[8 little _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _TC:_ life _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _W_]
[9 that long] that last long _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _W:_ that _D_, _H49_]
[11 glorified] purified _S_, _S96_, _W_, _and O'F_ (_which corrects to_ glorified)]
[12 deaths _A18_, _N_, _S96_, _TC_, _W:_ death _1633-69_, _D_, _H49_]
Ascention.
ASCENTION.
7. _Salute the last and everlasting day_, Joy at the uprising of this Sunne, and Sonne, Yee whose just teares, or tribulation Have purely washt, or burnt your drossie clay; Behold the Highest, parting hence away, 5 Lightens the darke clouds, which hee treads upon, Nor doth hee by ascending, show alone, But first hee, and hee first enters the way. O strong Ramme, which hast batter'd heaven for mee, Mild Lambe, which with thy blood, hast mark'd the path; 10 Bright Torch, which shin'st, that I the way may see, Oh, with thy owne blood quench thy owne just wrath, And if thy holy Spirit, my Muse did raise, _Deigne at my hands this crowne of prayer and praise_.
[Ascention.]
[3 just _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _TC:_ true _1635-69_, _B_, _S_, _S96_, _W_]
[8 way.] way, _1633_]
[10 Lambe, _D_, _W:_ lambe _1633-69_]
[11 Torch, _D_, _W:_ torch, _1633-69_
the way] thy wayes _B_, _S_, _S96_, _W:_ thee _A18_, _TCC_]
_Holy Sonnets._
I.
Thou hast made me, And shall thy worke decay? Repaire me now, for now mine end doth haste, I runne to death, and death meets me as fast, And all my pleasures are like yesterday; I dare not move my dimme eyes any way, 5 Despaire behind, and death before doth cast Such terrour, and my feeble flesh doth waste By sinne in it, which it t'wards hell doth weigh; Onely thou art above, and when towards thee By thy leave I can looke, I rise againe; 10 But our old subtle foe so tempteth me, That not one houre my selfe I can sustaine; Thy Grace may wing me to prevent his art, And thou like Adamant draw mine iron heart.
[Holy Sonnets. _1633-69_ (_following_ La Corona _as second group under the same general title_), _W:_ Devine Meditations. _B_, _O'F_, _S96:_ _no title_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_. _See note_]
[I. _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W:_ _omitted_ _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[4 yesterday; _Ed:_ yesterday, _1635-69_]
[7 feeble _1635-69:_ febled _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W_]
[12 my selfe I can _1635-69:_ I can myself _B_, _S96_, _W_
sustaine; _1669:_ sustaine, _1635-54_]
II.
As due by many titles I resigne My selfe to thee, O God, first I was made By thee, and for thee, and when I was decay'd Thy blood bought that, the which before was thine; I am thy sonne, made with thy selfe to shine, 5 Thy servant, whose paines thou hast still repaid, Thy sheepe, thine Image, and, till I betray'd My selfe, a temple of thy Spirit divine; Why doth the devill then usurpe on mee? Why doth he steale, nay ravish that's thy right? 10 Except thou rise and for thine owne worke fight, Oh I shall soone despaire, when I doe see That thou lov'st mankind well, yet wilt'not chuse me, And Satan hates mee, yet is loth to lose mee.
[II. _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W:_ I. _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[2 God, first _1633:_ God. First _1635-69_]
[4 thine; _1650-69:_ thine, _1633-39:_ thine. _W_]
[7 and, _Ed:_ and _1633-69_]
[9 on _1633-69_, _D_, _H49:_ in _A18_, _B_, _N_, _S96_, _TC_, _W_]
[10 steale,] steale _1633-39_
that's] what's _A18_, _TCC_]
[12 doe _1633 and most MSS.:_ shall _1635-69_, _O'F_, _S96_]
[13 me,] me. _1633_]
III.
O might those sighes and teares returne againe Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent, That I might in this holy discontent Mourne with some fruit, as I have mourn'd in vaine; In mine Idolatry what showres of raine 5 Mine eyes did waste? what griefs my heart did rent? That sufferance was my sinne; now I repent; 'Cause I did suffer I must suffer paine. Th'hydroptique drunkard, and night-scouting thiefe, The itchy Lecher, and selfe tickling proud 10 Have the remembrance of past joyes, for reliefe Of comming ills. To (poore) me is allow'd No ease; for, long, yet vehement griefe hath beene Th'effect and cause, the punishment and sinne.
[III. _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W:_ _omitted_ _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _&c._]
[7 sinne; now I _Ed:_ sinne, now I _B_, _W:_ sinne I now _1635-69_
repent; _Ed:_ repent, _1633-69_]
IV.
Oh my blacke Soule! now thou art summoned By sicknesse, deaths herald, and champion; Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done Treason, and durst not turne to whence hee is fled, Or like a thiefe, which till deaths doome be read, 5 Wisheth himselfe delivered from prison; But damn'd and hal'd to execution, Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned. Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lacke; But who shall give thee that grace to beginne? 10 Oh make thy selfe with holy mourning blacke, And red with blushing, as thou art with sinne; Or wash thee in Christs blood, which hath this might That being red, it dyes red soules to white.
[IV. _1635-69:_ II. _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _&c.:_ V. _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W_]
[1 Soule! _1633:_ Soule _1635-69_]
[8 imprisoned. _W:_ imprisoned; _1633-69_]
V.
I am a little world made cunningly Of Elements, and an Angelike spright, But black sinne hath betraid to endlesse night My worlds both parts, and (oh) both parts must die. You which beyond that heaven which was most high 5 Have found new sphears, and of new lands can write, Powre new seas in mine eyes, that so I might Drowne my world with my weeping earnestly, Or wash it, if it must be drown'd no more: But oh it must be burnt! alas the fire 10 Of lust and envie have burnt it heretofore, And made it fouler; Let their flames retire, And burne me ô Lord, with a fiery zeale Of thee and thy house, which doth in eating heale.
[V. _1635-69:_ _omitted_ _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _&c.:_ VII. _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W_]
[6 lands _B_, _S96_, _W:_ land _1635-69_, _O'F_]
[7 I _1635-54:_ he _1669_]
[9 it, _Ed:_ it: _W:_ it _1635-69_]
[10 burnt! _Ed:_ burnt, _1635-69_]
[11 have _B_, _S96_, _W:_ hath _O'F:_ _om._ _1635-69_]
[12 fouler; _W:_ fouler, _1635-69_
their] those _W_]
[13 Lord] God _W_]
VI.
This is my playes last scene, here heavens appoint My pilgrimages last mile; and my race Idly, yet quickly runne, hath this last pace, My spans last inch, my minutes latest point, And gluttonous death, will instantly unjoynt 5 My body, and soule, and I shall sleepe a space, But my'ever-waking part shall see that face, Whose feare already shakes my every joynt: Then, as my soule, to'heaven her first seate, takes flight, And earth-borne body, in the earth shall dwell, 10 So, fall my sinnes, that all may have their right, To where they'are bred, and would presse me, to hell. Impute me righteous, thus purg'd of evill, For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devill.
[VI. _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W:_ III. _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _&c._]
[6 and soule, _1635-69:_ and my soule, _1633_]
[7 Or presently, I know not, see that Face, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _W_]
[10 earth-borne _1635-69:_ earth borne _1633_]
[14 flesh,] flesh _1633_
the devill.] and devill. _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TC_, _W_]
VII.
At the round earths imagin'd corners, blow Your trumpets, Angells, and arise, arise From death, you numberlesse infinities Of soules, and to your scattred bodies goe, All whom the flood did, and fire shall o'erthrow, 5 All whom warre, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despaire, law, chance, hath slaine, and you whose eyes, Shall behold God, and never tast deaths woe. But let them sleepe, Lord, and mee mourne a space, For, if above all these, my sinnes abound, 10 'Tis late to aske abundance of thy grace, When wee are there; here on this lowly ground, Teach mee how to repent; for that's as good As if thou'hadst seal'd my pardon, with thy blood.
[VII. _1635-69:_ IV. _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _&c.:_ VIII. _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W_]
[5 o'erthrow] overthrow _1669_]
[6 dearth, _W:_ death, _1633-69_, _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TC_]
[8 woe. _W:_ woe, _1633-54:_ owe; _1669_]
[12 lowly] holy _1669_]
[14 thy] my _1669_]
VIII.
If faithfull soules be alike glorifi'd As Angels, then my fathers soule doth see, And adds this even to full felicitie, That valiantly I hels wide mouth o'rstride: But if our mindes to these soules be descry'd 5 By circumstances, and by signes that be Apparent in us, not immediately, How shall my mindes white truth by them be try'd? They see idolatrous lovers weepe and mourne, And vile blasphemous Conjurers to call 10 On Iefus name, and Pharisaicall Dissemblers feigne devotion. Then turne O pensive soule, to God, for he knowes best Thy true griefe, for he put it in my breast.
[VIII. _1635-69:_ _omitted_ _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _&c.:_ X. _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W_]
[7 in us, _W:_ in us _1635-69_. _See note_]
[8 by] to _B_, _S96_, _W_]
[10 vile _W:_ vilde _B_, _O'F_, _S96:_ stile _1635-69_]
[14 true _W:_ _om. 1635-69_, _B_, _S96_ in _W:_ into _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _S96_
my] thy _B_, _S96_]
IX.
If poysonous mineralls, and if that tree, Whose fruit threw death on else immortall us, If lecherous goats, if serpents envious Cannot be damn'd; Alas; why should I bee? Why should intent or reason, borne in mee, 5 Make sinnes, else equall, in mee more heinous? And mercy being easie, and glorious To God; in his sterne wrath, why threatens hee? But who am I, that dare dispute with thee O God? Oh! of thine onely worthy blood, 10 And my teares, make a heavenly Lethean flood, And drowne in it my sinnes blacke memorie; That thou remember them, some claime as debt, I thinke it mercy, if thou wilt forget.
[IX. _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W:_ V. _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _&c._]
[1 poysonous] poysons _1639-54_
and if that] or if the _B_, _O'F_, _S96_]
[2 (else immortal) _1635-69_]
[5 or] and _B_, _O'F_, _S96_]
[6 mee] mee, _1633_]
[8 God;] God, _1633_]
[9-10 thee O God? _W:_ thee? O God, _1633-69_]
[12 memorie;] memorie, _1633_]
[14 forget.] forget, _1633_]
X.
Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe, For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow, Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee. From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee, 5 Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee doe goe, Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie. Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell, 10 And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well, And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then? One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally, And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
[X. _1635-69:_ VI. _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _&c.:_ XI. _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W_]
[4 mee.] mee; _1633_]
[5 pictures _1633 and MSS.:_ picture _1635-69_]
[8 deliverie.] deliverie _1633-69_]
[9 Chance, _W:_ chance, _1633-69_]
[10 dost] doth _1633_
dwell,] dwell. _1633_]
[12 better] easier _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W_]
[13 wake] live _B_, _S96_, _W_]
[14 more; death, _Ed:_ more, death _1633-69_]
XI.
Spit in my face you Jewes, and pierce my side, Buffet, and scoffe, scourge, and crucifie mee, For I have sinn'd, and sinn'd, and onely hee, Who could do no iniquitie, hath dyed: But by my death can not be satisfied 5 My sinnes, which passe the Jewes impiety: They kill'd once an inglorious man, but I Crucifie him daily, being now glorified. Oh let mee then, his strange love still admire: Kings pardon, but he bore our punishment. 10 And _Iacob_ came cloth'd in vile harsh attire But to supplant, and with gainfull intent: God cloth'd himselfe in vile mans flesh, that so Hee might be weake enough to suffer woe.
[XI. _1635-69:_ VII. _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _&c.:_ _omitted_ _B_, _S96:_ _added among_ Other Meditations. _O'F:_ XIII. _W_]
[3 onely] humbly _W_]
[6 impiety] iniquitye _D_, _H49_]
[8 glorified.] glorified; _1633_]
[12 intent:] intent _1633_]
XII.
Why are wee by all creatures waited on? Why doe the prodigall elements supply Life and food to mee, being more pure then I, Simple, and further from corruption? Why brook'st thou, ignorant horse, subjection? 5 Why dost thou bull, and bore so seelily Dissemble weaknesse, and by'one mans stroke die, Whose whole kinde, you might swallow and feed upon? Weaker I am, woe is mee, and worse then you, You have not sinn'd, nor need be timorous. 10 But wonder at a greater wonder, for to us Created nature doth these things subdue, But their Creator, whom sin, nor nature tyed, For us, his Creatures, and his foes, hath dyed.
[XII. _1635-69:_ VIII. _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _&c.:_ _omitted_ _B_, _S96:_ _among_ Other Meditations. _O'F:_ XIV. _W_]
[1 are wee] ame I _W_]
[4 Simple, _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _W:_ Simpler _1635-69_, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_, _Chambers_]
[9 Weaker I am,] Alas I am weaker, _W_]
[10 timorous. _W:_ timorous, _1633-69_]
[11 a greater wonder, _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _O'F_ (greate), _TC_, _W:_ a greater, _1635-69_]
XIII.
What if this present were the worlds last night? Marke in my heart, O Soule, where thou dost dwell, The picture of Christ crucified, and tell Whether that countenance can thee affright, Teares in his eyes quench the amasing light, 5 Blood fills his frownes, which from his pierc'd head fell. And can that tongue adjudge thee unto hell, Which pray'd forgivenesse for his foes fierce spight? No, no; but as in my idolatrie I said to all my profane mistresses, 10 Beauty, of pitty, foulnesse onely is A signe of rigour: so I say to thee, To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assign'd, This beauteous forme assures a pitious minde.
[XIII _1635-69:_ IX. _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _&c.:_ _om. B_, _S96:_ _among_ Other Meditations. _O'F:_ XV. _W_]
[2 Marke] Looke _W_]
[4 that _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_, _W:_ his _1633-69_, _D_, _H49_]
[6 fell. _1639-69:_ fell _1633-35_]
[8 fierce] ranck _W_]
[14 assures _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_, _W:_ assumes _1633-69_]
XIV.
Batter my heart, three person'd God; for, you As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend; That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow mee,'and bend Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make me new. I, like an usurpt towne, to'another due, 5 Labour to'admit you, but Oh, to no end, Reason your viceroy in mee, mee should defend, But is captiv'd, and proves weake or untrue. Yet dearely'I love you,'and would be loved faine, But am betroth'd unto your enemie: 10 Divorce mee,'untie, or breake that knot againe, Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I Except you'enthrall mee, never shall be free, Nor ever chast, except you ravish mee.
[XIV. _1635-69:_ X. _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _&c.:_ _om. B_, _O'F_, _S96:_ XVI. _W_]
[7 mee should] wee should _1669_]
[8 untrue. _W:_ untrue, _1633-69_]
[9 loved _MSS.:_ lov'd _1633-69_]
[10 enemie: _W:_ enemie, _1633-69_]
XV.
Wilt thou love God, as he thee! then digest, My Soule, this wholsome meditation, How God the Spirit, by Angels waited on In heaven, doth make his Temple in thy brest. The Father having begot a Sonne most blest, 5 And still begetting, (for he ne'r begonne) Hath deign'd to chuse thee by adoption, Coheire to'his glory,'and Sabbaths endlesse rest. And as a robb'd man, which by search doth finde His stolne stuffe sold, must lose or buy'it againe: 10 The Sonne of glory came downe, and was slaine, Us whom he'had made, and Satan stolne, to unbinde. 'Twas much, that man was made like God before, But, that God should be made like man, much more.
[XV. _1635-69:_ XI. _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _&c.:_ XII. _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W_]
[4 brest. _W:_ brest, _1633-69_]
[8 rest.] rest; _1633_]
[11 Sonne _1633:_ Sunne _1633-69_]
[12 stolne, _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _TC:_ stole, _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W_, _Chambers_]
XVI.
Father, part of his double interest Unto thy kingdome, thy Sonne gives to mee, His joynture in the knottie Trinitie Hee keepes, and gives to me his deaths conquest. This Lambe, whose death, with life the world hath blest, 5 Was from the worlds beginning slaine, and he Hath made two Wills, which with the Legacie Of his and thy kingdome, doe thy Sonnes invest. Yet such are thy laws, that men argue yet Whether a man those statutes can fulfill; 10 None doth; but all-healing grace and spirit Revive againe what law and letter kill. Thy lawes abridgement, and thy last command Is all but love; Oh let this last Will stand!
[XVI. _1635-69:_ XII. _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _&c.:_ IV. _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W_]
[3 Trinitie] Trinitie, _1633_]
[8 doe _1633:_ _om. 1635-69:_ doth _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TC_, _W_
invest. _W:_ invest, _1633-39:_ invest: _1650-69_]
[9 thy _O'F_, _S96_, _W:_ these _1633-69:_ those _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _TC_]
[11 doth;] doth, _1633_
but all-healing _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _TC_, _W:_ but thy all-healing _1633-69_. _See note_
spirit] Spirit, _1633-69_]
[12 Revive againe] Revive and quicken _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W_
kill. _1635-69:_ kill, _1633_]
[14 this _1633-69:_ that _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _TC_, _W:_ thy _B_, _O'F_, _S96_]
XVII.
Since she whom I lov'd hath payd her last debt To Nature, and to hers, and my good is dead, And her Soule early into heaven ravished, Wholly on heavenly things my mind is sett. Here the admyring her my mind did whett 5 To seeke thee God; so streames do shew their head; But though I have found thee, and thou my thirst hast fed, A holy thirsty dropsy melts mee yett. But why should I begg more Love, when as thou Dost wooe my soule for hers; offring all thine: 10 And dost not only feare least I allow My Love to Saints and Angels things divine, But in thy tender jealosy dost doubt Least the World, Fleshe, yea Devill putt thee out.
[XVII. _W:_ _first printed in Gosse's_ Life and Letters of John Donne, 1899]
[2 dead,] dead _W_]
[6 their] y^r _W_
head;] head, _W_]
[10 wooe] _spelt_ woe _W_]
[12 divine,] divine _W_]
XVIII.
Show me deare Christ, thy spouse, so bright and clear. What! is it She, which on the other shore Goes richly painted? or which rob'd and tore Laments and mournes in Germany and here? Sleepes she a thousand, then peepes up one yeare? 5 Is she selfe truth and errs? now new, now outwore? Doth she, and did she, and shall she evermore On one, on seaven, or on no hill appeare? Dwells she with us, or like adventuring knights First travaile we to seeke and then make Love? 10 Betray kind husband thy spouse to our sights, And let myne amorous soule court thy mild Dove, Who is most trew, and pleasing to thee, then When she'is embrac'd and open to most men.
[XVIII. _W:_ _first printed in Gosse's_ Life _&c._]
[2 What!] What _W_]
[3 tore] _so I read W:_ lore _Gosse_]
XIX.
Oh, to vex me, contraryes meet in one: Inconstancy unnaturally hath begott A constant habit; that when I would not I change in vowes, and in devotione. As humorous is my contritione 5 As my prophane Love, and as soone forgott: As ridlingly distemper'd, cold and hott, As praying, as mute; as infinite, as none. I durst not view heaven yesterday; and to day In prayers, and flattering speaches I court God: 10 To morrow I quake with true feare of his rod. So my devout fitts come and go away Like a fantastique Ague: save that here Those are my best dayes, when I shake with feare.
[XIX. _W:_ _first printed in Gosse's_ Life _&c._]
[3 that] y^t _W_, _so always_]
[4 and] & _W_, _so always_]
_The Crosse._
Since Christ embrac'd the Crosse it selfe, dare I His image, th'image of his Crosse deny? Would I have profit by the sacrifice, And dare the chosen Altar to despise? It bore all other sinnes, but is it fit 5 That it should beare the sinne of scorning it? Who from the picture would avert his eye, How would he flye his paines, who there did dye? From mee, no Pulpit, nor misgrounded law, Nor scandall taken, shall this Crosse withdraw, 10 It shall not, for it cannot; for, the losse Of this Crosse, were to mee another Crosse; Better were worse, for, no affiction, No Crosse is so extreme, as to have none. Who can blot out the Crosse, which th'instrument 15 Of God, dew'd on mee in the Sacrament? Who can deny mee power, and liberty To stretch mine armes, and mine owne Crosse to be? Swimme, and at every stroake, thou art thy Crosse; The Mast and yard make one, where seas do tosse; 20 Looke downe, thou spiest out Crosses in small things; Looke up, thou seest birds rais'd on crossed wings; All the Globes frame, and spheares, is nothing else But the Meridians crossing Parallels. Materiall Crosses then, good physicke bee, 25 But yet spirituall have chiefe dignity. These for extracted chimique medicine serve, And cure much better, and as well preserve; Then are you your own physicke, or need none, When Still'd, or purg'd by tribulation. 30 For when that Crosse ungrudg'd, unto you stickes, Then are you to your selfe, a Crucifixe. As perchance, Carvers do not faces make, But that away, which hid them there, do take; Let Crosses, soe, take what hid Christ in thee, 35 And be his image, or not his, but hee. But, as oft Alchimists doe coyners prove, So may a selfe-dispising, get selfe-love, And then as worst surfets, of best meates bee, Soe is pride, issued from humility, 40 For, 'tis no child, but monster; therefore Crosse Your joy in crosses, else, 'tis double losse. And crosse thy senses, else, both they, and thou Must perish soone, and to destruction bowe. For if the'eye seeke good objects, and will take 45 No crosse from bad, wee cannot scape a snake. So with harsh, hard, sowre, stinking, crosse the rest, Make them indifferent all; call nothing best. But most the eye needs crossing, that can rome, And move; To th'other th'objects must come home. 50 And crosse thy heart: for that in man alone Points downewards, and hath palpitation. Crosse those dejections, when it downeward tends, And when it to forbidden heights pretends. And as the braine through bony walls doth vent 55 By sutures, which a Crosses forme present, So when thy braine workes, ere thou utter it, Crosse and correct concupiscence of witt. Be covetous of Crosses, let none fall. Crosse no man else, but crosse thy selfe in all. 60 Then doth the Crosse of Christ worke fruitfully Within our hearts, when wee love harmlesly That Crosses pictures much, and with more care That Crosses children, which our Crosses are.
[The Crosse. _1633-69_ (_following_, _1635-69_, In that, ô Queene _&c._ _p._ 427): _similarly_, _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[8 paines] pangs _JC_]
[12 Crosse; _1635-69:_ Crosse. _1633_]
[13 affliction, _Ed:_ affliction _1633-69_]
[14 none. _Ed:_ none; _1633-54:_ none: _1669_]
[19 Crosse; _Ed:_ Crosse, _1633:_ Crosse, _1635-69_]
[20 make] makes _B_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _S_
where] when _O'F_
tosse; _1635-69:_ tosse. _1633_]
[21 out] our _1669_]
[23 is] are _A25_, _B_]
[26 But yet] And yet _A18_, _D_, _JC_, _N_, _TC_]
[27 medicine] medicines _A25_, _B_, _JC_]
[33 make, _1635-69:_ make: _1633_]
[34 take; _Ed:_ take. _1633:_ take: _1635-69_]
[37 oft _Ed:_ oft, _1633-69_]
[38 selfe-love, _D:_ selfe-love. _1633-69_]
[42 losse. _Ed:_ losse, _1633-69_]
[44 destruction] corruption _O'F_]
[45 seeke] see _1650-69_]
[48 all; call nothing best. _Ed:_ indifferent; call nothing best. _1633 and MSS:_ indifferent; all, nothing best. _1635-69_]
[50 To th'other th'objects _1633:_ To th'others objects _1635-69_]
[52 Points _A18_, _A25_, _N_, _P_, _S_, _TC:_ Pants _1633-69_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _O'F_]
[53 dejections _1633:_ detorsions _1635-69_, _O'F_]
[55 the] thy _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _TC_]
[61 fruitfully _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _TC:_ faithfully _1633-69_]
[63 That _A18_, _A25_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _TC:_ The _1633-69_]
_Resurrection, imperfect._
Sleep sleep old Sun, thou canst not have repast As yet, the wound thou took'st on friday last; Sleepe then, and rest; The world may beare thy stay, A better Sun rose before thee to day, Who, not content to'enlighten all that dwell 5 On the earths face, as thou, enlightned hell, And made the darke fires languish in that vale, As, at thy presence here, our fires grow pale. Whose body having walk'd on earth, and now Hasting to Heaven, would, that he might allow 10 Himselfe unto all stations, and fill all, For these three daies become a minerall; Hee was all gold when he lay downe, but rose All tincture, and doth not alone dispose Leaden and iron wills to good, but is 15 Of power to make even sinfull flesh like his. Had one of those, whose credulous pietie Thought, that a Soule one might discerne and see Goe from a body,'at this sepulcher been, And, issuing from the sheet, this body seen, 20 He would have justly thought this body a soule, If not of any man, yet of the whole. _Desunt cætera._
[Resurrection, imperfect. _1633-69_ (_following_ By Euphrates _&c._ _p._ 424), _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[15 good, _1633-69 and MSS.: Chambers queries_ gold]
[22 If] If, _1633-69_]
_The Annuntiation and Passion._
Tamely, fraile body,'abstaine to day; to day My soule eates twice, Christ hither and away. She sees him man, so like God made in this, That of them both a circle embleme is, Whose first and last concurre; this doubtfull day 5 Of feast or fast, Christ came, and went away. Shee sees him nothing twice at once, who'is all; Shee sees a Cedar plant it selfe, and fall, Her Maker put to making, and the head Of life, at once, not yet alive, yet dead. 10 She sees at once the virgin mother stay Reclus'd at home, Publique at Golgotha; Sad and rejoyc'd shee's seen at once, and seen At almost fiftie, and at scarce fifteene. At once a Sonne is promis'd her, and gone, 15 Gabriell gives Christ to her, He her to John; Not fully a mother, Shee's in Orbitie, At once receiver and the legacie. All this, and all betweene, this day hath showne, Th'Abridgement of Christs story, which makes one 20 (As in plaine Maps, the furthest West is East) Of the'Angels _Ave_,'and _Consummatum est_. How well the Church, Gods Court of faculties Deales, in some times, and seldome joyning these! As by the selfe-fix'd Pole wee never doe 25 Direct our course, but the next starre thereto, Which showes where the'other is, and which we say (Because it strayes not farre) doth never stray; So God by his Church, neerest to him, wee know, And stand firme, if wee by her motion goe; 30 His Spirit, as his fiery Pillar doth Leade, and his Church, as cloud; to one end both. This Church, by letting these daies joyne, hath shown Death and conception in mankinde is one; Or'twas in him the same humility, 35 That he would be a man, and leave to be: Or as creation he hath made, as God, With the last judgement, but one period, His imitating Spouse would joyne in one Manhoods extremes: He shall come, he is gone: 40 Or as though one blood drop, which thence did fall, Accepted, would have serv'd, he yet shed all; So though the least of his paines, deeds, or words, Would busie a life, she all this day affords; This treasure then, in grosse, my Soule uplay, 45 And in my life retaile it every day.
[The Annuntiation and Passion. _1633-69:_ Upon the Annuntiation and Passion falling upon one day. Anno D[^n]i 1608. _B_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96:_ _similarly_, _N_, _TCD:_ The Annuntiation. _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ _no title_, _P_]
[1 Tamely, fraile body, _Ed:_ Tamely fraile body _1633:_ Tamely fraile flesh, _1635-69_, _O'F_, _S96_ (_1650-69 accidentally drop second_ to day)]
[6 away.] away; _1633:_ away, _1635-39_]
[10 yet dead. _Ed:_ yet dead; _1633_, _B_, _P_, _S:_ and dead; _1635-69_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCD_ (_full stop_, _MSS._)]
[12 at Golgotha; _Ed:_ at Golgotha. _1633-69_]
[13 Sad and rejoyc'd] Rejoyc'd and sad _B_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_]
[18 legacie. _Ed:_ legacie; _1633-69_]
[24 these! _Ed:_ these? _D_, _TCD:_ these; _1633:_ these. _1635-69_]
[31 as _1633:_ and _1635-69_]
[32 both. _1635-69:_ both: _1633_]
[33 these _B_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, _TCD:_ those _1633-69_
daies _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _TCD:_ feasts _1635-69_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_]
[34 one; _Ed:_ one. _1633:_ are one. _1635-69_ (one _1669_)]
[37 hath] had _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_]
_Goodfriday_, 1613. _Riding Westward._
Let mans Soule be a Spheare, and then, in this, The intelligence that moves, devotion is, And as the other Spheares, by being growne Subject to forraigne motions, lose their owne, And being by others hurried every day, 5 Scarce in a yeare their naturall forme obey: Pleasure or businesse, so, our Soules admit For their first mover, and are whirld by it. Hence is't, that I am carryed towards the West This day, when my Soules forme bends toward the East. 10 There I should see a Sunne, by rising set, And by that setting endlesse day beget; But that Christ on this Crosse, did rise and fall, Sinne had eternally benighted all. Yet dare I'almost be glad, I do not see 15 That spectacle of too much weight for mee. Who sees Gods face, that is selfe life, must dye; What a death were it then to see God dye? It made his owne Lieutenant Nature shrinke, It made his footstoole crack, and the Sunne winke. 20 Could I behold those hands which span the Poles, And turne all spheares at once, peirc'd with those holes? Could I behold that endlesse height which is Zenith to us, and our Antipodes, Humbled below us? or that blood which is 25 The seat of all our Soules, if not of his, Made durt of dust, or that flesh which was worne By God, for his apparell, rag'd, and torne? If on these things I durst not looke, durst I Upon his miserable mother cast mine eye, 30 Who was Gods partner here, and furnish'd thus Halfe of that Sacrifice, which ransom'd us? Though these things, as I ride, be from mine eye, They'are present yet unto my memory, For that looks towards them; and thou look'st towards mee, 35 O Saviour, as thou hang'st upon the tree; I turne my backe to thee, but to receive Corrections, till thy mercies bid thee leave. O thinke mee worth thine anger, punish mee, Burne off my rusts, and my deformity, 40 Restore thine Image, so much, by thy grace, That thou may'st know mee, and I'll turne my face.
[Goodfriday, _&c._ _1633-69:_ Good Friday (_with or without date and_ Riding _&c._) _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _N_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ Good Friday. 1613. Riding towards Wales. _D_, _Lec_, _O'F:_ Good Friday. 1613. Riding to S^r Edward Harbert in Wales. _H49:_ M^r J. Duñ goeing from Sir H. G. on good friday sent him back this meditation on the way. _A25_]
[4 motions _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_ motion, _1633-69_]
[8 and] _bis_ _1650-54_]
[10 toward _1633:_ _do. or_ towards _MSS.:_ to _1635-69_, _O'F_]
[12 beget _1633:_ beget. _1635-69_, _Chambers_]
[13 this Crosse, _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC:_ his Crosse, _1635-69_, _B_, _Cy_, _N_, _TCD_]
[16 too] two _1639-69_]
[22 turne _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _N_, _S_, _TC:_ tune _1633-69_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _S96_
once,] once _1633_]
[30 Upon his miserable _1633_, _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TC:_
On his distressed _1635-69_]
[40 rusts, _1633_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TCD:_ rust, _1635-69_, _A18_, _S_, _TCC_]
The Litanie. I.
THE LITANIE.
I.
_The_ FATHER.
Father of Heaven, and him, by whom It, and us for it, and all else, for us Thou madest, and govern'st ever, come And re-create mee, now growne ruinous: My heart is by dejection, clay, 5 And by selfe-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_ SONNE.
O Sonne of God, who seeing two things, 10 Sinne, and death crept in, which were never made, By bearing one, tryed'st with what stings The other could thine heritage invade; O be thou nail'd unto my heart, And crucified againe, 15 Part not from it, though it from thee would part, But let it be, by applying so thy paine, Drown'd in thy blood, and in thy passion slaine.
III.
_The_ HOLY GHOST.
O Holy Ghost, whose temple I Am, but of mudde walls, and condensed dust, 20 And being sacrilegiously Halfe wasted with youths fires, of pride and lust, Must with new stormes be weatherbeat; Double in my heart thy flame, Which let devout sad teares intend; and let 25 (Though this glasse lanthorne, flesh, do suffer maime) Fire, Sacrifice, Priest, Altar be the same.
IV.
_The_ TRINITY.
O Blessed glorious Trinity, Bones to Philosophy, but milke to faith, Which, as wise serpents, diversly 30 Most slipperinesse, yet most entanglings hath, As you distinguish'd undistinct By power, love, knowledge bee, Give mee a such selfe different instinct Of these; let all mee elemented bee, 35 Of power, to love, to know, you unnumbred three.
V.
_The Virgin_ MARY.
For that faire blessed Mother-maid, Whose flesh redeem'd us; That she-Cherubin, Which unlock'd Paradise, and made One claime for innocence, and disseiz'd sinne, 40 Whose wombe was a strange heav'n, for there God cloath'd himselfe, and grew, Our zealous thankes wee poure. As her deeds were Our helpes, so are her prayers; nor can she sue In vaine, who hath such titles unto you. 45
VI.
_The Angels._
And since this life our nonage is, And wee in Wardship to thine Angels be, Native in heavens faire Palaces, Where we shall be but denizen'd by thee, As th'earth conceiving by the Sunne, 50 Yeelds faire diversitie, Yet never knowes which course that light doth run, So let mee study, that mine actions bee Worthy their sight, though blinde in how they see.
VII.
_The Patriarches._
And let thy Patriarches Desire 55 (Those great Grandfathers of thy Church, which saw More in the cloud, then wee in fire, Whom Nature clear'd more, then us Grace and Law, And now in Heaven still pray, that wee May use our new helpes right,) 60 Be satisfy'd, and fructifie in mee; Let not my minde be blinder by more light Nor Faith, by Reason added, lose her sight.
VIII.
_The Prophets._
Thy Eagle-sighted Prophets too, Which were thy Churches Organs, and did sound 65 That harmony, which made of two One law, and did unite, but not confound; Those heavenly Poëts which did see Thy will, and it expresse In rythmique feet, in common pray for mee, 70 That I by them excuse not my excesse In seeking secrets, or Poëtiquenesse.
IX.
_The Apostles._
And thy illustrious Zodiacke Of twelve Apostles, which ingirt this All, (From whom whosoever do not take 75 Their light, to darke deep pits, throw downe, and fall,) As through their prayers, thou'hast let mee know That their bookes are divine; May they pray still, and be heard, that I goe Th'old broad way in applying; O decline 80 Mee, when my comment would make thy word mine.
X.
_The Martyrs._
And since thou so desirously Did'st long to die, that long before thou could'st, And long since thou no more couldst dye, Thou in thy scatter'd mystique body wouldst 85 In Abel dye, and ever since In thine; let their blood come To begge for us, a discreet patience Of death, or of worse life: for Oh, to some Not to be Martyrs, is a martyrdome. 90
XI.
_The Confessors._
Therefore with thee triumpheth there A Virgin Squadron of white Confessors, Whose bloods betroth'd, not marryed were, Tender'd, not taken by those Ravishers: They know, and pray, that wee may know, 95 In every Christian Hourly tempestuous persecutions grow; Tentations martyr us alive; A man Is to himselfe a Dioclesian.
XII.
_The Virgins._
The cold white snowie Nunnery, 100 Which, as thy mother, their high Abbesse, sent Their bodies backe againe to thee, As thou hadst lent them, cleane and innocent, Though they have not obtain'd of thee, That or thy Church, or I, 105 Should keep, as they, our first integrity; Divorce thou sinne in us, or bid it die, And call chast widowhead Virginitie.
XIII.
_The Doctors._
Thy sacred Academic above Of Doctors, whose paines have unclasp'd, and taught 110 Both bookes of life to us (for love To know thy Scriptures tells us, we are wrote In thy other booke) pray for us there That what they have misdone Or mis-said, wee to that may not adhere; 115 Their zeale may be our sinne. Lord let us runne Meane waies, and call them stars, but not the Sunne.
XIV.
And whil'st this universall Quire, That Church in triumph, this in warfare here, Warm'd with one all-partaking fire 120 Of love, that none be lost, which cost thee deare, Prayes ceaslesly,'and thou hearken too, (Since to be gratious Our taske is treble, to pray, beare, and doe) Heare this prayer Lord: O Lord deliver us 125 From trusting in those prayers, though powr'd out thus.
XV.
From being anxious, or secure, Dead clods of sadnesse, or light squibs of mirth, From thinking, that great courts immure All, or no happinesse, or that this earth 130 Is only for our prison fram'd, Or that thou art covetous To them whom thou lovest, or that they are maim'd From reaching this worlds sweet, who seek thee thus, With all their might, Good Lord deliver us. 135
XVI.
From needing danger, to bee good, From owing thee yesterdaies teares to day, From trusting so much to thy blood, That in that hope, wee wound our soule away, From bribing thee with Almes, to excuse 140 Some sinne more burdenous, From light affecting, in religion, newes, From thinking us all soule, neglecting thus Our mutuall duties, Lord deliver us.
XVII.
From tempting Satan to tempt us, 145 By our connivence, or slack companie, From measuring ill by vitious, Neglecting to choake sins spawne, Vanitie, From indiscreet humilitie, Which might be scandalous, 150 And cast reproach on Christianitie, From being spies, or to spies pervious, From thirst, or scorne of fame, deliver us.
XVIII.
Deliver us for thy descent Into the Virgin, whose wombe was a place 155 Of middle kind; and thou being sent To'ungratious us, staid'st at her full of grace; And through thy poore birth, where first thou Glorifiedst Povertie, And yet soone after riches didst allow, 160 By accepting Kings gifts in the Epiphanie, Deliver, and make us, to both waies free.
XIX.
And through that bitter agonie, Which is still the agonie of pious wits, Disputing what distorted thee, 165 And interrupted evennesse, 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 170 Wee may not, and we may blinde unjust men.
XX.
Through thy submitting all, to blowes Thy face, thy clothes to spoile; thy fame to scorne, All waies, which rage, or Justice knowes, And by which thou could'st shew, that thou wast born; 175 And through thy gallant humblenesse Which thou in death did'st shew, Dying before thy soule they could expresse, Deliver us from death, by dying so, To this world, ere this world doe bid us goe. 180
XXI.
When senses, which thy souldiers are, Wee arme against thee, and they fight for sinne, When want, sent but to tame, doth warre And worke despaire a breach to enter in, When plenty, Gods image, and seale 185 Makes us Idolatrous, And love it, not him, whom it should reveale, When wee are mov'd to seeme religious Only to vent wit, Lord deliver us.
XXII.
In Churches, when the'infirmitie 190 Of him which speakes, diminishes the Word, When Magistrates doe mis-apply To us, as we judge, lay or ghostly sword, When plague, which is thine Angell, raignes, Or wars, thy Champions, swaie, 195 When Heresie, thy second deluge, gaines; In th'houre of death, the'Eve of last judgement day, Deliver us from the sinister way.
XXIII.
Heare us, O heare us Lord; to thee A sinner is more musique, when he prayes, 200 Then spheares, or Angels praises bee, In Panegyrique Allelujaes; Heare us, for till thou heare us, Lord We know not what to say; Thine eare to'our sighes, teares, thoughts gives voice and word. 205 O Thou who Satan heard'st in Jobs sicke day, Heare thy selfe now, for thou in us dost pray.
XXIV.
That wee may change to evennesse This intermitting aguish Pietie; That snatching cramps of wickednesse 210 And Apoplexies of fast sin, may die; That musique of thy promises, Not threats in Thunder may Awaken us to our just offices; What in thy booke, thou dost, or creatures say, 215 That we may heare, Lord heare us, when wee pray.
XXV.
That our eares sicknesse wee may cure, And rectifie those Labyrinths aright, That wee, by harkning, not procure Our praise, nor others dispraise so invite, 220 That wee get not a slipperinesse And senslesly decline, From hearing bold wits jeast at Kings excesse, To'admit the like of majestie divine, That we may locke our eares, Lord open thine. 225
XXVI.
That living law, the Magistrate, Which to give us, and make us physicke, doth Our vices often aggravate, That Preachers taxing sinne, before her growth, That Satan, and invenom'd men 230 Which well, if we starve, dine, When they doe most accuse us, may see then Us, to amendment, heare them; thee decline: That we may open our eares, Lord lock thine.
XXVII.
That learning, thine Ambassador, 235 From thine allegeance wee never tempt, That beauty, paradises flower For physicke made, from poyson be exempt, That wit, borne apt high good to doe, By dwelling lazily 240 On Natures nothing, be not nothing too, That our affections kill us not, nor dye, Heare us, weake ecchoes, O thou eare, and cry.
XXVIII.
Sonne of God heare us, and since thou By taking our blood, owest it us againe, 245 Gaine to thy self, or us allow; And let not both us and thy selfe be slaine; O Lambe of God, which took'st our sinne Which could not stick to thee, O let it not returne to us againe, 250 But Patient and Physition being free, As sinne is nothing, let it no where be.
[The Litanie. _1633-69:_ A Letanie. _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD_]
[17 be, _D:_ be _1633-69_]
[30 serpents, _Ed:_ serpents _1633-69_]
[34 a such _1633:_ such _1635-69_, _JC:_ such a _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _TC_
instinct _1633:_ instinct, _1635-69_]
[35 these; _Ed:_ these, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ these _1633-69:_ thee _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[48 Native] Natives _B_, _JC_, _S_
in heavens faire Palaces, _D:_ in heavens faire Palaces _1633-39:_ in heavens Palaces, _1650-69_]
[52 which _1633:_ what _1635-69_]
[56 Grandfathers] Grandfathers, _1633_]
[58 then] that _1635-39_]
[58 Grace and Law, _D:_ grace and law, _1633-69_]
[61 satisfy'd, _1635-69_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _N_, _S96_, _TC:_ sanctified, _1633_
fructifie] fructified _A18_, _JC_]
[63 Faith, _D:_ Faith _1633-69_]
[93 were, _Ed:_ were; _1633-69_]
[97 grow; _Ed:_ grow, _1633-69_]
[100 The] Thy _B_, _D_, _H49_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_]
[109 Thy] The _1635-69_
Academie _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec:_ Academ _1635-69:_ Academe _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TC_]
[112 thy] the _1650-69_
Scriptures] Scripture _1669_
wrote] _spelt_ wrought _1633 and MSS._]
[115 adhere; _Ed:_ adhere, _1633-69_]
[122 too, _D:_ too _1633-69_]
[125 Lord: _Ed:_ Lord, _1633-69_]
[128 clods _1633:_ clouds _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_ (_which corrects_), _S96_]
[133 whom] _om. D_, _H49_, _Lec_
them] _om. A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[134 sweet, _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _JC_, _Lec_, _S96:_ sweets, _1635-69_, _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TC_]
[137 owing] owning _1669_]
[139 soule] souls _1669_, _JC_, _O'F_, _S_]
[153 fame,] flame, _1633_]
[154 for _1633_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _S_, _TC:_ through _1635-69_, _JC_, _O'F_, _S96_, _Chambers_]
[156 middle] midle _1633_, _D_]
[157 grace;] grace, _1633_]
[159 Glorifiedst] Glorifiest _1633 some copies_, _D_, _H49_]
[162 Deliver, and] Deliver us, and _Chambers_]
[163 through] though, _1633_
that] thy _B_, _JC_, _O'F_, _S96_]
[164 is still] still is _1633 some copies_, _1635-69_]
[166 fits;] fits, _1633_]
[173 clothes _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _S_, _TC:_ robes _1635-69_, _B_ (robe), _JC_, _O'F_, _S96_]
[175 born; _Ed:_ born, _1633-69_]
[196 When] Where _many MSS._]
[197 last judgement] the last _JC_, _S:_ Gods judgement _B_]
[202 Allelujaes; _1635-69:_ Allelujaes, _1633_]
[204 say; _D:_ say. _1633-69_]
[209 Pietie; _Ed:_ Pietie, _1633-69_]
[214 offices;] offices, _1633_]
[217 wee _1633:_ me _1635-69_]
[219 wee, _Ed:_ wee _1633-69_
harkning, not _1633-69:_ heark'ning not _Chambers_]
[231 well, _1633_ (_but altered to_ will, _in some copies_), _A18_, _B_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _S_, _TC:_ will, _1635-69_, _Lec_, _Chambers_, _Grolier_]
[233 decline: _Ed:_ decline; _1633-69_]
[239 apt ... doe,] apt, ... doe _1633_]
[243 weake ecchoes, O thou eare, and cry. _1633-69_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _N_, _TC:_ weake wretches, O thou eare and eye. _B_, _S_, _S96:_ _Chambers adopts_ Eye _from S_, _O'F reads_ eye_, _and TCC alters_ crye _to_ eye, _all retaining_ ecchoes. _See note_]
[245 againe,] againe _1633_]
[246 or us _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _JC_, _N_, _S_, _TC:_ and us _1635-69_, _O'F_, _S96_, _Chambers_]
[248 O Lambe] O lambe _1633_]
_Vpon the translation of the Psalmes by Sir_ Philip Sydney, _and the Countesse of Pembroke his Sister._
Eternall God, (for whom who ever dare Seeke new expressions, doe the Circle square, And thrust into strait corners of poore wit Thee, who art cornerlesse and infinite) I would but blesse thy Name, not name thee now; 5 (And thy gifts are as infinite as thou:) Fixe we our prayses therefore on this one, That, as thy blessed Spirit fell upon These Psalmes first Author in a cloven tongue; (For 'twas a double power by which he sung 10 The highest matter in the noblest forme;) So thou hast cleft that spirit, to performe That worke againe, and shed it, here, upon Two, by their bloods, and by thy Spirit one; A Brother and a Sister, made by thee 15 The Organ, where thou art the Harmony. Two that make one _Iohn Baptists_ holy voyce, And who that Psalme, _Now let the Iles rejoyce_, Have both translated, and apply'd it too, Both told us what, and taught us how to doe. 20 They shew us Ilanders our joy, our King, They tell us _why_, and teach us _how_ to sing; Make all this All, three Quires, heaven, earth, and sphears; The first, Heaven, hath a song, but no man heares, The Spheares have Musick, but they have no tongue, 25 Their harmony is rather danc'd than sung; But our third Quire, to which the first gives eare, (For, Angels learne by what the Church does here) This Quire hath all. The Organist is hee Who hath tun'd God and Man, the Organ we: 30 The songs are these, which heavens high holy Muse Whisper'd to _David_, _David_ to the Iewes: And _Davids_ Successors, in holy zeale, In formes of joy and art doe re-reveale To us so sweetly and sincerely too, 35 That I must not rejoyce as I would doe When I behold that these Psalmes are become So well attyr'd abroad, so ill at home, So well in Chambers, in thy Church so ill, As I can scarce call that reform'd untill 40 This be reform'd; 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 harm than any other, sing? For _that_ we pray, we praise thy name for _this_, 45 Which, by this _Moses_ and this _Miriam_, is Already done; and as those Psalmes we call (Though some have other Authors) _Davids_ all: So though some have, some may some Psalmes translate, We thy Sydnean Psalmes shall celebrate, 50 And, till we come th'Extemporall song to sing, (Learn'd the first hower, that we see the King, Who hath translated those translators) may These their sweet learned labours, all the way Be as our tuning; that, when hence we part, 55 We may fall in with them, and sing our part.
[Vpon the _&c._ _1635-69:_ _no extant MSS._]
[17 voyce, _1635-39:_ voyce; _1650-69_]
[22 sing;] sing. _1635-69_]
[23 three Quires, _1669:_ 3 Quires, _1635-54_]
[28 here _1669:_ heare _1635-54_ (_the same word, not_ hear _as in Chambers' note_)]
[46 this Moses _Grosart:_ thy _Moses_ _1635-69_]
[55: tuning; _1719:_ tuning, _1635-69_
part, _1719:_ part _1635-69_]
_Ode: Of our Sense of Sinne._
1. Vengeance will sit above our faults; but till She there doth sit, We see _her_ not, nor _them_. Thus, blinde, yet still We leade her way; and thus, whil'st we doe ill, We suffer it. 5
2. Vnhappy he, whom youth makes not beware Of doing ill. Enough we labour under age, and care; In number, th'errours of the last place, are The greatest still. 10
3. Yet we, that should the ill we now begin As soone repent, (Strange thing!) perceive not; our faults are not seen, But past us; neither felt, but onely in The punishment. 15
4. But we know our selves least; Mere outward shews Our mindes so store, That our soules, no more than our eyes disclose But forme and colour. Onely he who knowes Himselfe, knowes more. 20
_I. D._
[Ode. _1635-69_, _O'F:_ Of our Sense of Sinne. _H40_, _RP31_ (_in margin_, S^{r} Edw. Herbert): _no title_, _B_, _Cy_, _P_, _S_]
[2 doth _1635-39:_ do _1650-69_]
[11 now] new _B_]
[15 The _1635-69_, _Cy_, _P:_ Our _B_, _H40_, _O'F_]
_To M^{r}_ Tilman _after he had taken orders._
Thou, whose diviner soule hath caus'd thee now To put thy hand unto the holy Plough, Making Lay-scornings of the Ministry, Not an impediment, but victory; What bringst thou home with thee? how is thy mind 5 Affected since the vintage? Dost thou finde New thoughts and stirrings in thee? and as Steele Toucht with a Loadstone, dost new motions feele? Or, as a Ship after much paine and care, For Iron and Cloth brings home rich Indian ware, 10 Hast thou thus traffiqu'd, but with farre more gaine Of noble goods, and with lesse time and paine? Thou art the same materials, as before, Onely the stampe is changed; but no more. And as new crowned Kings alter the face, 15 But not the monies substance; so hath grace Chang'd onely Gods old Image by Creation, To Christs new stampe, at this thy Coronation; Or, as we paint Angels with wings, because They beare Gods message, and proclaime his lawes, 20 Since thou must doe the like, and so must move, Art thou new feather'd with cœlestiall love? Deare, tell me where thy purchase lies, and shew What thy advantage is above, below. But if thy gainings doe surmount expression, 25 Why doth the foolish world scorne that profession, Whose joyes passe speech? Why do they think unfit That Gentry should joyne families with it? As if their day were onely to be spent In dressing, Mistressing and complement; 30 Alas poore joyes, but poorer men, whose trust Seemes richly placed in sublimed dust; (For, such are cloathes and beauty, which though gay, Are, at the best, but of sublimed clay.) Let then the world thy calling disrespect, 35 But goe thou on, and pitty their neglect. What function is so noble, as to bee Embassadour to God and destinie? To open life, to give kingdomes to more Than Kings give dignities; to keepe heavens doore? 40 _Maries_ prerogative was to beare Christ, so 'Tis preachers to convey him, for they doe As Angels out of clouds, from Pulpits speake; And blesse the poore beneath, the lame, the weake. If then th'Astronomers, whereas they spie 45 A new-found Starre, their Opticks magnifie, How brave are those, who with their Engine, can Bring man to heaven, and heaven againe to man? These are thy titles and preheminences, In whom must meet Gods graces, mens offences, 50 And so the heavens which beget all things here, And the earth our mother, which these things doth beare, Both these in thee, are in thy Calling knit, And make thee now a blest Hermaphrodite.
[To M^{r} Tilman _&c._ _1635-69:_ _no extant MSS._]
[18 Christs] Chists _1635_]
[34 clay.) _Ed:_ clay) _1635-69_]
[52 beare, _1650-69:_ beare _1635-39_]
_A Hymne to Christ, at the Authors last going into Germany._
In what torne ship soever I embarke, That ship shall be my embleme of thy Arke; What sea soever swallow mee, that flood Shall be to mee an embleme of thy blood; Though thou with clouds of anger do disguise 5 Thy race; yet through that maske I know those eyes, Which, though they turne away sometimes, They never will despise.
I sacrifice this Iland unto thee, And all whom I lov'd there, and who lov'd mee; 10 When I have put our seas twixt them and mee, Put thou thy sea betwixt my sinnes and thee. As the trees sap doth seeke the root below In winter, in my winter now I goe, Where none but thee, th'Eternall root 15 Of true Love I may know.
Nor thou nor thy religion dost controule, The amorousnesse of an harmonious Soule, But thou would'st have that love thy selfe: As thou Art jealous, Lord, so I am jealous now, 20 Thou lov'st not, till from loving more, thou free My soule: Who ever gives, takes libertie: O, if thou car'st not whom I love Alas, thou lov'st not mee.
Seale then this bill of my Divorce to All, 25 On whom those fainter beames of love did fall; Marry those loves, which in youth scattered bee On Fame, Wit, Hopes (false mistresses) to thee. Churches are best for Prayer, that have least light: To see God only, I goe out of sight: 30 And to scape stormy dayes, I chuse An Everlasting night.
[A Hymne _&c._ _1633-69:_ A Hymne to Christ. _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ At his going with my Lord of Doncaster 1619. _B_, _and similarly_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96:_ _in MSS. last two lines of each stanza given as one_]
[2 my ... thy] an ... the _P_]
[3 soever swallow mee, that] soe'er swallows me up, that _O'F_]
[10 I lov'd there, _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TCC:_ I love here, _1635-69:_ I love there _P_
who lov'd mee; _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ who love mee; _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_]
[11 our seas _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ this flood _1635-69:_ these (_or_ those) seas _B_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_]
[12 sea _A18_, _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TC:_ seas _1633_, _P:_ blood _1635-69_]
[15 thee, th'Eternall root] thy eternall work _B_, _O'F_ (_where it is altered to reading of text_), _P_ (externall workes), _S96_]
[28 Fame, _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ Face, _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_]
_The Lamentations of Ieremy, for the most part according to Tremelius._
Chap. I.
CHAP. I.
1 How sits this citie, late most populous, Thus solitary, and like a widdow thus! Amplest of Nations, Queene of Provinces She was, who now thus tributary is!
2 Still in the night shee weepes, and her teares fall 5 Downe by her cheekes along, and none of all Her lovers comfort her; Perfidiously Her friends have dealt, and now are enemie.
3 Unto great bondage, and afflictions Juda is captive led; Those nations 10 With whom shee dwells, no place of rest afford, In streights shee meets her Persecutors sword.
4 Emptie are the gates of Sion, and her waies Mourne, because none come to her solemne dayes. Her Priests doe groane, her maides are comfortlesse, 15 And shee's unto her selfe a bitternesse.
5 Her foes are growne her head, and live at Peace, Because when her transgressions did increase, The Lord strooke her with sadnesse: Th'enemie Doth drive her children to captivitie. 20
6 From Sions daughter is all beauty gone, Like Harts, which seeke for Pasture, and find none, Her Princes are, and now before the foe Which still pursues them, without strength they go.
7 Now in her daies of Teares, Jerusalem 25 (Her men slaine by the foe, none succouring them) Remembers what of old, shee esteemed most, Whilest her foes laugh at her, for what she hath lost.
8 Jerusalem hath sinn'd, therefore is shee Remov'd, as women in uncleannesse bee; 30 Who honor'd, scorne her, for her foulnesse they Have seene; her selfe doth groane, and turne away.
9 Her foulnesse in her skirts was seene, yet she Remembred not her end; Miraculously Therefore shee fell, none comforting: Behold 35 O Lord my affliction, for the Foe growes bold.
10 Upon all things where her delight hath beene, The foe hath stretch'd his hand, for shee hath seene Heathen, whom thou command'st, should not doe so, Into her holy Sanctuary goe. 40
11 And all her people groane, and seeke for bread; And they have given, only to be fed, All precious things, wherein their pleasure lay: How cheape I'am growne, O Lord, behold, and weigh.
12 All this concernes not you, who passe by mee, 45 O see, and marke if any sorrow bee Like to my sorrow, which Jehova hath Done to mee in the day of his fierce wrath?
13 That fire, which by himselfe is governed He hath cast from heaven on my bones, and spred 50 A net before my feet, and mee o'rthrowne, And made me languish all the day alone.
14 His hand hath of my sinnes framed a yoake Which wreath'd, and cast upon my neck, hath broke My strength. The Lord unto those enemies 55 Hath given mee, from whom I cannot rise.
15 He under foot hath troden in my sight My strong men; He did company invite To breake my young men; he the winepresse hath Trod upon Juda's daughter in his wrath. 60
16 For these things doe I weepe, mine eye, mine eye Casts water out; For he which should be nigh To comfort mee, is now departed farre; The foe prevailes, forlorne my children are.
17 There's none, though _Sion_ do stretch out her hand, 65 To comfort her, it is the Lords command That _Iacobs_ foes girt him. _Ierusalem_ Is as an uncleane woman amongst them.
18 But yet the Lord is just, and righteous still, I have rebell'd against his holy will; 70 O heare all people, and my sorrow see, My maides, my young men in captivitie.
19 I called for my _lovers_ then, but they Deceiv'd mee, and my Priests, and Elders lay Dead in the citie; for they sought for meat 75 Which should refresh their soules, they could not get.
20 Because I am in streights, _Iehova_ see My heart o'rturn'd, my bowells muddy bee, Because I have rebell'd so much, as fast The sword without, as death within, doth wast. 80
21 Of all which heare I mourne, none comforts mee, My foes have heard my griefe, and glad they be, That thou hast done it; But thy promis'd day Will come, when, as I suffer, so shall they.
22 Let all their wickednesse appeare to thee, 85 Doe unto them, as thou hast done to mee, For all my sinnes: The sighs which I have had Are very many, and my heart is sad.
Chap. Ii.
CHAP. II.
1 How over Sions daughter hath God hung His wraths thicke cloud! and from heaven hath flung 90 To earth the beauty of _Israel_, and hath Forgot his foot-stoole in the day of wrath!
2 The Lord unsparingly hath swallowed All Jacobs dwellings, and demolished To ground the strengths of _Iuda_, and prophan'd 95 The Princes of the Kingdome, and the land.
3 In heat of wrath, the horne of _Israel_ hee Hath cleane cut off, and lest the enemie Be hindred, his right hand he doth retire, But is towards _Iacob_, All-devouring fire. 100
4 Like to an enemie he bent his bow, His right hand was in posture of a foe, To kill what _Sions_ daughter did desire, 'Gainst whom his wrath, he poured forth, like fire.
5 For like an enemie _Iehova_ is, 105 Devouring _Israel_, and his Palaces, Destroying holds, giving additions To _Iuda's_ daughters lamentations.
6 Like to a garden hedge he hath cast downe The place where was his congregation, 110 And _Sions_ feasts and sabbaths are forgot; Her King, her Priest, his wrath regardeth not.
7 The Lord forsakes his Altar, and detests His Sanctuary, and in the foes hand rests His Palace, and the walls, in which their cries 115 Are heard, as in the true solemnities.
8 The Lord hath cast a line, so to confound And levell _Sions_ walls unto the ground; He drawes not back his hand, which doth oreturne The wall, and Rampart, which together mourne. 120
9 Their gates are sunke into the ground, and hee Hath broke the barres; their King and Princes bee Amongst the heathen, without law, nor there Unto their Prophets doth the Lord appeare.
10 There _Sions Elders_ on the ground are plac'd, 125 And silence keepe; Dust on their heads they cast, In sackcloth have they girt themselves, and low The Virgins towards ground, their heads do throw.
11 My bowells are growne muddy, and mine eyes Are faint with weeping: and my liver lies 130 Pour'd out upon the ground, for miserie That sucking children in the streets doe die.
12 When they had cryed unto their Mothers, where Shall we have bread, and drinke? they fainted there, And in the streets like wounded persons lay 135 Till 'twixt their mothers breasts they went away.
13 _Daughter Ierusalem_, Oh what may bee A witnesse, or comparison for thee? Sion, to ease thee, what shall I name like thee? Thy breach is like the sea, what help can bee? 140
14 For thee vaine foolish things thy Prophets sought, Thee, thine iniquities they have not taught, Which might disturne thy bondage: but for thee False burthens, and false causes they would see.
15 The passengers doe clap their hands, and hisse, 145 And wag their head at thee, and say, Is this That citie, which so many men did call Joy of the earth, and perfectest of all?
16 Thy foes doe gape upon thee, and they hisse, And gnash their teeth, and say, Devoure wee this, 150 For this is certainly the day which wee Expected, and which now we finde, and see.
17 The Lord hath done that which he purposed, Fulfill'd his word of old determined; He hath throwne downe, and not spar'd, and thy foe 155 Made glad above thee, and advanc'd him so.
18 But now, their hearts against the Lord do call, Therefore, O walls of _Sion_, let teares fall Downe like a river, day and night; take thee No rest, but let thine eye incessant be. 160
19 Arise, cry in the night, poure, for thy sinnes, Thy heart, like water, when the watch begins; Lift up thy hands to God, lest children dye, Which, faint for hunger, in the streets doe lye.
20 Behold O Lord, consider unto whom 165 Thou hast done this; what, shall the women come To eate their children of a spanne? shall thy Prophet and Priest be slaine in Sanctuary?
21 On ground in streets, the yong and old do lye, My virgins and yong men by sword do dye; 170 Them in the day of thy wrath thou hast slaine, Nothing did thee from killing them containe.
22 As to a solemne feast, all whom I fear'd Thou call'st about mee; when his wrath appear'd, None did remaine or scape, for those which I 175 Brought up, did perish by mine enemie.
Chap. Iii.
CHAP. III.
1 I am the man which have affliction seene, Under the rod of Gods wrath having beene, 2 He hath led mee to darknesse, not to light, 3 And against mee all day, his hand doth fight. 180
4 Hee hath broke my bones, worne out my flesh and skinne, 5 Built up against mee; and hath girt mee in With hemlocke, and with labour; 6 and set mee In darke, as they who dead for ever bee.
7 Hee hath hedg'd me lest I scape, and added more 185 To my steele fetters, heavier then before. 8 When I crie out, he out shuts my prayer: 9 And hath Stop'd with hewn stone my way, and turn'd my path.
10 And like a Lion hid in secrecie, Or Beare which lyes in wait, he was to mee. 190 11 He stops my way, teares me, made desolate, 12 And hee makes mee the marke he shooteth at.
13 Hee made the children of his quiver passe Into my reines, 14 I with my people was All the day long, a song and mockery. 195 15 Hee hath fill'd mee with bitternesse, and he
Hath made me drunke with wormewood. 16 He hath burst My teeth with stones, and covered mee with dust; 17 And thus my Soule farre off from peace was set, And my prosperity I did forget. 200
18 My strength, my hope (unto my selfe I said) Which from the Lord should come, is perished. 19 But when my mournings I do thinke upon, My wormwood, hemlocke, and affliction,
20 My Soule is humbled in remembring this; 205 21 My heart considers, therefore, hope there is. 22 'Tis Gods great mercy we'are not utterly Consum'd, for his compassions do not die;
23 For every morning they renewed bee, For great, O Lord, is thy fidelity. 210 24 The Lord is, saith my Soule, my portion, And therefore in him will I hope alone.
25 The Lord is good to them, who on him relie, And to the Soule that seeks him earnestly. 26 It is both good to trust, and to attend 215 (The Lords salvation) unto the end:
27 'Tis good for one his yoake in youth to beare; 28 He sits alone, and doth all speech forbeare, Because he hath borne it. 29 And his mouth he layes Deepe in the dust, yet then in hope he stayes. 220
30 He gives his cheekes to whosoever will Strike him, and so he is reproched still. 31 For, not for ever doth the Lord forsake, 32 But when he'hath strucke with sadnes, hee doth take
Compassion, as his mercy'is infinite; 225 33 Nor is it with his heart, that he doth smite; 34 That underfoot the prisoners stamped bee, 35 That a mans right the Judge himselfe doth see
To be wrung from him, 36 That he subverted is In his just cause; the Lord allowes not this. 230 37 Who then will say, that ought doth come to passe, But that which by the Lord commanded was?
38 Both good and evill from his mouth proceeds; 39 Why then grieves any man for his misdeeds? 40 Turne wee to God, by trying out our wayes; 235 41 To him in heaven, our hands with hearts upraise.
42 Wee have rebell'd, and falne away from thee, Thou pardon'st not; 43 Usest no clemencie; Pursuest us, kill'st us, coverest us with wrath, 44 Cover'st thy selfe with clouds, that our prayer hath 240
No power to passe. 45 And thou hast made us fall As refuse, and off-scouring to them all. 46 All our foes gape at us. 47 Feare and a snare With ruine, and with waste, upon us are.
48 With watry rivers doth mine eye oreflow 245 For ruine of my peoples daughter so; 49 Mine eye doth drop downe teares incessantly, 50 Untill the Lord looke downe from heaven to see.
51 And for my citys daughters sake, mine eye Doth breake mine heart. 52 Causles mine enemy, 250 Like a bird chac'd me. 53 In a dungeon They have shut my life, and cast on me a stone.
54 Waters flow'd o'r my head, then thought I, I am Destroy'd; 55 I called Lord, upon thy name Out of the pit. 56 And thou my voice didst heare; 255 Oh from my sigh, and crye, stop not thine eare.
57 Then when I call'd upon thee, thou drew'st nere Unto mee, and said'st unto mee, do not feare. 58 Thou Lord my Soules cause handled hast, and thou Rescud'st my life. 59 O Lord do thou judge now, 260
Thou heardst my wrong. 60 Their vengeance all they have wrought; 61 How they reproach'd, thou hast heard, and what they thought, 62 What their lips uttered, which against me rose, And what was ever whisper'd by my foes.
63 I am their song, whether they rise or sit, 265 64 Give them rewards Lord, for their working fit, 65 Sorrow of heart, thy curse. 66 And with thy might Follow, and from under heaven destroy them quite.
Chap. Iv.
CHAP. IV.
1 How is the gold become so dimme? How is Purest and finest gold thus chang'd to this? 270 The stones which were stones of the Sanctuary, Scattered in corners of each street do lye.
2 The pretious sonnes of Sion, which should bee Valued at purest gold, how do wee see Low rated now, as earthen Pitchers, stand, 275 Which are the worke of a poore Potters hand.
3 Even the Sea-calfes draw their brests, and give Sucke to their young; my peoples daughters live, By reason of the foes great cruelnesse, As do the Owles in the vast Wildernesse. 280
4 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 crye, There is no man that doth them satisfie.
5 They which before were delicately fed, 285 Now in the streets forlorne have perished, And they which ever were in scarlet cloath'd, Sit and embrace the dunghills which they loath'd.
6 The daughters of my people have sinned more, Then did the towne of _Sodome_ sinne before; 290 Which being at once destroy'd, there did remaine No hands amongst them, to vexe them againe.
7 But heretofore purer her Nazarite Was then the snow, and milke was not so white; As carbuncles did their pure bodies shine, 295 And all their polish'dnesse was Saphirine.
8 They are darker now then blacknes, none can know Them by the face, as through the streets they goe, For now their skin doth cleave unto the bone, And withered, is like to dry wood growne. 300
9 Better by sword then famine 'tis to dye; And better through pierc'd, then through penury. 10 Women by nature pitifull, have eate Their children drest with their owne hands for meat.
11 _Iehova_ here fully accomplish'd hath 305 His indignation, and powr'd forth his wrath, Kindled a fire in _Sion_, which hath power To eate, and her foundations to devour.
12 Nor would the Kings of the earth, nor all which live In the inhabitable world beleeve, 310 That any adversary, any foe Into _Ierusalem_ should enter so.
13 For the Priests sins, and Prophets, which have shed Blood in the streets, and the just murthered: 14 Which when those men, whom they made blinde, did stray 315 Thorough the streets, defiled by the way
With blood, the which impossible it was Their garments should scape touching, as they passe, 15 Would cry aloud, depart defiled men, Depart, depart, and touch us not; and then 320
They fled, and strayd, and with the _Gentiles_ were, Yet told their friends, they should not long dwell there; 16 For this they are scattered by Jehovahs face Who never will regard them more; No grace
Unto their old men shall the foe afford, 325 Nor, that they are Priests, redeeme them from the sword. 17 And wee as yet, for all these miseries Desiring our vaine helpe, consume our eyes:
And such a nation as cannot save, We in desire and speculation have. 330 18 They hunt our steps, that in the streets wee feare To goe: our end is now approached neere,
Our dayes accomplish'd are, this the last day. 19 Eagles of heaven are not so swift as they Which follow us, o'r mountaine tops they flye 335 At us, and for us in the desart lye.
20 The annointed Lord, breath of our nostrils, hee Of whom we said, under his shadow, wee Shall with more ease under the Heathen dwell, Into the pit which these men digged, fell. 340
21 Rejoyce O _Edoms daughter_, joyfull bee Thou which inhabitst _Huz_, for unto thee This cup shall passe, and thou with drunkennesse Shalt fill thy selfe, and shew thy nakednesse.
22 And then thy sinnes O _Sion_, shall be spent, 345 The Lord will not leave thee in banishment. Thy sinnes O _Edoms daughter_, hee will see, And for them, pay thee with captivitie.
Chap. V.
CHAP. V.
1 Remember, O Lord, what is fallen on us; See, and marke how we are reproached thus, 350 2 For unto strangers our possession Is turn'd, our houses unto Aliens gone,
3 Our mothers are become as widowes, wee As Orphans all, and without father be; 4 Waters which are our owne, wee drunke, and pay, 355 And upon our owne wood a price they lay.
5 Our persecutors on our necks do sit, They make us travaile, and not intermit, 6 We stretch our hands unto th'_Egyptians_ To get us bread; and to the _Assyrians_. 360
7 Our Fathers did these sinnes, and are no more, But wee do beare the sinnes they did before. 8 They are but servants, which do rule us thus, Yet from their hands none would deliver us.
9 With danger of our life our bread wee gat; 365 For in the wildernesse, the sword did wait. 10 The tempests of this famine wee liv'd in, Black as an Oven colour'd had our skinne:
11 In _Iudaes_ cities they the maids abus'd By force, and so women in _Sion_ us'd. 370 12 The Princes with their hands they hung; no grace Nor honour gave they to the Elders face.
13 Unto the mill our yong men carried are, And children fell under the wood they bare. 14 Elders, the gates; youth did their songs forbeare, 375 15 Gone was our joy; our dancings, mournings were.
16 Now is the crowne falne from our head; and woe Be unto us, because we'have sinned so. 17 For this our hearts do languish, and for this Over our eyes a cloudy dimnesse is. 380
18 Because mount _Sion_ desolate doth lye, And foxes there do goe at libertie: 19 But thou O Lord art ever, and thy throne From generation, to generation.
20 Why should'st thou forget us eternally? 385 Or leave us thus long in this misery? 21 Restore us Lord to thee, that so we may Returne, and as of old, renew our day.
22 For oughtest thou, O Lord, despise us thus, And to be utterly enrag'd at us? 390
[The Lamentations _&c._ _1633-69_ (Tremellius _1639-69_), _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ _Tr in the notes stands for_ Tremellius, _Vulg for_ Vulgate. _See note:_ _full-stops after verse-numbers_ _1635-69_]
[2-4 thus! ... is!] thus? ... is? _1633-69_]
[22 Harts] hearts _1669_]
[25 her _O'F:_ their _1633-69_, _N_, _TCD:_ the _B:_ diebus afflictionis suae et ploratuum suorum _Tr_]
[28 Whilest _B_, _O'F:_ Whiles _1633-69_]
[32 seene;] seene, _1633_]
[43 pleasure] pleasures _N_]
[53 hand] hands _1650-69:_ manu ejus _Tr_]
[56 from whom _1635-69_, _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ from whence _1633_]
[58 invite _1633_, _N_, _TCD:_ accite _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_]
[59 men; _Ed:_ men, _1633-69_]
[63 farre;] farre _1633_]
[65 hand,] hand _1633-35_]
[76 they could not get. _1633:_ and none could get. _1635-69_]
[_Norton conjectures that in_ 75 _we should read_ the sought-for meat: _but see note_]
[78 o'rturn'd,] return'd, _1633_]
[81 heare I mourne, _1633-35_, _B_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ heare me mourn, _N:_ here I mourn, _1639-69_, _and mod. edd.:_ Audientium me in gemitu esse nemo consolatur me. _Tr_]
[87 sighs] sights _1669_]
[90 cloud! _Ed:_ cloud? _1633-69_
flung] flung. _1633_]
[92 wrath! _Ed:_ wrath? _1633-69_]
[95 strengths _1633_, _N_, _TCD:_ strength _1635_, _B_, _O'F:_ munitiones _Tr and Vulg_]
[110 where] which _B_, _O'F:_ locum conventus sui _Tr_]
[112 regardeth] regarded _1669_]
[114 hand _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ hands _1633-69:_ tradit in manum inimici muros, palatia illius _Tr_]
[118-9 ground; ... hand,] ground, ... hand; _1633_]
[121 Their _1633:_ The _1635-69_]
[122 barres; _B_, _O'F:_ barre; _1633-69_, _N_, _TCD:_ vectes ejus _Tr_]
[124 their] the _1669_]
[134 there,] there _1633-39_]
[135 streets, _B_, _O'F:_ street _1633-69_, _N_, _TCD:_ in plateis civitatis _Tr_]
[141 For thee _1635-54:_ For, the _1633:_ For the _1669_]
[143 disturne _1633-54 and MSS.:_ dis-urn _1669:_ disturb _Chambers:_ ad avertendum captivitatem tuam _Tr_]
[145 hisse, _Ed:_ hisse _1633-39_]
[157 against _1633:_ unto _1635-69_, _and MSS.:_ clamat cor istorum contra Dominum _Tr:_ ad Dominum _Vulg_]
[161 poure, for _1633 and MSS.:_ poure out _1635-69_, _Chambers_]
[174 his, _1633:_ thy _1635-69_]
[CHAP.] _ital._ _1633_]
[182 girt] hemde _B_, _O'F_]
[186 before. _1650-69:_ before, _1633-39_]
[187 8 _Ed:_ 8. _1635-69_; _om. 1633_]
[190 mee.] mee, _1633_]
[202 perished. _1633:_ perished, _1635-69_]
[203 mournings _1633-69_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ mourning _B_]
[216 (The Lords salvation) _1633:_ _no brackets_, _1635-69_]
[226 smite; _Ed:_ smite, _1633-69_]
[229 wrung] wrong _1633_
him, _Ed:_ him. _1633-69_]
[230 this.] this: _1633_]
[231 doth] will _B_, _O'F_]
[238 not; _1650-69:_ not. _1633-35:_ not _1639_]
[239 coverest us with wrath] coverest with thy wrath _B, O'F_]
[243 47 _Ed:_ 47, _1633:_ 47. _1635-69_]
[245 watry] water _1633_]
[246 daughter _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ daughters _1633-69:_ propter contritionem filiae populi mei _Tr_]
[249 citys _O'F:_ city _1633-69:_ propter omnes filias civitatis meae _Tr_]
[252 on me _B_, _N_, _TCD:_ me on _1633-69:_ projiciunt lapides in me. _Tr:_ posuerunt lapidem super me. _Vulg_]
[256 sigh,] sight, _1650-69_]
[260 Rescud'st _B_, _O'F:_ Rescuest _1633-69_, _N_, _TCD:_ vindicabas _Tr_
now, _1633-39:_ now. _1650-69_, _Chambers_]
[CHAP.] CAP. _1633_]
[270 Purest] P _dropped_ _1650-54_]
[274 at _1633-39:_ as _1650-69_, _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ qui taxandi erant auro purgatissimo _Tr_]
[278 live,] live _1633_]
[283 little children] little _om. Chambers_]
[296 Saphirine. _1635-69:_ Seraphine. _1633:_ Sapphirina polities eorum _Tr_]
[298 streets _B_, _O'F:_ street _1633-69_, _N_, _TCD:_ in vicis _Tr:_ in plateis _Vulg_]
[299 the _B_, _O'F:_ their _1633-69_]
[302 through penury.] by penury, _1633_, _N_, _TCD:_ confossi gladio quam confossi fame. _Tr_ _See note_]
[304 hands _B_, _O'F:_ hand _1633-69_]
[312 so.] so; _1633_]
[316 Thorough] Through _1669_]
[318 garments _1633:_ garment _1635-69:_ quem non possunt quin tangant vestimentis suis _Tr_]
[320 not; _O'F_, _N_, _TCD:_ not, _1633-69_]
[322 dwell there; _Ed:_ dwell; there. _1633:_ dwell there. _1635-39:_ dwell there _1650-54:_ dwell there: _1669_]
[325 their ... the _1633-39:_ the ... their _1650-69_]
[333-4 day. 19 Eagles _Ed: The old editions place a comma after_ day, _and_ 19 _at the beginning of_ 335, _wrongly._]
[335 mountaine tops _1633-39:_ mountaines tops _1650-69_, _B_]
[340 fell.] fell _1633_]
[342 which _1633:_ that _1635-69_
Huz _B:_ Hus _N_, _TCD:_ her, _1633:_ _Uz_, _1635-69:_ in terra Hutzi _Tr_]
[345 And then] And _om. Chambers_]
[CHAP.] CAP. _1633_]
[349 us;] us, _1633-35_]
[354 father _B_, _O'F:_ fathers _1633-69:_ Pupilli sumus ac nullo patre _Tr:_ absque patre _Vulg_]
[355 drunke, _1633_, _N_, _TCD:_ drinke _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_]
[356 lay. _1650-69:_ lay, _1633-39_]
[368 Oven _1635-69:_ Ocean _1633:_ Pelles nostrae ut furnus atratae sunt _Tr_]
[374 fell ... bare. _1633-69:_ fall ... beare. _B_, _O'F_]
[376 15 Gone _&c._] _Old edd. transfer_ 15 _to next line, wrongly. In consequence, the remaining verses are all a number short, but the complete number of 22 is made up by breaking the last verse_, 'For oughtest thou _&c._,' _into two. I have corrected throughout._]
[389 thus,] thus _1633_]
_Hymne to God my God, in my sicknesse._
Since I am comming to that Holy roome, Where, with thy Quire of Saints for evermore, I shall be made thy Musique; As I come I tune the Instrument here at the dore, And what I must doe then, thinke here before. 5
Whilst my Physitians by their love are growne Cosmographers, and I their Mapp, who lie Flat on this bed, that by them may be showne That this is my South-west discoverie _Per fretum febris_, by these streights to die, 10
I joy, that in these straits, I see my West; For, though theire currants yeeld returne to none, What shall my West hurt me? As West and East In all flatt Maps (and I am one) are one, So death doth touch the Resurrection. 15
Is the Pacifique Sea my home? Or are The Easterne riches? Is _Ierusalem_? _Anyan_, and _Magellan_, and _Gibraltare_, All streights, and none but streights, are wayes to them, Whether where _Iaphet_ dwelt, or _Cham_, or _Sem_. 20
We thinke that _Paradise_ and _Calvarie_, _Christs_ Crosse, and _Adams_ tree, stood in one place; Looke Lord, and finde both _Adams_ met in me; As the first _Adams_ sweat surrounds my face, May the last _Adams_ blood my soule embrace. 25
So, in his purple wrapp'd receive mee Lord, By these his thornes give me his other Crowne; And as to others soules I preach'd thy word, Be this my Text, my Sermon to mine owne, Therfore that he may raise the Lord throws down. 30
[Hymn to God _&c._ _1635-69_, _S96_, _and in part Walton_ (Life of D^{r} John Donne. 1670), _who adds_ March 23, 1630]
[2 thy _1635 and Walton_ (_1670_): the _1639-69_]
[4 the Instrument _1635-69:_ my instrument _Walton_]
[6 Whilst ... love] Since ... loves _Walton_]
[10 to die, _1635:_ to die. _1639-54:_ to dy^{.} _1669_]
[12 theire _S96:_ those _1635-69_]
[18 _Gibraltare_, _1635-54:_ Gabraltare, _1669:_ Gibraltar? _1719_, _Chambers:_ Gibraltar are _Grosart_. _See note_]
[19 but streights, _Ed:_ but streights _1635-69_]
[24 first] sist _1669_]
[28 others souls] other souls _Walton and S96_]
[30 That, he may raise; therefore, _Walton_]
* * * * *
[Illustration: JOHN DONNE
EFFIGIES REUERENDISS: UIRI IOHANNIS DONNE NUPER ECCLES: PAULINÆ DECANI
_Corporis hæc Animæ sit Syndon Syndon Jesu_
Amen
_Martin [DR monogram] scup_ _And are to be sould by RR and Ben: ffisher_
("Portrait of the very reverend John Donne, lately Dean of St Paul's." The meaning of the second line is highly obscure; possibly "May this be the shroud of my body, Jesus the shroud of my soul"; or possibly: "May this be the shroud of my body, Jesus's shroud that of my soul". The monogram is that of Martin Droeshout)]
From the frontispiece to _Death's Duel_, 1632]
* * * * *
_A Hymne to God the Father:_
I.
Wilt thou forgive that sinne where I begunne, Which was my sin, though it were done before? Wilt thou forgive that sinne; through which I runne, And do run still: though still I do deplore? When thou hast done, thou hast not done, 5 For, I have more.
II.
Wilt thou forgive that sinne which I have wonne Others to sinne? and, made my sinne their doore? Wilt thou forgive that sinne which I did shunne A yeare, or two: but wallowed in, a score? 10 When thou hast done, thou hast not done, For I have more.
III.
I have a sinne of feare, that when I have spunne My last thred, I shall perish on the shore; But sweare by thy selfe, that at my death thy sonne 15 Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore; And, having done that, Thou haste done, I feare no more.
[A Hymne _&c._ _1633-69:_ To Christ. _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ Christo Salvatori. _O'F_, _S96:_ _for the text of the MSS. see next page_]
[2 Which] which _1633_]
[8 my sin] my sins _1639-69_]
[10 two: _1633:_ two, _1635-69_]
_To Christ._
Wilt thou forgive that sinn, where I begunn, W^{ch} is my sinn, though it were done before? Wilt thou forgive those sinns through w^{ch} I runn And doe them still, though still I doe deplore? When thou hast done, thou hast not done, 5 for I have more.
Wilt thou forgive that sinn, by w^{ch} I'have wonne Others to sinn, & made my sinn their dore? Wilt thou forgive that sinn w^{ch} I did shunne A yeare or twoe, but wallowed in a score? 10 When thou hast done, thou hast not done, for I have more.
I have a sinn of feare y^t when I have spunn My last thred, I shall perish on the shore; Sweare by thy self that at my Death, thy Sunn 15 Shall shine as it shines nowe, & heretofore; And having done that, thou hast done, I have noe more.
[Christ. _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ Christo Salvatori. _O'F_, _S96:_ _text from TCD_]
[1 begunn, _Ed:_ begunn _TCD_]
[2 were _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ was _O'F_, _S_ before? _Ed:_ before _TCD_]
[4 them _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ runne _O'F_, _S96_]
[5 done, _Ed:_ done _TCD:_ _and so_ 11 _and_ 17]
[14 shore; _Ed:_ shore _TCD_]
[15 thy Sunne _O'F_, _S:_ this Sunn _A18_, _N_, _TC_]
[16 heretofore; _Ed:_ heretofore _TCD_]
* * * * *
Hen. Valentine.
HEN. VALENTINE.
_An Elegie upon D^{r}_ Donne.
Is _Donne_, great _Donne_ deceas'd? then England say Thou 'hast lost a man where language chose to stay And shew it's gracefull power. I would not praise That and his vast wit (which in these vaine dayes Make many proud) but as they serv'd to unlock 5 That Cabinet, his minde: where such a stock Of knowledge was repos'd, as all lament (Or should) this generall cause of discontent. And I rejoyce I am not so severe, But (as I write a line) to weepe a teare 10 For his decease; Such sad extremities May make such men as I write _Elegies_. And wonder not; for, when a generall losse Falls on a nation, and they slight the crosse, God hath rais'd _Prophets_ to awaken them 15 From stupifaction; witnesse my milde pen, Not us'd to upbraid the world, though now it must Freely and boldly, for, the cause is just. Dull age, Oh I would spare thee, but th'art worse, Thou art not onely dull, but hast a curse 20 Of black ingratitude; if not, couldst thou Part with _miraculous Donne_, and make no vow For thee and thine, successively to pay A sad remembrance to his dying day? Did his youth scatter _Poetrie_, wherein 25 Was all Philosophie? Was every sinne, Character'd in his _Satyres_? made so foule That some have fear'd their shapes, and kept their soule Freer by reading verse? Did he give _dayes_ Past marble monuments, to those, whose praise 30 He would perpetuate? Did hee (I feare The dull will doubt:) these at his twentieth yeare? But, more matur'd: Did his full soule conceive, And in harmonious-holy-numbers weave [Sidenote: _La Corona._] A _Crowne of sacred sonets_, fit to adorne 35 A dying Martyrs brow: or, to be worne On that blest head of _Mary Magdalen_: After she wip'd Christs feet, but not till then? Did hee (fit for such penitents as shee And hee to use) leave us a _Litany_? 40 Which all devout men love, and sure, it shall, As times grow better, grow more classicall. Did he write _Hymnes_, for piety and wit Equall to those great grave _Prudentius_ writ? Spake he all _Languages_? knew he all _Lawes_? 45 The grounds and use of _Physicke_; but because 'Twas mercenary wav'd it? Went to see That blessed place of _Christs nativity_? Did he returne and preach him? preach him so As none but hee did, or could do? They know 50 (Such as were blest to heare him know) 'tis truth. Did he confirme thy age? convert thy youth? Did he these wonders? And is this deare losse Mourn'd by so few? (few for so great a crosse.) But sure the silent are ambitious all 55 To be _Close Mourners_ at his Funerall; If not; In common pitty they forbare By repetitions to renew our care; Or, knowing, griefe conceiv'd, conceal'd, consumes Man irreparably, (as poyson'd fumes 60 Do waste the braine) make silence a safe way To'inlarge the Soule from these walls, mud and clay, (Materialls of this body) to remaine With _Donne_ in heaven, where no promiscuous paine Lessens the joy wee have, for, with _him_, all 65 Are satisfyed with _joyes essentiall_. My thoughts, Dwell on this _Ioy_, and do not call Griefe backe, by thinking of his Funerall; Forget he lov'd mee; Waste not my sad yeares; (Which haste to _Davids_ seventy, fill'd with feares 70 And sorrow for his death;) Forget his parts, Which finde a living grave in good mens hearts; And, (for, my first is daily paid for sinne) Forget to pay my second sigh for him: Forget his powerfull preaching; and forget 75 I am his _Convert_. Oh my frailtie! let My flesh be no more heard, it will obtrude This lethargie: so should my gratitude, My vowes of gratitude should so be broke; Which can no more be, then _Donnes_ vertues spoke 80 By any but himselfe; for which cause, I Write no _Encomium_, but an _Elegie_.
Iz. Wa.
IZ. WA.
[An Elegie _&c._ _See note_]
[1-3
Our Donne is dead; England should mourne, may say We had a man where language chose to stay And shew her gracefull power _1635-69_ ]
[35 _Crowne_] Crowme _1633_]
An Elegie upon the death of the Deane of Pauls, D^r. Iohn Donne:
By _M^r. Tho: Carie_.
Can we not force from widdowed Poetry, Now thou art dead (Great DONNE) one Elegie To crowne thy Hearse? Why yet dare we not trust Though with unkneaded dowe-bak't prose thy dust, Such as the uncisor'd Churchman from the flower 5 Of fading Rhetorique, short liv'd as his houre, Dry as the sand that measures it, should lay Upon thy Ashes, on the funerall day? Have we no voice, no tune? Did'st thou dispense Through all our language, both the words and sense? 10 'Tis a sad truth: The Pulpit may her plaine, And sober Christian precepts still retaine, Doctrines it may, and wholesome Uses frame, Grave Homilies, and Lectures, But the flame Of thy brave Soule, that shot such heat and light, 15 As burnt our earth, and made our darknesse bright, Committed holy Rapes upon our Will, Did through the eye the melting heart distill; And the deepe knowledge of darke truths so teach, As sense might judge, what phansie could not reach; 20 Must be desir'd for ever. So the fire, That fills with spirit and heat the Delphique quire, Which kindled first by thy Promethean breath, Glow'd here a while, lies quench't now in thy death; The Muses garden with Pedantique weedes 25 O'rspred, was purg'd by thee; The lazie seeds Of servile imitation throwne away; And fresh invention planted, Thou didst pay The debts of our penurious bankrupt age; Licentious thefts, that make poëtique rage 30 A Mimique fury, when our soules must bee Possest, or with Anacreons Extasie, Or Pindars, not their owne; The subtle cheat Of slie Exchanges, and the jugling feat Of two-edg'd words, or whatsoever wrong 35 By ours was done the Greeke, or Latine tongue, Thou hast redeem'd, and open'd Us a Mine Of rich and pregnant phansie, drawne a line Of masculine expression, which had good Old Orpheus seene, Or all the ancient Brood 40 Our superstitious fooles admire, and hold Their lead more precious, then thy burnish't Gold, Thou hadst beene their Exchequer, and no more They each in others dust, had rak'd for Ore. Thou shalt yield no precedence, but of time, 45 And the blinde fate of language, whose tun'd chime More charmes the outward sense; Yet thou maist claime From so great disadvantage greater fame, Since to the awe of thy imperious wit Our stubborne language bends, made only fit 50 With her tough-thick-rib'd hoopes to gird about Thy Giant phansie, which had prov'd too stout For their soft melting Phrases. As in time They had the start, so did they cull the prime Buds of invention many a hundred yeare, 55 And left the rifled fields, besides the feare To touch their Harvest, yet from those bare lands Of what is purely thine, thy only hands (And that thy smallest worke) have gleaned more Then all those times, and tongues could reape before; 60 But thou art gone, and thy strict lawes will be Too hard for Libertines in Poetrie. They will repeale the goodly exil'd traine Of gods and goddesses, which in thy just raigne Were banish'd nobler Poems, now, with these 65 The silenc'd tales o'th'Metamorphoses Shall stuffe their lines, and swell the windy Page, Till Verse refin'd by thee, in this last Age, Turne ballad rime, Or those old Idolls bee Ador'd againe, with new apostasie; 70 Oh, pardon mee, that breake with untun'd verse The reverend silence that attends thy herse, Whose awfull solemne murmures were to thee More then these faint lines, A loud Elegie, That did proclaime in a dumbe eloquence 75 The death of all the Arts, whose influence Growne feeble, in these panting numbers lies Gasping short winded Accents, and so dies: So doth the swiftly turning wheele not stand In th'instant we withdraw the moving hand, 80 But some small time maintaine a faint weake course By vertue of the first impulsive force: And so whil'st I cast on thy funerall pile Thy crowne of Bayes, Oh, let it crack a while, And spit disdaine, till the devouring flashes 85 Suck all the moysture up, then turne to ashes. I will not draw the envy to engrosse All thy perfections, or weepe all our losse; Those are too numerous for an Elegie, And this too great, to be express'd by mee. 90 Though every pen should share a distinct part, Yet art thou Theme enough to tyre all Art; Let others carve the rest, it shall suffice I on thy Tombe this Epitaph incise.
_Here lies a King, that rul'd as hee thought fit 95 The universall Monarchy of wit; Here lie two Flamens, and both those, the best, Apollo's first, at last, the true Gods Priest_.
[An Elegie _&c._ _Also in Carew's _Poems_ 1640._ _See note_]
_An Elegie on D^r. DONNE: By Sir Lucius Carie._
Poets attend, the Elegie I sing Both of a doubly-named Priest, and King: In stead of Coates, and Pennons, bring your Verse, For you must bee chiefe mourners at his Hearse, A Tombe your Muse must to his Fame supply, 5 No other Monuments can never die; And as he was a two-fold Priest; in youth, Apollo's; afterwards, the voice of Truth, Gods Conduit-pipe for grace, who chose him for His extraordinary Embassador, 10 So let his Liegiers with the Poets joyne, Both having shares, both must in griefe combine: Whil'st Johnson forceth with his Elegie Teares from a griefe-unknowing Scythians eye, (Like Moses at whose stroke the waters gusht 15 From forth the Rock, and like a Torrent rusht.) Let Lawd his funerall Sermon preach, and shew Those vertues, dull eyes were not apt to know, Nor leave that Piercing Theme, till it appeares To be goodfriday, by the Churches Teares; 20 Yet make not griefe too long oppresse our Powers, Least that his funerall Sermon should prove ours. Nor yet forget that heavenly Eloquence, With which he did the bread of life dispense, Preacher and Orator discharg'd both parts 25 With pleasure for our sense, health for our hearts, And the first such (Though a long studied Art Tell us our soule is all in every part,) None was so marble, but whil'st him he heares, His Soule so long dwelt only in his eares. 30 And from thence (with the fiercenesse of a flood Bearing downe vice) victual'd with that blest food Their hearts; His seed in none could faile to grow, Fertile he found them all, or made them so: No Druggist of the Soule bestow'd on all 35 So Catholiquely a curing Cordiall. Nor only in the Pulpit dwelt his store, His words work'd much, but his example more, That preach't on worky dayes, His Poetrie It selfe was oftentimes divinity, 40 Those Anthemes (almost second Psalmes) he writ To make us know the Crosse, and value it, (Although we owe that reverence to that name Wee should not need warmth from an under flame.) Creates a fire in us, so neare extreme 45 That we would die, for, and upon this theme. Next, his so pious Litany, which none can But count Divine, except a Puritan, And that but for the name, nor this, nor those Want any thing of Sermons, but the prose. 50 Experience makes us see, that many a one Owes to his Countrey his Religion; And in another, would as strongly grow, Had but his Nurse and Mother taught him so, Not hee the ballast on his Judgement hung; 55 Nor did his preconceit doe either wrong; He labour'd to exclude what ever sinne By time or carelessenesse had entred in; Winnow'd the chaffe from wheat, but yet was loath A too hot zeale should force him, burne them both; 60 Nor would allow of that so ignorant gall, Which to save blotting often would blot all; Nor did those barbarous opinions owne, To thinke the Organs sinne, and faction, none; Nor was there expectation to gaine grace 65 From forth his Sermons only, but his face; So Primitive a looke, such gravitie With humblenesse, and both with Pietie; So milde was Moses countenance, when he prai'd For them whose Satanisme his power gainsaid; 70 And such his gravitie, when all Gods band Receiv'd his word (through him) at second hand, Which joyn'd, did flames of more devotion move Then ever Argive Hellens could of love. Now to conclude, I must my reason bring, 75 Wherefore I call'd him in his title King, That Kingdome the Philosophers beleev'd To excell Alexanders, nor were griev'd By feare of losse (that being such a Prey No stronger then ones selfe can force away) 80 The Kingdome of ones selfe, this he enjoy'd, And his authoritie so well employ'd, That never any could before become So Great a Monarch, in so small a roome; He conquer'd rebell passions, rul'd them so, 85 As under-spheares by the first Mover goe, Banish't so farre their working, that we can But know he had some, for we knew him man. Then let his last excuse his first extremes, His age saw visions, though his youth dream'd dreams. 90
[72 Receiv'd] Receiv' _1633_]
_On D^{r}._ DONNES _death_:
_By M^{r}._ Mayne _of Christ-Church in Oxford._
Who shall presume to mourn thee, _Donne_, unlesse He could his teares in thy expressions dresse, And teach his griefe that reverence of thy Hearse, To weepe lines, learned, as thy Anniverse, A Poëme of that worth, whose every teare 5 Deserves the title of a severall yeare. Indeed so farre above its Reader, good, That wee are thought wits, when 'tis understood, There that blest maid to die, who now should grieve? After thy sorrow, 'twere her losse to live; 10 And her faire vertues in anothers line, Would faintly dawn, which are made Saints in thine. Hadst thou beene shallower, and not writ so high, Or left some new way for our pennes, or eye, To shed a funerall teare, perchance thy Tombe 15 Had not beene speechlesse, or our Muses dumbe; But now wee dare not write, but must conceale Thy Epitaph, lest we be thought to steale, For, who hath read thee, and discernes thy worth, That will not say, thy carelesse houres brought forth 20 Fancies beyond our studies, and thy play Was happier, then our serious time of day? So learned was thy chance; thy haste had wit, And matter from thy pen flow'd rashly fit, What was thy recreation turnes our braine, 25 Our rack and palenesse, is thy weakest straine. And when we most come neere thee, 'tis our blisse To imitate thee, where thou dost amisse. Here light your muse, you that do onely thinke, And write, and are just Poëts, as you drinke, 30 In whose weake fancies wit doth ebbe and flow, Just as your recknings rise, that wee may know In your whole carriage of your worke, that here This flash you wrote in Wine, and this in Beere, This is to tap your Muse, which running long 35 Writes flat, and takes our eare not halfe so strong; Poore Suburbe wits, who, if you want your cup, Or if a Lord recover, are blowne up. Could you but reach this height, you should not need To make, each meale, a project ere you feed, 40 Nor walke in reliques, clothes so old and bare, As if left off to you from _Ennius_ were, Nor should your love, in verse, call Mistresse, those, Who are mine hostesse, or your whores in prose; From this Muse learne to Court, whose power could move 45 A Cloystred coldnesse, or a Vestall love, And would convey such errands to their eare, That Ladies knew no oddes to grant and heare; But I do wrong thee, _Donne_, and this low praise Is written onely for thy yonger dayes. 50 I am not growne up, for thy riper parts, Then should I praise thee, through the Tongues, and Arts, And have that deepe Divinity, to know, What mysteries did from thy preaching flow, Who with thy words could charme thy audience, 55 That at thy sermons, eare was all our sense; Yet have I seene thee in the pulpit stand, Where wee might take notes, from thy looke, and hand; And from thy speaking action beare away More Sermon, then some teachers use to say. 60 Such was thy carriage, and thy gesture such, As could divide the heart, and conscience touch. Thy motion did confute, and wee might see An errour vanquish'd by delivery. Not like our Sonnes of Zeale, who to reforme 65 Their hearers, fiercely at the Pulpit storme, And beate the cushion into worse estate, Then if they did conclude it reprobate, Who can out pray the glasse, then lay about Till all Predestination be runne out. 70 And from the point such tedious uses draw, Their repetitions would make Gospell, Law. No, In such temper would thy Sermons flow, So well did Doctrine, and thy language show, And had that holy feare, as, hearing thee, 75 The Court would mend, and a good Christian bee. And Ladies though unhansome, out of grace, Would heare thee, in their unbought lookes, and face. More I could write, but let this crowne thine Urne, Wee cannot hope the like, till thou returne. 80
_Upon M^r J. Donne, and his Poems._
Who dares say thou art dead, when he doth see (Unburied yet) this living part of thee? This part that to thy beeing gives fresh flame, And though th'art _Donne_, yet will preserve thy name. Thy flesh (whose channels left their crimsen hew, 5 And whey-like ranne at last in a pale blew) May shew thee mortall, a dead palsie may Seise on't, and quickly turne it into clay; Which like the Indian earth, shall rise refin'd: But this great Spirit thou hast left behinde, 10 This Soule of Verse (in it's first pure estate) Shall live, for all the World to imitate, But not come neer, for in thy Fancies flight Thou dost not stoope unto the vulgar fight, But, hovering highly in the aire of Wit, 15 Hold'st such a pitch, that few can follow it; Admire they may. Each object that the Spring (Or a more piercing influence) doth bring T'adorne Earths face, thou sweetly did'st contrive To beauties elements, and thence derive 20 Unspotted Lillies white; which thou did'st set Hand in hand, with the veine-like Violet, Making them soft, and warme, and by thy power, Could'st give both life, and sense, unto a flower. The Cheries thou hast made to speake, will bee 25 Sweeter unto the taste, then from the tree. And (spight of winter stormes) amidst the snow Thou oft hast made the blushing Rose to grow. The Sea-nimphs, that the watry cavernes keepe, Have sent their Pearles and Rubies from the deepe 30 To deck thy love, and plac'd by thee, they drew More lustre to them, then where first they grew. All minerals (that Earths full wombe doth hold Promiscuously) thou couldst convert to gold, And with thy flaming raptures so refine, 35 That it was much more pure then in the Mine. The lights that guild the night, if thou did'st say, They looke like eyes, those did out-shine the day; For there would be more vertue in such spells, Then in Meridians, or crosse Parallels: 40 What ever was of worth in this great Frame, That Art could comprehend, or Wit could name, It was thy theme for Beauty; thou didst see, Woman, was this faire Worlds Epitomie. Thy nimble _Satyres_ too, and every straine 45 (With nervy strength) that issued from thy brain, Will lose the glory of their owne cleare bayes, If they admit of any others praise. But thy diviner Poëms (whose cleare fire Purges all drosse away) shall by a Quire 50 Of Cherubims, with heavenly Notes be set (Where flesh and blood could ne'r attaine to yet) There purest Spirits sing such sacred Layes, In Panegyrique Alleluiaes.
_Arth. Wilson._
_In memory of Doctor Donne: By M^{r} R. B._
_Donne_ dead? 'Tis here reported true, though I Ne'r yet so much desir'd to heare a lye, 'Tis too too true, for so wee finde it still, Good newes are often false, but seldome, ill: But must poore fame tell us his fatall day, 5 And shall we know his death, the common way, Mee thinkes some Comet bright should have foretold The death of such a man, for though of old 'Tis held, that Comets Princes death foretell, Why should not his, have needed one as well? 10 Who was the Prince of wits, 'mongst whom he reign'd, High as a Prince, and as great State maintain'd? Yet wants he not his signe, for wee have seene A dearth, the like to which hath never beene, Treading on harvests heeles, which doth presage 15 The death of wit and learning, which this age Shall finde, now he is gone; for though there bee Much graine in shew, none brought it forth as he, Or men are misers; or if true want raises The dearth, then more that dearth _Donnes_ plenty praises. 20 Of learning, languages, of eloquence, And Poësie, (past rauishing of sense,) He had a magazine, wherein such store Was laid up, as might hundreds serve of poore. But he is gone, O how will his desire 25 Torture all those that warm'd them by his fire? Mee thinkes I see him in the pulpit standing, Not eares, or eyes, but all mens hearts commanding, Where wee that heard him, to our selves did faine Golden Chrysostome was alive againe; 30 And never were we weari'd, till we saw His houre (and but an houre) to end did draw. How did he shame the doctrine-men, and use, With helps to boot, for men to beare th'abuse Of their tir'd patience, and endure th'expence 35 Of time, O spent in hearkning to non-sense, With markes also, enough whereby to know, The speaker is a zealous dunce, or so. 'Tis true, they quitted him, to their poore power, They humm'd against him; And with face most sowre 40 Call'd him a strong lin'd man, a Macaroon, And no way fit to speake to clouted shoone, As fine words [truly] as you would desire, But [verily,] but a bad edifier. Thus did these beetles slight in him that good, 45 They could not see, and much lesse understood. But we may say, when we compare the stuffe Both brought; He was a candle, they the snuffe. Well, Wisedome's of her children justifi'd, Let therefore these poore fellowes stand aside; 50 Nor, though of learning he deserv'd so highly, Would I his booke should save him; Rather slily I should advise his Clergie not to pray, Though of the learn'dst sort; Me thinkes that they Of the same trade, are Judges not so fit, 55 There's no such emulation as of wit. Of such, the Envy might as much perchance Wrong him, and more, then th'others ignorance. It was his Fate (I know't) to be envy'd As much by Clerkes, as lay men magnifi'd; 60 And why? but 'cause he came late in the day, And yet his Penny earn'd, and had as they. No more of this, least some should say, that I Am strai'd to Satyre, meaning Elegie. No, no, had DONNE need to be judg'd or try'd, 65 A Jury I would summon on his side, That had no sides, nor factions, past the touch Of all exceptions, freed from Passion, such As nor to feare nor flatter, e'r were bred, These would I bring, though called from the dead: 70 Southampton, Hambleton, Pembrooke, Dorsets Earles, Huntingdon, Bedfords Countesses (the Pearles Once of each sexe.) If these suffice not, I Ten _decem tales_ have of Standers by: All which, for DONNE, would such a verdict give, 75 As can belong to none, that now doth live. But what doe I? A diminution 'tis To speake of him in verse, so short of his, Whereof he was the master; All indeed Compar'd with him, pip'd on an Oaten reed. 80 O that you had but one 'mongst all your brothers Could write for him, as he hath done for others: (Poets I speake to) When I see't, I'll say, My eye-sight betters, as my yeares decay, Meane time a quarrell I shall ever have 85 Against these doughty keepers from the grave, Who use, it seemes their old Authoritie, When (Verses men immortall make) they cry: Which had it been a Recipe true tri'd, _Probatum esset_, DONNE had never dy'd. 90 For mee, if e'r I had least sparke at all Of that which they Poetique fire doe call, Here I confesse it fetched from his hearth, Which is gone out, now he is gone to earth. This only a poore flash, a lightning is 95 Before my Muses death, as after his. Farewell (faire soule) and deigne receive from mee This Type of that devotion I owe thee, From whom (while living) as by voice and penne I learned more, then from a thousand men: 100 So by thy death, am of one doubt releas'd, And now beleeve that miracles are ceas'd.
_Epitaph._
_Heere lies Deane Donne_; Enough; Those words alone Shew him as fully, as if all the stone His Church of Pauls contains, were through inscrib'd Or all the walkers there, to speake him, brib'd. None can mistake him, for one such as Hee 5 DONNE, Deane, or Man, more none shall ever see. Not man? No, though unto a Sunne each eye Were turn'd, the whole earth so to overspie. A bold brave word; Yet such brave Spirits as knew His Spirit, will say, it is lesse bold then true. 10
_Epitaph upon D^r. Donne_,
By _Endy: Porter_.
This decent Urne a sad inscription weares, Of _Donnes_ departure from us, to the spheares; And the dumbe stone with silence seemes to tell The changes of this life, wherein is well Exprest, A cause to make all joy to cease, 5 And never let our sorrowes more take ease; For now it is impossible to finde One fraught with vertues, to inrich a minde; But why should death, with a promiscuous hand At one rude stroke impoverish a land? 10 Thou strict Attorney, unto stricter Fate, Didst thou confiscate his life out of hate To his rare Parts? Or didst thou throw thy dart, With envious hand, at some Plebeyan heart; And he with pious vertue stept betweene 15 To save that stroke, and so was kill'd unseene By thee? O 'twas his goodnesse so to doe, Which humane kindnesse never reacht unto. Thus the hard lawes of death were satisfi'd, And he left us like Orphan friends, and di'de. 20 Now from the Pulpit to the peoples eares, Whose speech shall send repentant sighes, and teares? Or tell mee, if a purer Virgin die, Who shall hereafter write her Elegie? Poets be silent, let your numbers sleepe, 25 For he is gone that did all phansie keepe; Time hath no Soule, but his exalted verse; Which with amazements, we may now reherse.
In obitum venerabilis viri _Iohannis Donne_, sacræ Theologiæ Doctoris, Ecclesiæ Cathedralis Divi _Pauli_, nuper Decani; Illi honoris, tibi (multum mihi colende Vir) observantiæ ergo Hæc ego.
_Conquerar? ignavoque sequar tua funera planctu? Sed lachrimæ clausistis iter: nec muta querelas Lingua potest proferre pias: ignoscite manes Defuncti, & tacito finite indulgere dolori. Sed scelus est tacuisse: cadant in mœsta lituræ 5 Verba. Tuis (docta umbra) tuis hæc accipe jussis Cæpta, nec officii contemnens pignora nostri Aversare tuâ non dignum laude Poëtam. O si Pythagoræ non vanum dogma fuisset: Inque meum â vestro migraret pectore pectus 10 Musa, repentinos tua nosceret urna furores. Sed frustra, heu frustra hæc votis puerilibus opto: Tecum abiit, summoque sedens jam monte Thalia Ridet anhelantes, Parnassi & culmina vates Desperare jubet. Verum hâc nolente coactos 15 Scribimus audaces numeros, & flebile carmen Scribimus (ô soli qui te dilexit) habendum. Siccine perpetuus liventia lumina somnus Clausit? & immerito merguntur funere virtus? Et pietas? & quæ poterant fecisse beatum, 20 Cætera, sed nec te poterant servare beatum. Quo mihi doctrinam? quorsum impallescere chartis Nocturnis juvat? & totidem olfecisse lucernas? Decolor & longos studiis deperdere Soles Vt prius aggredior, longamque arcessere famam. 25 Omnia sed frustra: mihi dum cunctisque minatur Exitium crudele & inexorabile fatum. Nam post te sperare nihil decet: hoc mihi restat Vt moriar, tenues fugiatque obscurus in auras Spiritus: ô doctis saltem si cognitus umbris. 30 Illic te (venerande) iterum, (venerande) videbo. Et dulces audire sonós, & verba diserti Oris, & æternas dabitur mihi carpere voces. Quêis ferus infernæ tacuisset Ianitor aulæ Auditis: Nilusque minus strepuisset: Arion 35 Cederet, & sylvas qui post se traxerat Orpheus. Eloquio sic ille viros, sic ille movere Voce feros potuit: quis enim tam barbarus? aut tam Facundis nimis infestus non motus ut illo Hortante, & blando victus sermone sileret? 40 Sic oculos, sic ille manus, sic ora ferebat, Singula sic decuere senem, sic omnia. Vidi, Audivi & stupui quoties orator in Æde Paulina stetit, & mira gravitate levantes Corda, oculosque viros tenuit: dum Nestoris ille 45 Fudit verba (omni quanta mage dulcia melle?) Nunc habet attonitos, pandit mysteria plebi Non concessa prius nondum intellecta: revolvunt Mirantes, tacitique arrectis auribus astant. Mutatis mox ille modo, formaque loquendi 50 Tristia pertractat: fatumque & flebile mortis Tempus, & in cineres redeunt quod corpora primos. Tunc gemitum cunctos dare, tunc lugere videres, Forsitan à lachrymis aliquis non temperat, atque Ex oculis largum stillat rorem; ætheris illo 55 Sic pater audito voluit succumbere turbam, Affectusque ciere suos, & ponere notæ Vocis ad arbitrium, divinæ oracula mentis Dum narrat, rostrisque potens dominatur in altis. Quo feror? audaci & forsan pietate nocenti 60 In nimia ignoscas vati, qui vatibus olim Egregium decus, et tanto excellentior unus Omnibus; inferior quanto est, et pessimus, impar Laudibus hisce, tibi qui nunc facit ista Poëta. Et quo nos canimus? cur hæc tibi sacra? Poëtæ 65 Desinite: en fati certus, sibi voce canorâ Inferias præmisit olor, cum Carolus Albâ (Vltima volventem et Cycnæâ voce loquentem) Nuper eum, turba & magnatum audiret in Aulâ. Tunc Rex, tunc Proceres, Clerus, tunc astitit illi 70 Aula frequens. Solâ nunc in tellure recumbit, Vermibus esca, pio malint nisi parcere: quidni Incipiant & amare famem? Metuere Leones Sic olim, sacrosque artus violare Prophetæ Bellua non ausa est qùamquam jejuna, sitimque 75 Optaret nimis humano satiare cruore. At non hæc de te sperabimus; omnia carpit Prædator vermis: nec talis contigit illi Præda diu; forsan metrico pede serpet ab inde: Vescere, & exhausto satia te sanguine. Iam nos 80 Adsumus; et post te cupiet quis vivere? Post te Quis volet, aut poterit? nam post te vivere mors est. Et tamen ingratas ignavi ducimus auras: Sustinet & tibi lingua vale, vale dicere: parce Non festinanti æternum requiescere turbæ. 85 Ipsa satis properat quæ nescit Parca morari, Nunc urgere colum, trahere atque occare videmus. Quin rursus (Venerande) Vale, vale: ordine nos te Quo Deus, & quo dura volet natura sequemur. Depositum interea lapides servate fideles. 90 Fœlices illâ quêis Ædis parte locari Quâ jacet iste datur. Forsan lapis inde loquetur, Parturietque viro plenus testantia luctus Verba: & carminibus quæ Donni suggeret illi Spiritus, insolitos testari voce calores 95 Incipiet: (non sic Pyrrhâ jactante calebat.) Mole sub hâc tegitur quicquid mortale relictum est De tanto mortale viro. Qui præfuit Ædi huic, Formosi pecoris pastor, formosior ipse. Ite igitur, dignisque illum celebrate loquelis, 100 Et quæ demuntur vitæ date tempora famæ._
Indignus tantorum meritorum Præco, virtutum tuarum cultor religiosissimus,
Daniel Darnelly.
DANIEL DARNELLY.
[In obitum _&c._ _1635-69_, _taking the place of the lines by Tho: Browne_.]
[10 pectore] pectore, _1635_]
[21 beatum.] beatum _1635_]
[23 olfecisse] olfecissë _1635_]
[25 prius aggredior, _1635-69_: prius, aggredior, _1719_ arcessere _Ed_: accessere _1635-69_]
[26-7 mihi dum ... Exitium _1719_: mihi, dum ... Exitium, _1635-39_: mihi dum, ... Exitium, _1650-69_]
[38 Voce feros] Voceferos _1635_, _1669_]
[79 inde:] inde _1635-39_]
[86 Parca] parca _1635-69_
morari,] morari _1635_]
[88 rursus _1719_: rusus _1635_: nusus _1639-69_]
[96 Incipiet: ... calebat. _1719_: _no stops_, _1635-69_]
_Elegie on D. D._
Now, by one yeare, time and our frailtie have Lessened our first confusion, since the Grave Clos'd thy deare Ashes, and the teares which flow In these, have no springs, but of solid woe: Or they are drops, which cold amazement froze 5 At thy decease, and will not thaw in Prose: All streames of Verse which shall lament that day, Doe truly to the Ocean tribute pay; But they have lost their saltnesse, which the eye In recompence of wit, strives to supply: 10 Passions excesse for thee wee need not feare, Since first by thee our passions hallowed were; Thou mad'st our sorrowes, which before had bin Onely for the Successe, sorrowes for sinne, We owe thee all those teares, now thou art dead, 15 Which we shed not, which for our selves we shed. Nor didst thou onely consecrate our teares, Give a religious tincture to our feares; But even our joyes had learn'd an innocence, Thou didst from gladnesse separate offence: 20 All mindes at once suckt grace from thee, as where (The curse revok'd) the Nations had one eare. Pious dissector: thy one houre did treate The thousand mazes of the hearts deceipt; Thou didst pursue our lov'd and subtill sinne, 25 Through all the foldings wee had wrapt it in, And in thine owne large minde finding the way By which our selves we from our selves convey, Didst in us, narrow models, know the same Angles, though darker, in our meaner frame. 30 How short of praise is this? My Muse, alas, Climbes weakly to that truth which none can passe, Hee that writes best, may onely hope to leave A Character of all he could conceive But none of thee, and with mee must confesse, 35 That fansie findes some checke, from an excesse Of merit most, of nothing, it hath spun, And truth, as reasons task and theame, doth shunne. She makes a fairer flight in emptinesse, Than when a bodied truth doth her oppresse. 40 Reason againe denies her scales, because Hers are but scales, shee judges by the lawes Of weake comparison, thy vertue sleights Her feeble Beame, and her unequall Weights. What prodigie of wit and pietie 45 Hath she else knowne, by which to measure thee? Great soule: we can no more the worthinesse Of what you were, then what you are, expresse.
_Sidney Godolphin._
[Footnote: Elegie on D. D. _1635-69_: _it follows Walton's elegy._]
_On D^{r}_ John Donne, _late Deane of S._ Paules, _London_.
Long since this taske of teares from you was due, Long since, ô Poëts, he did die to you, Or left you dead, when wit and he tooke flight On divine wings, and soard out of your sight. Preachers, 'tis you must weep; The wit he taught 5 You doe enjoy; the Rebels which he brought From ancient discord, Giants faculties, And now no more religions enemies; Honest to knowing, unto vertuous sweet, Witty to good, and learned to discreet, 10 He reconcil'd, and bid the Vsurper goe; Dulnesse to vice, religion ought to flow; He kept his loves, but not his objects; wit Hee did not banish, but transplanted it, Taught it his place and use, and brought it home 15 To Pietie, which it doth best become; He shew'd us how for sinnes we ought to sigh, And how to sing Christs Epithalamy: The Altars had his fires, and there hee spoke Incense of loves, and fansies holy smoake: 20 Religion thus enrich'd, the people train'd, And God from dull vice had the fashion gain'd. The first effects sprung in the giddy minde Of flashy youth, and thirst of woman-kinde, By colours lead, and drawne to a pursuit, 25 Now once againe by beautie of the fruit, As if their longings too must set us free, And tempt us now to the commanded tree. Tell me, had ever pleasure such a dresse, Have you knowne crimes so shap'd? or lovelinesse 30 Such as his lips did cloth religion in? Had not reproofe a beauty passing sinne? Corrupted nature sorrow'd when she stood So neare the danger of becomming good, And wish'd our so inconstant eares exempt 35 From piety that had such power to tempt: Did not his sacred flattery beguile Man to amendment? The law, taught to smile, Pension'd our vanitie, and man grew well Through the same frailtie by which he fell. 40 O the sick state of man, health does not please Our tasts, but in the shape of the disease. Thriftlesse is charitie, coward patience, Iustice is cruell, mercy want of sense. What meanes our Nature to barre vertue place, 45 If shee doe come in her owne cloathes and face? Is good a pill, we dare not chaw to know? Sense the soules servant, doth it keep us so As we might starve for good, unlesse it first Doe leave a pawne of relish in the gust? 50 Or have we to salvation no tie At all, but that of our infirmitie? Who treats with us must our affections move To th' good we flie by those sweets which we love, Must seeke our palats, and with their delight 55 To gaine our deeds, must bribe our appetite. These traines he knew, and laying nets to save, Temptingly sugred all the health hee gave. But, where is now that chime? that harmony Hath left the world, now the loud organ may 60 Appeare, the better voyce is fled to have A thousand times the sweetnesse which it gave. I cannot say how many thousand spirits The single happinesse this soule inherits, Damnes in the other world, soules whom no crosse 65 O'th sense afflicts, but onely of the losse, Whom ignorance would halfe save, all whose paine Is not in what they feele, but others gaine, Selfe executing wretched spirits, who Carrying their guilt, transport their envy too: 70 But those high joyes which his wits youngest flame Would hurt to chuse, shall not we hurt to name? Verse statues are all robbers, all we make Of monument, thus doth not give but take As Sailes which Seamen to a forewinde fit, 75 By a resistance, goe along with it, So pens grow while they lessen fame so left; A weake assistance is a kinde of theft. Who hath not love to ground his teares upon, Must weep here if he have ambition.
_I. Chudleigh._
[On D^{r} John Donne _&c._ _1635-69_, _where it follows Godolphin's_ Elegie]
Finis. Appendix A. Latin Poems And Translations De Libro Cvm Mvtv-
FINIS.
APPENDIX A.
LATIN POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS
DE LIBRO CVM MVTV- aretur Impresso; Domi à pueris frustatim lacerato; et post reddito Manuscripto.
Doctissimo Amicissimoque v. D. D. Andrews.
_Parturiunt madido quae nixu praela, recepta, Sed quae scripta manu, sunt veneranda magis. Qui liber in pluteos, blattis cinerique relictos, Si modo sit praeli sanguine tinctus, abit; Accedat calamo scriptus, reverenter habetur, 5 Involat et veterum scrinia summa Patrum. Dicat Apollo modum; Pueros infundere libro Nempe vetustatem canitiemque novo. Nil mirum, medico pueros de semine natos, Haec nova fata libra posse dedisse novo. 10 Si veterem faciunt pueri, qui nuperus, Annon Ipse Pater Iuvenem me dabit arte senem? Hei miseris senibus! nos vertit dura senectus Omnes in pueros, neminem at in Iuvenem. Hoc tibi servasti praestandum, Antique Dierum, 15 Quo viso, et vivit, et juvenescit Adam. Interea, infirmae fallamus taedia vitae, Libris, et Coelorum aemulâ amicitiâ. Hos inter, qui a te mihi redditus iste libellus, Non mihi tam charus, tam meus, ante fuit._ 20
<Epigramma>
_Transiit in Sequanam Moenus; Victoris in aedes; Et Francofurtum, te revehente, meat._
[DE LIBRO &c. _1635-69_ _among certain prose letters in Latin and English_
_Title_:--mutuaretur Impresso;] mutuaretur, Impresso, _1635-69_
frustatim] frustratim _1635-69_
lacerato;] lacerato, _1635-69_]
[2 _manu, sunt_] _manu sunt, 1635-69_]
[4 _abit;_] _abit, 1635-69_]
[<Epigramma> _Ed_: _in old edd. these lines are 3 and 4 of above poem_. _See note_]
[1 _aedes_;] _aedes, 1635-69_]
Amicissimo, & meritissimo BEN. JONSON.
In Vulponem.
_Qvod arte ausus es hic tuâ, Poeta, Si auderent hominum Deique juris Consulti, veteres sequi aemularierque, O omnes saperemus ad salutem. His sed sunt veteres araneosi; 5 Tam nemo veterum est sequutor, ut tu Illos quod sequeris novator audis. Fac tamen quod agis; tuique primâ Libri canitie induantur horâ: Nam chartis pueritia est neganda, 10 Nascanturque senes, oportet, illi Libri, queis dare vis perennitatem. Priscis, ingenium facit, laborque Te parem; hos superes, ut et futuros, Ex nostrâ vitiositate sumas, 15 Quâ priscos superamus, et futuros._
[Amicissimo _&c._ _in sheets added 1650: prefixed originally to Quarto edition of Jonson's Volpone. 1607, later to Folio edition of The Workes of Beniamin Jonson. 1616., when In Vulponem was added: in both signed I.D._]
[11 Nascanturque _1607_: Nascunturque _1616_, _1650-69_]
To M^r _George Herbert_, with one of my Seal(s), of the Anchor and Christ.
_Qvi prius assuetus Serpentum fasce Tabellas Signare, (haec nostrae symbola parva Domus) Adscitus domui Domini, patrioque relicto Stemmate, nanciscor stemmata jure nova. Hinc mihi Crux primo quae fronti impressa lavacro, 5 Finibus extensis, anchora facta patet. Anchorae in effigiem Crux tandem desinit ipsam, Anchora fit tandem Crux tolerata diu. Hoc tamen ut fiat, Christo vegetatur ab ipso Crux, et ab Affixo, est Anchora facta, Iesu. 10 Nec Natalitiis penitus serpentibus orbor, Non ita dat Deus, ut auferat ante data. Quâ sapiens, Dos est; Quâ terram lambit et ambit, Pestis; At in nostra fit Medicina Cruce, Serpens; fixa Cruci si sit Natura; Crucique 15 A fixo, nobis, Gratia tota fluat. Omnia cum Crux sint, Crux Anchora facta, sigillum Non tam dicendum hoc quam Catechismus erit. Mitto nec exigua, exiguâ sub imagine, dona, Pignora amicitiae, et munera; Vota, preces. 20 Plura tibi accumulet, sanctus cognominis, Ille Regia qui flavo Dona sigillat Equo._
[To M^r George Herbert _&c._ _1650-69_, _in sheets added 1650: two and a half lines in Walton's Life of Donne (1658): for Herbert's reply see note Title:_--sent him with one _Walton_ (1670) Seal, _1650-69:_ Seales _Walton_]
[1 fasce] falce _Walton_]
[5 _fronti_] _fronte 1650-69_]
[17 _facta,_] _fixa,_ _1650-69_]
[19 Mitto] Mitto, _1650-69_]
A Sheafe of Snakes used heretofore to be My Seal, The Crest of our poore Family. Adopted in Gods Family, and so Our old Coat lost, unto new armes I go. The Crosse (my seal at Baptism) spred below, 5 Does, by that form, into an Anchor grow. Crosses grow Anchors; Bear, as thou shouldst do Thy Crosse, and that Crosse grows an Anchor too. But he that makes our Crosses Anchors thus, Is Christ, who there is crucifi'd for us. 10 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 murder sure, 15 My death he is, but on the Crosse, my cure. Crucifie nature then, and then implore All Grace from him, crucified there before; When all is Crosse, and that Crosse Anchor grown, This Seal's a Catechism, not a Seal alone. 20 Under that little Seal great gifts I send, <Wishes,> 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.
[A sheafe _&c._] _1650-69 and in Walton's_ Life of Donne (1658), _in all of which and in all subsequent editions except Grolier the first two lines are printed as a title, Walton bracketing them_:--
A sheafe of Snakes used heretofore to be _my Seal, The Crest of our poore Family_. ]
[4 Our ... unto] My ... into _Walton_]
[5 at] in _Walton_]
[11 with this I may _Walton_]
[15 to murder sure,] to murder, sure _Walton_]
[16 He is my death; _Walton_]
[22 Wishes, _Ed_: Works, _1650-69_: Both works _Walton_: Lat. _vota_]
[23-4
Oh may that Saint that rides on our great Seal, To you that bear his name large bounty deal.
_Walton_. ]
Translated out of _Gazæus_, _Vota Amico facta_. _fol._ 160.
God grant thee thine own wish, and grant thee mine, Thou, who dost, best friend, in best things outshine; May thy soul, ever chearfull, nere know cares, Nor thy life, ever lively, know gray haires. Nor thy hand, ever open, know base holds, 5 Nor thy purse, ever plump, know pleits, or folds. Nor thy tongue, ever true, know a false thing, Nor thy word, ever mild, know quarrelling. Nor thy works, ever equall, know disguise, Nor thy fame, ever pure, know contumelies. 10 Nor thy prayers, know low objects, still Divine; God grant thee thine own wish, and grant thee mine.
Translated _&c._] _1650-69_, _in sheets added 1650_: _for original see note_]
APPENDIX B.
POEMS WHICH HAVE BEEN ATTRIBUTED TO JOHN DONNE IN THE OLD EDITIONS AND THE PRINCIPAL MS. COLLEC- TIONS, ARRANGED ACCORDING TO THEIR PROBABLE AUTHORS.
I.
POEMS
PROBABLY BY SIR JOHN ROE, KNT.
_To S^{r} Nicholas Smyth._
Sleep, next Society and true friendship, Mans best contentment, doth securely slip His passions and the worlds troubles. Rock me O sleep, wean'd from my dear friends company, In a cradle free from dreams or thoughts, there 5 Where poor men ly, for Kings asleep do fear. Here sleeps House by famous Ariosto, By silver-tongu'd Ovid, and many moe, Perhaps by golden-mouth'd Spencer too pardie, (Which builded was some dozen Stories high) 10 I had repair'd, but that it was so rotten, As sleep awak'd by Ratts from thence was gotten: And I will build no new, for by my Will, Thy fathers house shall be the fairest still In Excester. Yet, methinks, for all their Wit, 15 Those wits that say nothing, best describe it. Without it there is no Sense, only in this Sleep is unlike a long Parenthesis. Not to save charges, but would I had slept The time I spent in London, when I kept 20 Fighting and untrust gallants Company, In which Natta, the new Knight, seized on me, And offered me the experience he had bought With great Expence. I found him throughly taught In curing Burnes. His thing hath had more scars 25 Then Things himselfe; like Epps it often wars, And still is hurt. For his Body and State The Physick and Counsel which came too late, 'Gainst Whores and Dice, hee nowe on mee bestowes Most superficially: hee speaks of those 30 (I found by him) least soundly who most knows: He swears well, speakes ill, but best of Clothes, What fits Summer, what Winter, what the Spring. He had Living, but now these waies come in His whole Revenues. Where each Whore now dwells, 35 And hath dwelt, since his fathers death, he tells. Yea he tells most cunningly each hid cause Why Whores forsake their Bawds. To these some Laws He knows of the Duello, and touch his Skill The least lot in that or those he quarrell will, 40 Though sober; but so never fought. I know What made his Valour, undubb'd, Windmill go, Within a Pint at most: yet for all this (Which is most strange) Natta thinks no man is More honest than himself. Thus men may want 45 Conscience, whilst being brought up ignorant, They use themselves to vice. And besides those Illiberal Arts forenam'd, no Vicar knows, Nor other Captain less then he; His Schools Are Ordinaries, where civil men seem fools, 50 Or are for being there; His best bookes, Plaies, Where, meeting godly Scenes, perhaps he praies. His first set prayer was for his father, ill And sick, that he might dye: That had, until The Lands were gone, he troubled God no more: 55 And then ask'd him but his Right, That the whore Whom he had kept, might now keep him: She spent, They left each other on even terms; she went To Bridewel, he unto the Wars, where want Hath made him valiant, and a Lieutenant 60 He is become: Where, as they pass apace, He steps aside, and for his Captains place He praies again: Tells God, he will confess His sins, swear, drink, dice and whore thenceforth less, On this Condition, that his Captain dye 65 And he succeed; But his Prayer did not; They Both cashir'd came home, and he is braver now Than'his captain: all men wonder, few know how. Can he rob? No. Cheat? No. Or doth he spend His own? No. Fidus, he is thy dear friend, 70 That keeps him up. I would thou wert thine own, Or thou'hadst as good a friend as thou art one. No present Want nor future hope made me, Desire (as once I did) thy friend to be: But he had cruelly possest thee then, 75 And as our Neighbours the Low-Country men, Being (whilst they were Loyal, with Tyranny Opprest) broke loose, have since refus'd to be Subject to good Kings, I found even so, Wer't thou well rid of him, thou't have no moe. 80 Could'st thou but chuse as well as love, to none Thou should'st be second: Turtle and Damon Should give thee place in songs, and Lovers sick Should make thee only Loves Hieroglyphick: Thy Impress should be the loving Elm and Vine, 85 Where now an ancient Oak, with Ivy twine Destroy'd, thy Symbol is. O dire Mischance! And, O vile verse! And yet your Abraham France Writes thus, and jests not. Good Fidus for this Must pardon me, Satyres bite when they kiss. 90 But as for Natta, we have since faln out: Here on his knees he pray'd, else we had fought. And because God would not he should be winner, Nor yet would have the Death of such a sinner, At his seeking, our Quarrel is deferr'd, 95 I'll leave him at his Prayers, and (as I heard) His last; Fidus, and you, and I do know, I was his friend, and durst have been his foe, And would be either yet; But he dares be Neither; Sleep blots him out and takes in thee. 100 "The mind, you know is like a Table-book, Which, th'old unwipt, new writing never took. Hear how the Huishers Checques, Cupbord and Fire I pass'd; by which Degrees young men aspire In Court; And how that idle and she-state, 105 Whenas my judgment cleer'd, my soul did hate; How I found there (if that my trifling Pen Durst take so hard a Task) Kings were but men, And by their Place more noted, if they erre; How they and their Lords unworthy men prefer; 110 And, as unthrifts had rather give away Great Summs to flatterers, than small debts pay, So they their weakness hide, and greatness show, By giving them that which to worth they owe: What Treason is, and what did Essex kill, 115 Not true Treason, but Treason handled ill; And which of them stood for their Countries good, Or what might be the Cause of so much Blood. He said she stunck, and men might not have said That she was old before that she was dead. 120 His Case was hard, to do or suffer; loth To do, he made it harder, and did both. Too much preparing lost them all their Lives, Like some in Plagues kill'd with preservatives. Friends, like land-souldiers in a storm at Sea, 125 Not knowing what to do, for him did pray. They told it all the world; where was their wit? Cuffs putting on a sword, might have told it. And Princes must fear Favorites more then Foes, For still beyond Revenge Ambition goes. 130 How since Her death, with Sumpter-horse that Scot Hath rid, who, at his coming up, had not A Sumpter-dog. But till that I can write Things worth thy Tenth reading (dear Nick) goodnight.
[To S^{r} Nicholas Smyth. _Ed_: Satyra Sexta. To S^{r} _&c._ _S_: Satires to S^{r} Nic: Smith. 1602 _B_: A Satire: to S^{r} Nicholas Smith. 1602, _L74_: A Satyricall Letter to S^{r} Nich: Smith. Quere, if Donnes or S^{r} Th: Rowes. _O'F_: _no title_ _N_, _TCD_ (_JR in margin_): Satyre VI. _1669_ (_on which the present text is based_)]
[1 Sleep, next] Sleep next, _1669_]
[2 slip _1669_, _S_: skipp _B_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCD_. _In 1669 full stops after slip and rock me and no stop after troubles_]
[3 Rock] rock _1669_]
[4 my _MSS._: thy _1669_]
[6 asleep] all sleap _B_]
[9 golden-mouth'd] gold-mouth'd _B_, _S_]
[14 still] still. _1669_]
[25 hath had _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TCD_: had had _1669_: had _B_]
[26 Things _B_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TCD_: T _1669_]
[28-31 _text from B_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TCD_, _which bracket which ... late_: _see note_:
The Physick and Councel (which came too late 'Gainst Whores and Dice) he now on me bestows: Most superficially he speaks of those. I found, by him, least sound him who most knows.
_1669_ ]
[33 what Winter] what What Winter _1669_]
[35 each _B_, _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TCD_: his _1669_]
[37 cunningly _1669_, _L74_, _N_, _TCD_: perfectly _B_, _O'F_, _S_]
[39 Duello, _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TCD_: Duel, _1669_
touch _B_, _L74_, _O'F_, _S_: on _1669_: only _N_, _TCD_]
[40 those _B_, _L74_, _O'F_: these _1669_]
[41 but so never fought. _B_, _L74_, _O'F_, _S_ (soe as), _TCD_ (nere): but nere fought. _1669_]
[42 Valour, undubb'd, Windmill go, _Ed_: Valour undubd Windmill go. _1669_: valours undubb'd Wine-mill go. _L74_, _N_, _TCD_: his undouted valour windmill goe. _B_: his undaunted valour windmill goe. _O'F_, _S_]
[45 want] vaunt _S_]
[47 besides] except _B_, _O'F_, _S_]
[49 he; _Ed_: he, _1669_]
[53 father, ill] fathers ill, _1669_]
[65 his] if his _1669_]
[66 succeed; _Ed_: succeed, _1669_
They _Ed_: they _1669_]
[68 Than'his _Ed_: Than his _1669_: Then's _N_, _TCD_
how. _Ed_: how, _1669_]
[69 Or _Ed_: or _1669_]
[72 thou'hadst _L74_, _N_, _TCD_: thou hadst _1669_]
[81 love, _Ed_: love _1669_]
[82 Damon] damon _1669_]
[83 thee] the _1669_]
[86-7 Oak, with Ivy twine Destroy'd, thy Symbol is. _L74_, _N_, _TCD_: Oak with Ivy twine, Destroy'd thy Symbole is. _1669_: Oak with ivy twine. Destroy'd thy symbol is! _Chambers_]
[87 Mischance!] Mischance? _1669_]
[88 your _B_, _L74_, _N_, _S_, _TCD_: our _1669_]
[92 knees] knees, _1669_]
[97 Fidus, and you, and I _N_, _TCD_: and Fidus, you and I _1669_: Fidus, and you, and he _B_, _L74_, _O'F_, _S_]
[100 Neither; _L74_, _N_, _O'F_, _S_, _TCD_: Neither yet. _1669_
Sleep] sleep _1669_]
[102 Which, th'old unwipt, _B_, _O'F_, _S_, _TCD_: "The old unwipt _1669_]
[104-6 _1669 has colon after pass'd, brackets by which ... Court and Whenas ... cleer'd, and places comma after hate_]
[107 there (if that _1669_: then that (if _B_, _O'F_, _S_]
[111 And, as unthrifts _Ed_: And, as unthrifts, _1669_, _Chambers_]
[112 pay, _Ed_: pay; _1669_: pay. _Chambers_]
[113 weakness _B_, _L74_, _O'F_, _S_: greatness _1669_, _N_, _TCD_]
[116 ill; _Ed_: ill: _1669_]
[118 Blood. _Ed_: Blood; _1669_]
[121 hard, _Ed_: hard _1669_]
[122 both. _Ed_: both _1669_]
[127 world; _Ed_: world, _1669_]
[132 Hath rid,] Doth ryde, _B_]
[133 till that _1669_: till _N_, _TCD_: untill _B_, _O'F_, _S_]
_Satyre._
Men write that love and reason disagree, But I ne'r saw't exprest as 'tis in thee. Well, I may lead thee, God must make thee see, But, thine eyes blinde too, there's no hope for thee. Thou say'st shee's wise and witty, faire and free, 5 All these are reasons why she should scorne thee. Thou dost protest thy love, and wouldst it shew By matching her as she would match her foe: And wouldst perswade her to a worse offence, Then that whereof thou didst accuse her wench. 10 Reason there's none for thee, but thou may'st vexe Her with example. Say, for feare her sexe Shunne her, she needs must change; I doe not see How reason e'r can bring that _must_ to thee. Thou art a match a Iustice to rejoyce, 15 Fit to be his, and not his daughters choyce. Urg'd with his threats shee'd scarcely stay with thee, And wouldst th'have this to chuse thee, being free? Goe then and punish some soone-gotten stuffe, For her dead husband this hath mourn'd enough, 20 In hating thee. Thou maist one like this meet; For spight take her, prove kinde, make thy breath sweet, Let her see she hath cause, and to bring to thee Honest children, let her dishonest bee. If shee be a widow, I'll warrant her 25 Shee'll thee before her first husband preferre, And will wish thou hadst had her maidenhead; Shee'll love thee so, for then thou hadst bin dead. But thou such strong love, and weake reasons hast, Thou must thrive there, or ever live disgrac'd. 30 Yet pause a while; and thou maist live to see A time to come, wherein she may beg thee; If thou'lt not pause nor change, she'll beg thee now. Doe what she can, love for nothing shee'll allow. Besides, her<s> were too much gaine and merchandise, 35 And when thou art rewarded, desert dies. Now thou hast odds of him she loves, he may doubt Her constancy, but none can put thee out. Againe, be thy love true, shee'll prove divine, And in the end the good on't will be thine: 40 For thou must never think on other love, And so wilt advance her as high above Vertue as cause above effect can bee: 'Tis vertue to be chast, which shee'll make thee.
[Satyre. _B_, _O'F_: A Satire: upon one who was his Rivall in a widdowes Love. _A10_: Satyre VI. _1635-54_: Satyre. VII. _1669_ (_where Satyre VI. is Sleep, next Society &c._)]
[4 thine eyes _1635-69_: thy eye's _A10_]
[11 thee,] the, _1669_]
[13 she needs must change; I _1635-69_: she must change, yet I _A10_]
[16 and _1635-69_: but _B_]
[17 Urg'd _A10_, _B_, _O'F_: Dry'd _1635-69_]
[19 some] _1635 duplicates_]
[22 sweet, _1639-69_: sweet. _1635_]
[27 maidenhead; _Ed_: maidenhead, _1635-69_]
[28 (Shee'll love thee so) for, _1635-69_]
[29 strong] firm _A10_]
[32 thee; _Grosart_: thee. _1635-69_]
[33 now. _Grosart_: now, _1635-69_]
[34 love for nothing shee'll _1635-69_: she'le love for nought _A10_]
[35 Besides, hers _Ed_: Besides, here _1635-69_: But hers _A10_: Besides her _O'F_]
[38-9 out. Againe, _1635-69_: out Againe; _A10_]
[40 And in _1635-69_: And yet in _A10_
thine: _Ed_: thine. _1635-69_]
[41 For thou must never think on _H-K_ (_Grosart_): And thou must never think on, _A10_: For though thou must ne'r thinke of _1635-69_]
[42 And so wilt advance her _1635-69_: For that will her advance _A10_]
[43 bee: _Ed_: bee, _1635-69_]
An Elegie.
AN ELEGIE.
_Reflecting on his passion for his mistrisse._
Come, Fates; I feare you not. All whom I owe Are paid, but you. Then rest me ere I goe. But, Chance from you all soveraignty hath got, Love woundeth none but those whom death dares not; Else, if you were, and just, in equitie 5 I should have vanquish'd her, as you did me. Else Lovers should not brave death's pains, and live, But 'tis a rule, _Death comes not to relieve_. Or, pale and wan deaths terrours, are they lay'd So deepe in Lovers, they make death afraid? 10 Or (the least comfort) have I company? Orecame she Fates, Love, Death, as well as mee? Yes, Fates doe silke unto her distaffe pay, For their ransome, which taxe on us they laye. Love gives her youth, which is the reason why 15 Youths, for her sake, some wither and some die. Poore Death can nothing give; yet, for her sake, Still in her turne, he doth a Lover take: And if Death should prove false, she feares him not; Our Muses, to redeeme her she hath got. 20 That fatall night wee last kiss'd, I thus pray'd, Or rather, thus despair'd; I should have said: Kisses, and yet despaire? The forbid tree Did promise (and deceive) no more then shee. Like Lambs that see their teats, and must eat Hay, 25 A food, whose tast hath made me pine away. _Dives_, when thou saw'st blisse, and crav'dst to touch A drop of water, thy great paines were such. Here griefe wants a fresh wit, for mine being spent, And my sighes weary, groanes are all my rent; 30 Vnable longer to indure the paine, They breake like thunder, and doe bring down rain. Thus, till dry teares soulder mine eyes, I weepe; And then, I dreame, how you securely sleepe, And in your dreames doe laugh at me. I hate, 35 And pray Love, All may: He pitties my state, But sayes, I therein no revenge should finde; The Sunne would shine, though all the world were blind. Yet, to trie my hate, Love shew'd me your teare; And I had dy'd, had not your smile beene there. 40 Your frowne undoes me; your smile is my wealth; And as you please to looke, I have my health. Me thought, Love pittying me, when he saw this, Gave me your hands, the backs and palmes to kisse. That cur'd me not, but to beare paine gave strength, 45 And what it lost in force, it tooke in length. I call'd on Love againe, who fear'd you so, That his compassion still prov'd greater woe; For, then I dream'd I was in bed with you, But durst not feele, for feare't should not prove true. 50 This merits not your anger, had it beene, The Queene of Chastitie was naked seene; And in bed, not to feele, the paine I tooke, Was more then for _Actæon_ not to looke. And that brest which lay ope, I did not know, 55 But for the clearnesse, from a lump of snowe, Nor that sweet teat which on the top it bore From the rose-bud, which for my sake you wore. These griefs to issue forth, by verse, I prove, Or turne their course, by travaile, or new love: 60 All would not doe. The best at last I tryde: Unable longer to hould out I dyed. And then I found I lost life, death by flying: Who hundreds live are but soe long a dying. Charon did let me passe: I'le him requite. 65 To marke the groves or shades wrongs my delight. I'le speake but of those ghosts I found alone, Those thousand ghosts, whereof myself made one, All images of thee. I ask'd them, why? The Judge told me, all they for thee did dye, 70 And therefore had for their Elisian blisse, In one another their owne Loves to kisse. O here I miss'd not blisse, but being dead; For loe, I dream'd, I dream'd; and waking said, Heaven, if who are in thee there must dwell, 75 How is't, I now was there, and now I fell.
[An Elegie. Reflecting on _&c._ _A10_: An Elegie. _H39_, _H40_, _L74_, _RP31_: Eleg. XIII. _1635-69_: _no title_, _Cy_: Elegie. _P_]
[5 Else, if you were, and just, in equitie _H39_: Else, if you were, and just in equitie, _1635-54_, _Grosart_: True, if you were, and just in equitie, _1669_, _Chambers_ (True)]
[12 Orecame she Fates, Love, Death, _MSS._: Or can the Fates love death, _1635-69_]
[13 distaffe _1635-69_, _H39_, _L74_: distaves _A10_, _H40_, _RP31_]
[14 For their ... on us they laye. _Cy_, _H39_, _H40_, _L74_, _P_: For ransome, which taxe they on us doe lay. _1635-69_: For Ransome, but a taxe on us they lay: _A10_]
[17-19 Death] death _1635-69_]
[18 take: _H40_, _L74_: take. _1635-69_]
[21 That fatall night we last kiss'd _1635-69_: That last fatall night wee kiss'd _A10_, _H39_, _H40_, _L74_, _P_, _RP31_]
[22 _in brackets_ _1635-69_
said: _Ed_: said, _1635-69_]
[23 despaire? _Ed_: despaire. _1635-69_]
[24 shee.] yee. _A10_, _H40_]
[28 A drop of water, thy greate _1635-69_: A small little drop, thy _Cy_, _H39_ (then thy), _H40_, _L74_, _P_: The poorest little drop, thy _A10_]
[63 life] lif's _Grosart_: _spelt lief_ _H40_]
[64 Who] Where _Grosart_]
[66 marke] walke _Grosart_
or] and _A10_]
[67 but] out _Grosart_, _from H39_]
[68 Those thousand] Thousand _A10_]
[72 In one] _omit_. _Grosart_]
[74 (For loe I dreampt) _H39 and Grosart_]
[75 Heaven] O Heaven _A10_]
_An Elegie to M^{ris} Boulstred_: 1602.
Shall I goe force an Elegie? abuse My witt? and breake the Hymen of my muse For one poore houres love? Deserves it such Which serves not me, to doe on her as much? Or if it could, I would that fortune shunn: 5 Who would be rich, to be foe foone undone? The beggars best is, wealth he doth not know; And but to shew it him, encreases woe. But we two may enjoye an hour? when never It returnes, who would have a losse for ever? 10 Nor can so short a love, if true, but bring A halfe howres feare, with the thought of losing: Before it, all howres were hope; and all are (That shall come after it,) yeares of dispaire. This joye brings this doubt, whether it were more 15 To have enjoy'd it, or have died before? T'is a lost paradise, a fall from grace, Which I thinke, Adam felt more then his race. Nor need those angells any other Hell; It is enough for them, from Heaven they fell. 20 Besides, Conquest in love is all in all; That when I liste, shee under me may fall: And for this turne, both for delight and view, I'le have a Succuba, as good as you. But when these toyes are past, and hott blood ends, 25 The best enjoying is, we still are frends. Love can but be frendshipps outside; their two Beauties differ, as myndes and bodies do. Thus, I this great Good still would be to take, Vnless one houre, another happy make: 30 Or, that I might forgett it instantlie; Or in that blest estate, that I might die. But why doe I thus travaile in the skill Of despis'd poetrie, and perchance spill My fortune? or undoe myself in sport 35 By having but that dangerous name in Court? I'le leave, and since I doe your poet prove, Keep you my lines as secret as my Love.
[An Elegie _&c._ _A10_, _L74_ (J. R. _in margin_), _RP31_: Elegie _N_, _TCD_ (J. R.): Elegie to his M. promissing to love him an hour. _HN_ (_signed J. R._): An Elegy 1602. To M^{rs} Boulstrede. _Le Prince d'Amour. &c._ _1660
[7 text from HN_: The beggers best is, that wealth he doth <not> know, _A10_: The beggar's best, his _&c._ _L74_, _RP31_, _N_, _TCD_, _Sim_: The beggar's best that _Grosart_]
[9 two _Sim_: _om. HN_, _L74_, _N_, _RP31_, _TCD_: But we an hour may now enjoy when never _A10_
hour?] hour; _L74_]
[10 It returnes] Again't returnes _A10_]
[16 or have] or else _A10_]
[21 Besides, _A10_: Beside, _L74_]
[23 delight] despite _A10_]
[27 but be] be but _Sim_
their _Ed_: there _A10_, _L74_]
[30 one] on _L74_]
[32 _Poem closes_, _A10_]
[34 despis'd poetrie,] deeper mysteries, _Sim_]
_An Elegie._
True Love findes witt, but he whose witt doth move Him to love, confesses he doth not love: And from his witt, passions and true desire Are forc'd as hard, as from the flint is fire. My love's all fire whose flames my soule do nurse, 5 Whose smokes are sighes; whose every sparke's a verse. Doth measure women win? Then I know why Most of our Ladies with the Scotts doe lie. A Scott is measur'd in each syllable, terse And smooth as a verse: and like that smooth verse 10 Is shallow, and wants matter, but in his handes, And they are rugged; Her state better standes Whom dauncing measures tempted, not the Scott: In brief she's out of measure, lost, soe gott. Greene-sickness wenches, (not needes must but) may 15 Looke pale, breathe short; at Court none so long stay. Good witt ne're despair'd there, or _Ay me_ said: For never Wench at Court was ravished. And shee but cheates on Heaven, whom you so winne Thinking to share the sport, but not the sinne. 20
[An Elegie. _A10_: _similarly_, _B_, _H40_, _L74_, _O'F_, _RP31_: Elegia Undecima. _S_: _no title_, _Cy_, _P_ (J. D _in margin_): _first printed by Grosart_]
[1 findes] kindles _RP31_]
[5 do _A10_, _L74_: doth _Grosart and Chambers_]
[7 women win? _A10_: win women? _L74_]
[11 but in his handes, _A10_, _B_, _L74_, _O'F_, _P_: but's in's bands _S_: cut in bands _Grosart and Chambers_: writt in his hands _H-K_ (_teste Grosart_)]
[14 she's _A10_, _L74_, _P_, _H-K_ (_Grosart_): theyre _S_, _Chambers_
soe] if _A10_]
[17 ne're _A10_: neare _L74_]
_Song._
Deare Love, continue nice and chaste, For, if you yeeld you doe me wrong, Let duller wits to loves end haste, I have enough to wooe thee long.
All paine and joy is in their way; 5 The things we feare bring lesse annoy Then feare; and hope brings greater joy; But in themselves they cannot stay.
Small favours will my prayers increase; Granting my suit you give me all, 10 And then my prayers must needs surcease, For, I have made your Godhead fall.
Beasts cannot witt nor beauty see, They mans affections onely move; Beasts other sports of love doe prove, 15 With better feeling farre than we.
Then Love prolong my suite, for thus By losing sport, I sport doe win; And that may vertue prove in us, Which ever yet hath beene a sinne. 20
My comming neare may spie some ill, And now the world is given to scoffe; To keepe my Love, (then) keepe me off, And so I shall admire thee still.
Say I have made a perfect choyce, 25 Satietie our Love may kill; Then give me but thy face and voyce, Mine eye and eare thou canst not fill.
To make me rich (oh) be not poore, Give me not all, yet something lend, 30 So I shall still my suite commend, And you at will doe lesse or more. But, if to all you condescend, My love, our sport, your Godhead end.
[Song. _1635-69_: _no title_, _A10_, _B_, _HN_ (_signed_ J. R.), _L74_ (Finis. JR monogram), _O'F_, _P_, _S96_]
[1 Love,] Love _1635-69_]
[13 witt] will, _1635-54_]
[14 They, _1635-69_: Those _L74_]
[18 I sport] I sports _1635-54_]
[19 that may _A10_, _HN_, _L74_: that doth _1635-69_: let that _B_]
[26 Satietie] Sacietie _1635-39_, _L74_
Love _A10_, _B_, _HN_, _L74_, _S96_: selves _1635-69_]
[28 Mine _MSS._: My _1635-39_]
[32 you at will] at your will _S96_]
_To Ben. Iohnson_, 6 _Ian._ 1603.
The State and mens affaires are the best playes Next yours; 'Tis nor more nor lesse than due praise. Write, but touch not the much descending race Of Lords houses, so settled in worths place, As but themselves none thinke them usurpers. 5 It is no fault in thee to suffer theirs. If the Queene Masque, or King a hunting goe, Though all the Court follow, Let them. We know Like them in goodnesse that Court ne'r will be, For that were vertue, and not flatterie. 10 Forget we were thrust out; It is but thus, God threatens Kings, Kings Lords, as Lords doe us. Iudge of strangers, Trust and believe your friend, And so me; And when I true friendship end, With guilty conscience let me be worse stonge, 15 Then with _Pophams_ sentence theeves, or _Cookes_ tongue Traitors are. Friends are our selves. This I thee tell As to my friend, and to my selfe as Counsell; Let for a while the times unthrifty rout Contemne learning, and all your studies flout. 20 Let them scorne Hell, they will a Sergeant feare, More then wee _that_; ere long God may forbeare, But Creditors will not. Let them increase In riot and excesse as their meanes cease; Let them scorne him that made them, and still shun 25 His Grace, but love the whore who hath undone Them and their soules. But; that they that allow But one God, should have religions enow For the Queens Masque, and their husbands, far more Then all the Gentiles knew, or _Atlas_ bore! 30 Well, let all passe, and trust him who nor cracks The bruised Reed, nor quencheth smoaking flaxe.
[To Ben. Iohnson, 6 Ian. 1603. _1635-69_, _O'F_: To Ben Johnson 6 Jan: 1603 T.R. _B_: An Epistle to Ben Johnson. S^{r} J: R: _H40_: An Epistle to Beniamin Johnson. _RP31_: An Epistle: To M^{r} Ben. Johnson. Ja: 6: 1603 _L74_: To M^{r} Ben Johnson. _S_]
[2 yours; _Ed_: yours, _1635-69_
nor more] noe more _L74_]
[5 none thinke] none can thinke _1669_]
[11 out; _Ed_: out. _1635-69_]
[15 stonge, _L74_: _spelt_ stũg, _1635_]
[18 as Counsell;] is Counsell: _1635-54_]
[22 More then wee _that_; _Ed_: More then wee that _H40_, _L74_: More then wee them; that, _1635-69_ (them _in ital._ _1635-54_)]
[24 cease; _Ed_: cease, _1635-69_]
[28 enow _H40_, _L74_: enough _1635-69_]
[29 far _L74_: for _1635-69_, _H40_]
[30 bore! _Ed_: bore? _H40_: bore. _1635-69_, _L74_]
_To Ben. Iohnson_, 9. _Novembris_, 1603.
If great men wrong me, I will spare my selfe; If meane, I will spare them. I know that pelf Which is ill got the Owner doth upbraid. It may corrupt a Iudge, make me afraid And a Iury; But 'twill revenge in this, 5 That, though himselfe be judge, hee guilty is. What care I though of weaknesse men taxe me, I had rather sufferer than doer be. That I did trust, it was my Natures praise, For breach of word I knew but as a phrase. 10 That judgement is, that surely can comprise The world in precepts, most happy and most wise. What though? Though lesse, yet some of both have we, Who have learn'd it by use and misery. Poore I, whom every pety crosse doth trouble, 15 Who apprehend each hurt thats done me, double, Am of this (though it should sinke me) carelesse, It would but force me to a stricter goodnesse. They have great odds of me, who gaine doe winne, (If such gaine be not losse) from every sinne. 20 The standing of great mens lives would afford A pretty summe, if God would sell his Word. He cannot; they can theirs, and breake them too. How unlike they are that they are likened to? Yet I conclude, they are amidst my evils, 25 If good, like Gods, the naught are so like devils.
[To Ben Johnson, 9 Novembris, 1603: _1635-69_, _B_ (_subscribed_ doubtfull author), _O'F_, _S_: Another Epistle to M^{r} Ben: Johnson. No: 9. 1603. _L74_: Another to Ben Johnson. _H40_]
[2 them.] them, _1635-69_ that _B_, _H40_, _L74_, _S_: the _1635-69_]
[3 upbraide. _Ed_: upbraide; _1635-69_]
[5 Iury; _Ed_: Iury. _1635-69_]
[18 goodnesse.] goodnesse _1635-39_]
[19 odds _B_, _H40_, _L74_, _S_: gaine _1635-69_, _O'F_]
_To S^{r} Tho. Roe_ 1603.
_Deare Thom_:
Tell her if she to hired servants shew Dislike, before they take their leave they goe; When nobler spirits start at no disgrace, For who hath but one minde, hath but one face: If then why I tooke not my leave she aske, 5 Aske her againe why she did not unmaske? Was she or proud or cruell, or knew shee 'Twould make my losse more felt, and pittyed me? Or did she feare one kisse might stay for moe? Or else was she unwilling I should goe? 10 I thinke the best, and love so faithfully I cannot chuse but thinke that she loves mee. If this prove not my faith, then let her trie How in her service I would fructifie. Ladies have boldly lov'd; bid her renew 15 That decay'd worth, and prove the times past true. Then he whose wit and verse goes now so lame, With songs to her will the wild Irish tame. Howe'r, I'll weare the black and white ribband, White for her fortunes, blacke for mine shall stand. 20 I doe esteeme her favours, not their stuffe; If what I have was given, I have enough: And all's well; for had she lov'd, I had had All my friends hate; for now, departing sad I feele not that; Yet as the Rack the Gout 25 Cures, so hath _this_ worse griefe _that_ quite put out: My first disease nought but that worse cureth, Which (which I dare foresee) nought cures but death. Tell her all this before I am forgot, That not too late shee grieve shee lov'd me not. 30 Burden'd with this, I was to depart lesse Willing, then those which die, and not confesse.
[Footnote: To Sir Tho. Rowe, 1603. _1635-69_, _O'F_: An Elegie. To S^{r} Tho. Roe. _B_ (_subscribed J. R._), _L74_: An Elegie, complayning a want of complement in his mistrisse, at his leave-taking. _A10_: Elegia Vicesima Septima. To S^{r} Thomas Roe. 1603. _S_
_Thom_: _B_, _L74_, _O'F_,_S_: _Tom_: _1635-69_]
[5 tooke _A10_, _B_, _L74_, _O'F_, _S_: take _1635-69_]
[14 I would _1635-69_: it will _A10_, _L74_, _S_]
[17 goes now so _Ed_: goe now so _B_: growes now so _1635-69_, _O'F_: now goes thus _A10_, _L74_, _S_]
[21 favours, not their _B_, _L74_, _S_: favour, not the _1635-69_]
[22 enough: _Ed_: enough, _1635-69_]
[23 had had] had not had _1635-69_, _O'F_]
[24 hate;] hate _1635_: hate, _1639-69_
now, _Ed_: now _1635-69_: not _A10_, _B_, _L74_, _S_]
[26 out:] out. _1635_]
[28 Which (which I dare foresee) nought _A10_, _B_, _L74_, _S_: Which (I dare foresay) nothing _1635-69_]
[Willing, _Ed_: Willing _1635-69_: Willing; _A10_]
II.
_To the Countesse of Huntington._
That unripe side of earth, that heavy clime That gives us man up now, like _Adams_ time Before he ate; mans shape, that would yet bee (Knew they not it, and fear'd beasts companie) So naked at this day, as though man there 5 From Paradise so great a distance were, As yet the newes could not arrived bee Of _Adams_ tasting the forbidden tree; Depriv'd of that free state which they were in, And wanting the reward, yet beare the sinne. 10 But, as from extreme hights who downward looks, Sees men at childrens shapes, Rivers at brookes, And loseth younger formes; so, to your eye, These (Madame) that without your distance lie, Must either mist, or nothing seeme to be, 15 Who are at home but wits mere _Atomi_. But, I who can behold them move, and stay, Have found my selfe to you, just their midway; And now must pitty them; for, as they doe Seeme sick to me, just so must I to you. 20 Yet neither will I vexe your eyes to see A sighing Ode, nor crosse-arm'd Elegie. I come not to call pitty from your heart, Like some white-liver'd dotard that would part Else from his slipperie soule with a faint groane, 25 And faithfully, (without you smil'd) were gone. I cannot feele the tempest of a frowne, I may be rais'd by love, but not throwne down. Though I can pittie those sigh twice a day, I hate that thing whispers it selfe away. 30 Yet since all love is fever, who to trees Doth talke, doth yet in loves cold ague freeze. 'Tis love, but, with such fatall weaknesse made, That it deftroyes it selfe with its owne shade. Who first look'd sad, griev'd, pin'd, and shew'd his paine, 35 Was he that first taught women, to disdaine. As all things were one nothing, dull and weake, Vntill this raw disordered heape did breake, And severall desires led parts away, Water declin'd with earth, the ayre did stay, 40 Fire rose, and each from other but unty'd, Themselves unprison'd were and purify'd: So was love, first in vast confusion hid, An unripe willingnesse which nothing did, A thirst, an Appetite which had no ease, 45 That found a want, but knew not what would please. What pretty innocence in those dayes mov'd? Man ignorantly walk'd by her he lov'd; Both sigh'd and enterchang'd a speaking eye, Both trembled and were sick, both knew not why. 50 That naturall fearefulnesse that struck man dumbe, Might well (those times consider'd) man become. As all discoverers whose first assay Findes but the place, after, the nearest way: So passion is to womans love, about, 55 Nay, farther off, than when we first set out. It is not love that sueth, or doth contend; Love either conquers, or but meets a friend. Man's better part consists of purer fire, And findes it selfe allow'd, ere it desire. 60 Love is wise here, keepes home, gives reason sway, And journeys not till it finde summer-way. A weather-beaten Lover but once knowne, Is sport for every girle to practise on. Who strives through womans scornes, women to know, 65 Is lost, and seekes his shadow to outgoe; It must bee sicknesse, after one disdaine, Though he be call'd aloud, to looke againe. Let others sigh, and grieve; one cunning sleight Shall freeze my Love to Christall in a night. 70 I can love first, and (if I winne) love still; And cannot be remov'd, unlesse she will. It is her fault if I unsure remaine, Shee onely can untie, and binde againe. The honesties of love with ease I doe, 75 But am no porter for a tedious woo. But (madame) I now thinke on you; and here Where we are at our hights, you but appeare, We are but clouds you rise from, our noone-ray But a foule shadow, not your breake of day. 80 You are at first hand all that's faire and right, And others good reflects but backe your light. You are a perfectnesse, so curious hit, That youngest flatteries doe scandall it. For, what is more doth what you are restraine, 85 And though beyond, is downe the hill againe. We'have no next way to you, we crosse to it: You are the straight line, thing prais'd, attribute; Each good in you's a light; so many a shade You make, and in them are your motions made. 90 These are your pictures to the life. From farre We see you move, and here your _Zani's_ are: So that no fountaine good there is, doth grow In you, but our dimme actions faintly shew. Then finde I, if mans noblest part be love, 95 Your purest luster must that shadow move. The soule with body, is a heaven combin'd With earth, and for mans ease, but nearer joyn'd. Where thoughts the starres of soule we understand, We guesse not their large natures, but command. 100 And love in you, that bountie is of light, That gives to all, and yet hath infinite. Whose heat doth force us thither to intend, But soule we finde too earthly to ascend, 'Till slow accesse hath made it wholy pure, 105 Able immortall clearnesse to endure. Who dare aspire this journey with a staine, Hath waight will force him headlong backe againe. No more can impure man retaine and move In that pure region of a worthy love: 110 Then earthly substance can unforc'd aspire, And leave his nature to converse with fire: Such may have eye, and hand; may sigh, may speak; But like swoln bubles, when they are high'st they break. Though far removed Northerne fleets scarce finde 115 The Sunnes comfort; others thinke him too kinde. There is an equall distance from her eye, Men perish too farre off, and burne too nigh. But as ayre takes the Sunne-beames equall bright From the first Rayes, to his last opposite: 120 So able men, blest with a vertuous Love, Remote or neare, or howsoe'r they move; Their vertue breakes all clouds that might annoy, There is no Emptinesse, but all is Ioy. He much profanes whom violent heats do move 125 To stile his wandring rage of passion, _Love_: Love that imparts in every thing delight, Is fain'd, which only tempts mans appetite. Why love among the vertues is not knowne Is, that love is them all contract in one. 130
[To the Countesse of Huntington. _1635-69_: S^{r} Wal: Ashton to y^{e} Countesse of Huntingtowne _P_, _TCD_ (_II_)]
[2 man] men _P_]
[3 ate; _1635-39_: eat; _1650-69_]
[11 downward] inward _TCD_]
[14 without] _om. TCD_]
[17 who] that _P_, _TCD_]
[20 you.] you, _1635-69_]
[26 faithfully, _1635-69_: finally _P_, _TCD_
you smil'd _1635-54_ your smile _1669_, _P_, _TCD_]
[28 down. _1635-54_: down, _1669_]
[30 whispers] whispered _P_: vapours _TCD_]
[31 fever] _feverish_ _1669_]
[32 doth yet] yet doth _1669_
ague] feaver _P_]
[35 paine,] paine. _1635-39_]
[36 women] woman _TCD_]
[37 were one] were but one _1669_]
[47 those dayes] that day _1669_]
[50 both knew _1635-54_: but knew _P_, _TCD_: yet, knew _1669_]
[52 consider'd _Ed_: considered _1635-69_]
[57 sueth, or] sues and _P_]
[65 womans] womens _P_
women] woman _TCD_
know, _1650-69_: know. _1635-39_]
[67 It must be] It is meer _1669_
sicknesse,] sicknesse _1635-69_]
[69 sigh _P_, _TCD_: sinne, _1635-69_]
[74 and _P_: I _1635-69_, _TCD_]
[76 woo. _TCD_: wooe. _P_: woe. _1635-69_, _Chambers and Grolier_]
[77 I now] now I _TCD_]
[78 hights] height _TCD_]
[79 clouds you rise from, our noone-ray _Grolier_: clouds, you rise from our noone-ray, _1635-69_, _TCD_, _and Chambers_]
[81 right] bright _P_]
[83 a perfectnesse] all perfections _P_]
[84 youngest] quaintest _TCD_
flatteries] flatterers _P_, _TCD_]
[86 though] what's _P_]
[87 We'have _Ed_: We have _1635-69_]
[88 straight line,] streight-lace _P_
attribute; _Ed_: attribute. _1635_: attribute, _1639-69_]
[91 These] Those _TCD_]
[98 With earth] _om. TCD_
but] _om. 1650-69_]
[99 thoughts] through _P_]
[105 wholy] holy _TCD_]
[106 endure.] endure _1635_]
[108 waight] weights _P_, _TCD_]
[109 impure] vapore _P_]
[114 when they're highest break. _P_, _TCD_
break.] break _1635-39_: brak _1650-54_: brake. _1669_]
[115 _In edd. new par. begins wrongly at_ 113, _and so Chambers and Grolier_
fleets] Isles _1669_]
[116 comfort; _1635-54_: sweet comfort, _1669_
others] yet some _1669_]
[119 But as the aire takes all sunbeams equall bright _P_]
[120 the first Rayes, _1635-54_: the Raies first, _1669_, _TCD_: the rise first _P_]
[121 able men _P_: able man, _1635-54_: happy man, _1669_: happy['s] man _Grosart and Chambers_]
[123 Their _1669_, _P_, _TCD_: There _1635-54_, _Chambers and Grolier_]
[125 violent _P_, _TCD_: valiant _1635-69_]
[126 _Love_: _Ed_: _Love_. _1635-54_: _Love_, _1669_]
[127 imparts] imports _1669_, _TCD_]
[128 Is fain'd, which ... appetite. _P_: Is thought the mansion of sweet appetite. _TCD_: Is fancied _1635-39_ (_rest of line left blank_): Is fancied in the Soul, not in the sight. _1650-54_: Is fancied by the Soul, not appetite. _1669_]
[130 Is, that] Is, 'cause _TCD_
contract in _1650-69_, _P_: contracted _1635-39_, _TCD_]
III.
_Elegie._
Death be not proud, thy hand gave not this blow, Sinne was her captive, whence thy power doth flow; The executioner of wrath thou art, But to destroy the just is not thy part. Thy comming, terrour, anguish, griefe denounce; 5 Her happy state, courage, ease, joy pronounce. From out the Christall palace of her breast, The clearer soule was call'd to endlesse rest, (Not by the thundering voyce, wherewith God threats, But, as with crowned Saints in heaven he treats,) 10 And, waited on by Angels, home was brought, To joy that it through many dangers sought; The key of mercy gently did unlocke The doores 'twixt heaven and it, when life did knock. Nor boast, the fairest frame was made thy prey, 15 Because to mortall eyes it did decay; A better witnesse than thou art, assures, That though dissolv'd, it yet a space endures; No dramme thereof shall want or losse sustaine, When her best soule inhabits it again. 20 Goe then to people curst before they were, Their spoyles in Triumph of thy conquest weare. Glory not thou thy selfe in these hot teares Which our face, not for hers, but our harme weares, The mourning livery given by Grace, not thee, 25 Which wils our soules in these streams washt should be, And on our hearts, her memories best tombe, In this her Epitaph doth write thy doome. Blinde were those eyes, saw not how bright did shine Through fleshes misty vaile the beames divine. 30 Deafe were the eares, not charm'd with that sweet sound Which did i'th spirit-instructed voice abound. Of flint the conscience, did not yeeld and melt, At what in her last Act: it saw, heard, felt. Weep not, nor grudge then, to have lost her sight, 35 Taught thus, our after stay's but a short night: But by all soules not by corruption choaked Let in high rais'd notes that power be invoked. Calme the rough seas, by which she sayles to rest, From sorrowes here, to a kingdome ever blest; 40 And teach this hymne of her with joy, and sing, _The grave no conquest gets, Death hath no sting._
[Elegie. _Ed_: Elegye on the Lady Markham. By L. C. of B. _RP31_: _do._ By C. L. of B. _H40_: Elegie on Mistris Boulstred. _1635-69_: _given as continuation of Death I recant &c._ _O'F_, _P_: _no title_, _B_ (_at foot of page F. B._). _See Text and Canon &c._]
[2 flow; _Ed_: flow, _1635-69_: growe, _B_, _Cy_, _H40_, _O'F_, _P_]
[5-6 comming, _1650-69_: comming _1635-39_
state, _1650-69_: state _1635-39_
denounce; ... pronounce. _B_, _Cy_, _H40_, _P_: denounces; ... pronounces. _1635-69_]
[12 To joy that _1635-69_: To joy what _H40_: To joye, that _B_
sought; _Ed_: sought, _1635-69_]
[22 spoyles .. of .. weare. _B_, _Cy_, _H40_ (beare), _P_: soules .. to .. beare, _1635-69_. _See note_]
[24 hers, _H40_, _P_: her, _1635-69_
weares, _Ed_: weares. _1635-54_: weares: _1669_]
[30 the _B_, _Cy_, _H40_, _P_: those _1635-69_]
[31 not _1635-69_: that _B_, _Cy_, _P_]
[32 Which did _1635-69_: Did _H40_: Did not _B_, _Cy_, _P_
spirit-instructed _MSS._: spirits instructed _1635-69_]
[saw, heard, felt. _B_, _Cy_, _H40_, _P_: saw and felt. _1635-69_]
[38 rais'd _1635-69_: raisèd _Chambers_]
[39 she sayles _1635-69_: shee's sayl'd _B_, _H40_: shee's fled _Cy_, _P_
rest, _1650-69_: rest _1635-39_]
[40 here, _1650-69_: here _1635-39_
blest; _Ed_: blest _1635_: blest, _1639-54_: blest. _1669_]
[41 And preach this Hymn which hers (she _Cy_, _P_) with joy did sing, _B_, _Cy_, _H40_, _P_
sing, _1650-69_: sing _1635-69_]
IV.
_Psalme 137._
Probably by Francis Davison.
I.
By Euphrates flowry side We did bide, From deare Juda farre absented, Tearing the aire with our cryes, And our eyes, 5 With their streames his streame augmented.
II.
When, poore Syons dolefull state, Desolate; Sacked, burned, and inthrall'd, And the Temple spoil'd, which wee 10 Ne'r should see, To our mirthlesse mindes wee call'd:
III.
Our mute harpes, untun'd, unstrung, Up wee hung On greene willowes neere beside us, 15 Where, we sitting all forlorne; Thus, in scorne, Our proud spoylers 'gan deride us.
IV.
Come, sad Captives, leave your moanes, And your groanes 20 Under Syons ruines bury; Tune your harps, and sing us layes In the praise Of your God, and let's be merry.
V.
Can, ah, can we leave our moanes? 25 And our groanes Under Syons ruines bury? Can we in this Land sing Layes In the praise Of our God, and here be merry? 30
VI.
No; deare Syon, if I yet Do forget Thine affliction miserable, Let my nimble joynts become Stiffe and numme, 35 To touch warbling harpe unable.
VII.
Let my tongue lose singing skill, Let it still To my parched roofe be glewed, If in either harpe or voice 40 I rejoyce, Till thy joyes shall be renewed.
VIII.
Lord, curse Edom's traiterous kinde, Beare in minde In our ruines how they revell'd. 45 _Sack_, _kill_, _burne_, they cry'd out still, _Sack_, _burne_, _kill_, Downe with all, let all be levell'd.
IX.
And, thou Babel, when the tide Of thy pride 50 Now a flowing, growes to turning; Victor now, shall then be thrall, And shall fall To as low an ebbe of mourning.
X.
Happy he who shall thee waste, 55 As thou hast Us, without all mercy, wasted, And shall make thee taste and see What poore wee By thy meanes have seene and tasted. 60
XI.
Happy, who, thy tender barnes From the armes Of their wailing mothers tearing, 'Gainst the walls shall dash their bones, Ruthlesse stones 65 With their braines and blood besmearing.
[Psalme 137. _1633-69_, _A25_, _C_, _RP61_ in Certaine selected Psalmes of David (in Verse) differint from Those usually sung in the Church Composed by Francis Davison esq^r. deceased and other Gentlemen. Manuscribd by R. Crane. Addl._ _MS. 27407_, _Harl. MSS. 3357 and 6930_]
[4 with our cryes] with mournful cries _Crane_]
[6 his] the _Crane_]
[16 all forlorne] soe forlorne _Crane_]
[22-3
To your Harpes sing us some layes To the praise _Crane_ ]
[24 merry.] merry, _1633-39_]
[25-6 moanes ... groanes] _interchanged_ _Crane_]
[31-2
if I faile To bewayle _Crane_ ]
[42 renewed.] renewed _1633_]
[43 curse] plague _Crane_]
[45 ruines] Ruine _Crane_
revell'd. _Ed_: revell'd, _1633-39_]
[52-3 shall ... shall] shalt ... shalt _Crane_]
[59-60
What by thee Wee (poore wee) have _&c._ _Crane_ ]
V.
_On the blessed Virgin Mary._
Probably by Henry Constable.
In that, ô Queene of Queenes, thy birth was free From that which others doth of grace bereave, When in their mothers wombe they life receive, God, as his sole-borne daughter loved thee.
To match thee like thy births nobilitie, 5 He thee his Spirit for thy spouse did leave, By whom thou didst his onely sonne conceive, And so wast link'd to all the Trinitie.
Cease then, ô Queenes, that earthly Crownes doe weare, To glory in the Pompe of earthly things; 10 If men such high respects unto you beare, Which daughters, wives, and mothers are to Kings, What honour can unto that Queene be done Who had your God for Father, Spouse and Sonne?
[On the _&c._ _1635-69_, _A10_, _B_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_: _also among Spiritual Sonnets by H. C. in Harl. MS. 7553_]
[6 thy spouse _A10_, _B_: his spouse _1635-69_]
[12 to _B_: of _1635-69_
Kings,] kings, _1635_]
VI.
_On the Sacrament._
He was the Word that spake it, Hee tooke the bread and brake it; And what that Word did make it, I doe beleeve and take it.
[On the _&c._ _1635-69_]
VII.
_Absence._
That time and absence proves Rather helps than hurts to loves.
Probably by John Hoskins.
Absence heare my protestation Against thy strengthe Distance and lengthe, Doe what thou canst for alteration: For harts of truest mettall 5 Absence doth joyne, and time doth settle.
Who loves a Mistris of right quality, His mind hath founde Affections grounde Beyond time, place, and all mortality: 10 To harts that cannot vary Absence is present, time doth tary:
My Sences want their outward motion Which now within Reason doth win, 15 Redoubled by her secret notion: Like rich men that take pleasure In hidinge more then handling treasure.
By absence this good means I gaine That I can catch her 20 Where none can watch her In some close corner of my braine: There I embrace and there kiss her, And so enjoye her, and so misse her.
[Absence. _The Grove_ (_1721_): _do. or no title_, _B_, _Cy_, _HN_ (_signed_ J. H.), _L74_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_ (_the text here printed_): _also in_ Davison's Poetical Rhapsody (_PR_) _1602_ _and_ (_a maimed and altered version_) _in Wit Restored_ (_WR_) _1658_]
[1 heare _B_, _S96_, _Grove_: heare thou _Cy_, _HN_, _L74_, _PR_, _S_, _WR_]
[3 Distance] Disdayne _HN_]
[4 you can _PR_: yee dare _HN_]
[5 For hearts where love's refined _WR_]
[6 Are absent joyned, by tyme combined. _WR_]
[7 right _S96_: such _Grove_, _HN_, _L74_, _PR_]
[8 He soon hath found _PR_]
[10 all] _om._ _WR_]
[11 To] That _WR_]
[12 present] presence _B_
tary] carry _WR_]
[13 motion] motions _PR_]
[16 by ... notion:] in ... notions: _PR_: in ... notion _HN_]
[18 hidinge] finding _Grove_]
[19 means] mean _WR_]
[23 There I embrace and there kiss her, _S96_: There I embrace her, and _&c._ _L74_: There I embrace and there I kiss her, _B_, _O'F_, _WR_: There I embrace and kiss her, _Grove_, _HN_, _PR_]
[24 and so misse her _B_, _Cy_, _HN_, _L74_, _O'F_, _S96_, _WR_: while none misse her. _Grove_: I both enjoy and miss her. _PR_]
VIII.
_Song._
Probably by the Earl of Pembroke.
Soules joy, now I am gone, And you alone, (Which cannot be, Since I must leave my selfe with thee, And carry thee with me) 5 Yet when unto our eyes Absence denyes Each others sight, And makes to us a constant night, When others change to light; 10 _O give no way to griefe, But let beliefe Of mutuall love, This wonder to the vulgar prove Our Bodyes, not wee move._ 15
Let not thy wit beweepe Wounds but sense-deepe, For when we misse By distance our lipp-joying blisse, Even then our soules shall kisse, 20 Fooles have no meanes to meet, But by their feet. Why should our clay, Over our spirits so much sway, To tie us to that way? 25 _O give no way to griefe, &c._
[Song. _1635-69_, _O'F_: also in the Poems &c. (1660) of the Earle of Pembroke and S^{r} Benjamin Ruddier, and the Lansdowne MS. 777, here it is signed E. of Pembroke._]
[1 now] when _1660_, _L77_]
[17 Wounds _L77_: Words _1635-69_, _O'F_
sense-deepe,] _no hyphen_, _1635-69_]
[18 when] while _L77_]
[19 lipp-joyning _L77_ (_not_ lives joining _as Chambers reports_): hopes joyning _1635-69_, _O'F_]
_A Dialogue._
Earle Of Pembroke.
EARLE OF PEMBROKE.
If her disdaine least change in you can move, you doe not love, For whilst your hopes give fuell to the fire, you sell desire. Love is not love, but given free, 5 And so is mine, so should yours bee.
Her heart that melts at others moane, to mine is stone. Her eyes that weepe a strangers hurt to see, joy to wound mee: 10 Yet I so much affect each part, As (caus'd by them) I love my smart.
Say her disdaynings justly must be grac't with name of chaste. And that shee frownes least longing should exceed, 15 and raging breed; Soe can her rigor ne'er offend Unlesse selfe-love seeke private end.
Ben: Ruddier
BEN: RUDDIER
'Tis love breeds love in mee, and cold disdaine kils that againe, 20 As water causeth fire to fret and fume, till all consume. Who can of love more free gift make, Then to loves self, for loves own sake.
I'll never dig in Quarry of an heart 25 to have no part, Nor roast in fiery eyes, which alwayes are Canicular. Who this way would a Lover prove, May shew his patience, not his love. 30
A frowne may be sometimes for physick good, But not for food; And for that raging humour there is sure A gentler Cure. Why barre you love of private end, 35 Which never should to publique tend?
[A Dialogue. _Ed_: A Dialogue betweene S^{r} Henry Wotton and M^{r} Donne. _1635-69 among_ Letters to Severall Personages: _no heading but divided between_ Earle of Pembroke _and_ Ben: Ruddier _H39_, _H40_, _P_: _and so between_ P _and_ R _in the_ Poems _&c._ (1660) _of Pembroke and Ruddier_. _See note_: _only 18 lines and no dialogue_, _Cy_: _in TCD_ (_II_) _the first part is given to_ Earl of Pembroke _and_ S^{r} Henry Wotton, _the second to_ S^{r} Ben. Ruddier _and_ D^{r} John Donne]
[3 whilst your hopes give _H39_, (the), _H40_, _P_: when the hope gives _1635-54_: when that hope gives _1669_]
[7 melts at _H39_, _H40_, _P_, _TCD_: melts to hear of _1635-69_]
[9 a strangers] anothers _P_
hurt _H39_, _H40_, _P_, _TCD_: eyes _1635-69 and mod. edd._]
[11 much _Cy_, _H39_, _H40_, _P_, _TCD_: well _1635-69_]
[13 Say _1635-69_: I think _H39_: Think _H40_: But thinke _P_
her disdaynings _1635-69_: her unkindness _H40_: that her disdaine _P_
must be] may well be _P_]
[17-18 _text_ _H40_, _P_, _P and R_:
So her disdaines can ne'er offend; Vnlesse selfe-love take private end. _1635-69_ ]
[21 causeth] maketh _H40_, _P_]
[23-4
Who can of love more free gift make Then to loves self, for loves owne sake
_H39_, _H40_, _P_ (_but H39 has to love in 23_)
Who can of love more gift make, Then to love selfe for loves sake. _1635-39_ Who can of love more rich gift make, Then to love selfe-love for loves sake? _1650-54_ Who can of love more rich gift make, Then to Loves self for loves own sake. _1669_ ]
[25 Quarry] quarryes _P_]
[27 roast _1669_, _H40_: rest _1635-54_: waste _H39_, _P_]
[30 May] doth _H39_, _H40_, _P_]
IX.
_Break of Daye._
Stanza prefixed to Donne's Poem (p. 23) in Stowe MS. 961 and in Edition of 1669.
Probably by John Dowlands.
Stay, O 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, 5 And perish in their infancie.
[Stanza _&c._] _given as a separate poem in A25_ (_where it is written in at the side_), _C_, _O'F_, _P_: _printed in John Dowland's_ A Pilgrim's Solace (1612)]
[1 Stay, O sweet] Lie still my dear _A25_, _C_]
[3 The day breakes not] There breakes not day _S96_]
[4 Because that] To think that _S96_]
[5 Stay] Oh stay _S96_]
APPENDIX C.
A SELECTION OF POEMS WHICH FREQUENTLY ACCOMPANY POEMS BY JOHN DONNE IN MANUSCRIPT COLLECTIONS OR HAVE BEEN ASCRIBED TO DONNE BY MODERN EDITORS.
I.
POEMS FROM ADDITIONAL MS. 25707.
_A Letter written by S^{r} H: G: and J: D: alternis vicibus._
Since ev'ry Tree beginns to blossome now Perfuminge and enamelinge each bow, Hartes should as well as they, some fruits allow.
For since one old poore sunn serves all the rest, You sev'rall sunns that warme, and light each brest 5 Doe by that influence all your thoughts digest.
And that you two may soe your vertues move, On better matter then beames from above, Thus our twin'd souls send forth these buds of love.
As in devotions men Joyne both there hands, 10 Wee make ours doe one Act to seale the bands, By which we enthrall ourselves to your commands,
And each for others faith and zeale stand bound: As safe as spirits are from any wound, Soe free from impure thoughts they shal be found. 15
Admit our magique then by which wee doe Make you appeere to us, and us to you, Supplying all the Muses in you twoe.
Wee doe consider noe flower that is sweet, But wee your breath in that exhaling meet, 20 And as true types of you, them humbly greet.
Heere in our Nightingales we heere you singe Who soe doe make the whole yeare through a springe, And save us from the feare of Autumns stinge.
In Anchors calme face wee your smoothnes see, 25 Your mindes unmingled, and as cleare as shee That keepes untoucht her first virginitie.
Did all St. Edith nunns descend againe To honor Polesworth with their cloystred traine, Compar'd with you each would confesse some stayne. 30
Or should wee more bleed out our thoughts in inke, Noe paper (though it woulde be glad to drinke Those drops) could comprehend what wee doe thinke.
For t'were in us ambition to write Soe, that because wee two, you two unite, 35 Our letter should as you, bee infinite.
[Letter written _&c._ _A25_: _published by Chambers, who completes the names_]
[2 bow, _Ed_: bow _A25_]
[9 twin'd _A25_: twined _Chambers_]
[10 hands, _Ed_: hands _A25_]
[12-13 commands, ... bound: _Ed_: command. ... bound, _A25_]
[25 Anchors _Chambers_: Anchos _A25_]
[29 traine, _Ed_: traine _A25_]
[31 inke, _Ed_: inke _A25_]
_O Frutefull Garden._
O Frutefull garden, and yet never tilde, Box full of Treasure yet by noe man filde. O thou which haste, made him that first made thee; O neare of kinne to all the Trinetie; O Pallace where the kinge of all, and more; 5 Went in, and out, yet never opened doore; Whose flesh is purer, than an others sperrit Reache him our Prayers, and reach us down his merrit; O bread of lyfe which sweld'ste up without Leaven; O bridge which joynst togeather earth and heaven; 10 Whose eyes see me through these walles, and throughe glasse, And through this fleshe as thorowe Cipres passe. Behould a little harte made greate by thee Swellinge, yet shrinkinge at thy majestie. O dwell in it, for where soe ere thou go'ste 15 There is the Temple of the Holy Ghoste.
[O Frutefull Garden. _A25_: [TO THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY.] _Chambers_]
[6 out, _Ed_: out _A25_]
[8 merrit; _Ed_: merrit, _A25_]
[9 Leaven, _Ed_: Leaven _A25_]
_To my Lord of Pembroke._
Fye, Fye you sonnes of Pallas what madd rage Makes you contend that Love's, or God, or page? Hee that admires, his weaknes doth confess; For as Love greater growes; soe hee growes less. Hee that disdaines, what honor wynns thereby, 5 That he feeles not, or triumphes on a fly? If love with queasie paine thy stomack move, Soe will a slutt whome none dare touch; or love. If it with sacred straines doe thee inspire Of Poetrie; soe wee maye want admire. 10 If it thee valiant make, his ryvall hate Can out doe that and make men desperate. Yealdinge to us, all woemen conquer us, By gentlenes we are betrayed thus. We will not strive with Love that's a shee beaste; 15 But playinge wee are bounde, and yeald in Jest; As in a Cobwebb toyle, a flye hath beene Undone; so have I some fainte lover seene. Love cannot take away our strength, but tame, And wee less feele the thinge then feare the name; 20 Love is a temperate bath; hee that feeles more Heate or could there, was hott, or could before. But as Suñ beames which would but norishe, burne, Drawne into hollow Christall, soe we turne To fire her bewties Lustre willingly, 25 By gatheringe it in our false treacherous eye. Love is nor you, nor you; but I a balme, Sword to the stiff, unto the wounded balme. Prayes noe thinge adds, if it be infinite, If it be nothing, who can lessen it? 30
[To my Lord of Pembroke. _A25_, _Chambers_]
[3 confess; _Ed_: confess _A25_]
[5 disdaines, _Ed_: disdaines _A25_]
[6 fly? _Ed_: fly; _A25_]
[19 tame, _Ed_: tame _A25_]
[27 I a balme, _A25_: Aye a calm, _Chambers conjectures_]
_Of a Lady in the Black Masque._
Why chose shee black; was it that in whitenes Shee did Leda equal? whose brightnes Must suffer loss to put a bewtie on Which hath no grace but from proportion. It is but Coullor, which to loose is gayne, 5 For shee in black doth th'Æthiopian staine, Beinge the forme that beautifies the creature Her rareness not in Coullor is; but feature. Black on her receaves soe strong a grace It seemes the fittest beautie for the face. 10 Coullor is not, but in æstimation Faire, or foule, as it is stild by fashion. Kinges wearinge sackcloath it doth royall make; Soe black<ne>s from her face doth beautie take. It not in Coullor but in her, inheres, 15 For what she is, is faire, not what she weares; The Moore shalle envye her, as much, or more, As did the Ladies of our Court before. The Sunn shall mourne that hee had westwarde beene, To seeke his Love; whilst shee i'th North was seene. 20 Her blacknes lends like lustre to her eyes, As in the night pale Phoebe glorifyes. Hell, synne, and vice their attributes shall loose Of black, for it wan, and pale whitenes choose, As like themselves, Common, and most in use: 25 Sad of that Coulor is the late abuse.
[Of a Lady _&c._ _A25_, _Chambers_]
[10 face. _Ed_: face _A25_]
[13 make; _Ed_: make _A25_]
[14 black<ne>s _Chambers_: blacks _A25_]
[16 weares; _Ed_: weares, _A25_]
Ii. Poems From The Burley Ms.
II.
POEMS FROM THE BURLEY MS.
<_Life._>
This lyfe it is not life, it is a sight That wee have of y^e earth, y^e earth of vs; It is a feild, where sence & reason fight, The soules & bodies quarrells to discus; It is a iorney where wee do not goe, 5 but fly w^{th} speedy wings t'our blisse or woe. It is a chaine y^t hath but two smale links Where<with> o^r graue is to o^r bodie ioyned; It is a poysned feast wherein who thinks To tast ioyes cup, y^e cup of death doth find. 10 It is a play, presented in heauens eye Wherein o^r parts are to do naught but dye.
[Life.> _Ed_: _no title_, _Bur_]
[2 vs; _Ed_: vs _Bur_]
[3 feild, _Ed_: feild _Bur_]
[4 discus; _Ed_: discus _Bur_]
[6 Woe. _Ed_: woe _Bur_]
[8 Where<with> _Ed_: where _Bur_
ioyned; _Ed_: ioyned _Bur_]
<_My Love._>
My love doth fly w^{th} wings of feare And doth a flame of fire resemble, w^{ch} mounting high & burning cleere yet ever more doth wane & tremble. My loue doth see & still admire, 5 Admiring breedeth humblenes; blind loue is bold, but my desire the more it loues p^{re}sumes y^e lesse. My loue seekes no reward or glory but w^{th} it self it self contenteth, 10 is never sullaine, never sory, never repyneth or repenteth. O'who the sunne beames can behold but hath some passion, feeles some heat, for though the sunn himself be cold 15 his beames reflecting fire begett. O y^t myne eyes, ô that myne hart Were both enlarged to contayne the beames & ioyes shee doth impart, whilst shee this bowre doth not disdayne; 20 this bowre vnfit for such a gueste, but since she makes it now her Inn, Would god twere like her sacred breast most fayre w^{th}out, most rich w^{th}in.
[<My Love.> _Ed_: _no title and no punctuation_, _Bur_]
[4 wane _Ed_: weane _Bur_]
[12 never _Ed_: ne're _Bur_]
<_O Eyes!_>
O Eyes, what do you see? O eares what do you heare? that makes y^o wish to bee All eyes or else all eare? I see a face as fayre 5 As mans eye ever saw, I here as sweet an ayre as y^t w^{ch} rocks did draw, I wish, when in such wise I see or heare y^e same, 10 I had all Argus eyes or else y^e eare<s> of fame.
[<O Eyes!> _Ed_: _no title and no punctuation_, _Bur_]
[12 eare<s> _Ed_: eare _Bur_:
Cui, quot sunt corpore plumae, Tot vigiles oculi subter, mirabile dictu, Tot linguae, totidem ora sonant, _tot subrigit auris_.
Virgil: _Aen._ iv. 181-3. ]
<_Silence Best Praise._>
Cõmend her? no. I dare not terme her fayre, nor sugred sweet, nor tall, nor louely browne; suffice it y^t she is w^{th}out compare; but how, I dare not tell lest she should frowne. but those parts <least> w^{ch} others make theyre pryde, 5 and feed there fancies w^{th} devised lyes; giue me but leaue to pull my saint asyde, and tell her in her eare that she is wise. to write of beauties rare ther is noe art, for why tis common to there sex & kind, 10 but making choice of natures better part my Muse doth most desire to prayse her mind. But as her vertue<s> clayme a crowne of bayes, So manners makes me sylent in her prayse.
[<Silence Best Praise.> _Ed_: _no title_, _Bur_]
[1 fayre, _Ed_: fayre _Bur_]
[2 sweet, ... tall, ... browne; _Ed_: _no stops_, _Bur_]
[3 compare; _Ed_: compare _Bur_]
[4 frowne. _Ed_: frowne _Bur_]
[5 <least> _Ed_: lest _Bur_
pryde, _Ed_: pryde _Bur_]
[6 lyes; _Ed_: lyes _Bur_]
[7 asyde, _Ed_: asyde _Bur_]
[8 wise. _Ed_: wise _Bur_]
[9-10 art, ... kind. _Ed_: _no commas_, _Bur_]
[10 common] cõmõ _Bur_]
[12 mind. _Ed_: mind _Bur_]
[13 vertue<s> _Ed_: vertue _Bur_
bayes, _Ed_: bayes _Bur_]
<_Beauty in Little Room._>
Those drossy heads & irrepurged braynes w^{ch} sacred fyre of loue hath not refined may grossly think my loue smale worth contaynes because shee is of body smale combined. Not diving to y^e depth of natures reach, 5 W^{ch} on smale things doth greatest guifts bestow: small gems & pearls do witt more truly teach W^ch little are yet great in vertue grow, of flowers most part y^e least wee sweetest see, of creatures having life & sence y^e annt 10 is smalst, yet great her guifts & vertues bee, frugall & provident for feare of want. Wherfore who sees not natures full intent? she made her smale to make her excellent.
[<Beauty in Little Room.> _Ed_: _no title_, _Bur_]
[5 depth _Ed_: depht _Bur_
reach, _Ed_: reach _Bur_]
[6 bestow: _Ed_: bestow _Bur_]
[8 grow, _Ed_: grow _Bur_]
[11 bee, _Ed_: bee _Bur_]
[13 intent? _Ed_: intent _Bur_]
<_Loves Zodiake._>
I that y^e higher half of loues Round Zodiake haue rune, And in the signe of crabbed chaunce My Tropick haue begun, Am taught to teach y^e man is blest 5 Whose loues lott lights so badd, as his solstitium soonest makes And so growes Retrograde.
[<Loves Zodiake> _Ed_: _no title_, _Bur_]
<_Fortune, Love, and Time._>
When fortune, loue, and Tyme bad me be happie, Happy I was by fortune, loue, and tyme. These powres at highest then began to vary, and cast him downe whome they had caus'd to clyme; They prun'd theire wings, and tooke theire flight in rage; 5 fortune to fooles, loue to gold, and tyme to age.
Fooles, gold, and age, (o foolish golden age!) Witt, fayth, and loue must begg, must brybe, must dy; These are the actors and the world's the stage, Desert and hope are as but standers by: 10 True lovers sit and tune this restlesse song; Fortune, loue, and tyme haue done me wrong.
[<Fortune, Love, and Time.> _Ed_: _no title and no punctuation_, _Bur_]
<_Life a Play._>
What is o^r life? a play of passion. o^r mirth? the musick of diuision. O^r mothers wombs the tyring houses bee Where we are drest for liues short comedy. The earth the stage, heauen y^e spectator is, 5 Who still doth note who ere do act amisse. O^r graues that hyde vs, frõ the all-seeing suñ, Are but drawne curtaynes whẽ the play is done.
[<Life a Play.> _Ed_: _no title, and no punctuation except the two marks of interrogation_, _Bur_]
_A Kisse._
O what a blisse is this? heaven is effected and loues eternity contracted In one short kisse. 5 For not tymes measure makes pleasure more full, tedious and dull all ioyes are thought 10 y^t are not in an instant wrought. Cupi<d>s blest and highest spheare is heare. heere on his throne in his bright imperial crowne 15 hee sitts. Those witts That thinke to proue that mortals know in any place below 20 a blisse so great so sweet Are heretiques in loue. These pleasures high now dye, 25 but still beginning new & greater glory wiñing gett fresh supply. No short breath'd panting nor faynting 30 is heere, fuller and freer more pleasinge is this pleasure still, & none but this. Heer'es no blush nor labor great, 35 no sweat; Heres no payne nor repentance when againe Loue cooles. O fooles 40 That fondly glory in base condition of sensual fruition, you do mistake & make 45 y^r heaven purgatory.
[A Kisse. _Bur_]
[8 full. _Ed_: full _Bur_]
[12 Cupi<d>s _Ed_: Cupis _Bur_]
[27 new _Ed_: now _Bur_]
[28 supply. _Ed_: supply _Bur_]
[31 heere, _Ed_: heere _Bur_]
[35 great, _Ed_: great _Bur_]
[39 cooles. _Ed_: cooles _Bur_]
[43 fruition, _Ed_: fruition _Bur_]
_Epi: B: Jo:_
Tell me who can when a player dies In w^{ch} of his shapes againe hee shall rise? What need hee stand at the iudgment throne Who hath a heaven and a hell of his owne. Then feare not Burbage heavens angry rodd, 5 When thy fellows are angells & old Hemmĩgs is God.
[Epi: B: Jo: (i.e. Epitaph: Ben Ionson) _Bur_: _no punctuation_]
_Epi: Hen: Princ: Hug^o Holland._
Loe now hee shineth yonder A fixed starr in heaven, Whose motion is vnder None of the planetts seaven; And if the soñ should tender 5 The moone his loue and marry, They never could engender So fayre a starr as Harry.
[Epi: Hen: Princ: Hug^o Holland. _Bur_: _no punctuation_]
Iii. Poems From Various Mss.
III.
POEMS FROM VARIOUS MSS.
<_The Annuntiation._
_Additional Lines._>
Nature amaz'd sawe man without mans ayde Borne of a mother nursed by her a mayd, The child the Parent was, the worke the word, No word till then did such a worke affoord. Twas lesse from nothing the world's all to growe 5 Then all-Creato^{rs} height to stoope so lowe. A virgin mother to a child bredd wonder, T'was more a child should bee the God of thunder. Th'omnipotent was strangely potent heere To make the powerfull God pearelesse appeare. 10 Hee in our body cladd, for our soules love Came downe to us, yet stay'd vnchanged above. Yet God through man shind still in this cleere brooke, Through meane shewes into maiesty wee looke. Sinnes price seemd payd with brasse, fewe sawe the gold, 15 Yet true stones set in lead theyr lustre hold. His birth though poore, Prophets foretold his story, Hee breathd with beasts, but Angels sung his glory. Hee, so farr of, so weake, yet Herod quakes, The citty dreads, babes, murderd, feare mistakes. 20 His Circumcision bore sinne, payne, and shame, Young bloud new budd, hence bloomd a sauiours name. His paynes and passion bredd compassion, wonder; Earth trembling, heavens darke, rocks rent asunder. His birth, life, death, his words, his workes, his face 25 Shewd a rich Jewell shining through the case, Cast thus, since man at gods high presence trembles. Heere man mans troth loves whome his sheepe resembles. The bright Sunne beame a sickly eye may di[~m]e, A little babe in shallow heart may swi[~m]. 30 Hee heavens wealth to a poore stable brings, Th'oxestall the Court unto the king of kings. No Shadowes now nor lightning flames give terro^r. This light tells with our tongue, and beares o^r erro^r. Pure infant teares, moist pearle adornd his cheeke, 35 Assignd, ere borne, our erring soules to seeke. Hee first wept teares, then bloud, a deare redemption; This bought what Adam sould, that seemd preemption. Cleare droppe, deare seede, the corne had bloudy eares, Rich harvest reapd in bloud and sowne in teares. 40 Who this Corne in theyr hart nor thresh, nor lay, Breake for sinnes debt, unthrifty never pay. Use wealth, it wastes, a stayd hand heapes the store, But this the more wee use wee have the more; Use, not like usury whose growth is lending, 45 Rich thoughts this treasure keepe and thrive by spending; Th'expense runnes circular, turning returning, Such love no hart consumes, yet ever burning.
[<The Annuntiation. Additional Lines.> _Ed_: _these lines run straight on as part of_ The Annuntiation and Passion _in O'F_]
[2 a mayd] _Norton supplies_ a mayd, _Ed_: mayd _O'F_]
[3 was,... word, _Ed_: _no commas_, _O'F_]
[6 lowe. _Ed_: lowe _O'F_]
[7 wonder, _Ed_: wonder _O'F_]
[8 thunder. _Ed_: thunder _O'F_]
[13 brooke, _Ed_: brooke _O'F_]
[21 shame, _Ed_: shame _O'F_]
[23 wonder; _Ed_: wonder _O'F_]
[24 trembling, _Ed_: trembling _O'F_]
[26 case, _Ed_: case _O'F_]
[27 trembles. _Ed_: trembles _O'F_]
[28 resembles. _Ed_: resẽbles _O'F_]
[29 di[~m]e, _Ed_: di[~m]e _O'F_]
[31 brings, _Ed_: brings _O'F_]
[35 cheeke, _Ed_: cheeke _O'F_]
[37 redemption; _Ed_: redemption _O'F_]
[38 preemption. _Ed_: preemption _O'F_]
[39 eares, _Ed_: eares _O'F_]
[41 lay, _Ed_: lay _O'F_]
[43 store, _Ed_: store _O'F_]
[44 more; _Ed_: more _O'F_]
[45 Use, ... lending, _Ed_: _no commas_, _O'F_]
[46 spending; _Ed_: spending _O'F_]
[47 returning, _Ed_: returning _O'F_]
[48 consumes, _Ed_: consumes _O'F_]
_Elegy. To Chast Love._
Chast Love, let mee embrace thee in mine armes Without the thought of lust. From thence no harmes Ensue, no discontent attende those deeds So innocently good w^{ch} thy love breeds. Th'approche of day brings to thy sence no feares, 5 Nor is the black nights worke washd in thy teares; Thou takst no care to keepe thy lover true, Nor yet by flighte, nor fond inventions new To hold him in, who with like flame of love Must move his spirit too, as thine doth move; 10 w^{ch} ever mounts aloft with golden wings And not declines to lowe despised things. Thy soule is bodyd within thy quiet brest In safety, free from trouble and unrest. Thou fearst no ill because thou dost no ill, 15 Like mistress of thy selfe, thy thought, and will, Obey thy mind, a mind for ever such As all may prayse, but none admire too much. Then come, Chast Love, choyse part of womankind Infuse chast thoughts into my loving mind. 20
[Elegy. To Chast Love. _O'F_]
[5 feares, _Ed_: feares _O'F_]
[6 teares; _Ed_: teares _O'F_]
[7 true, _Ed_: true _O'F_]
[9 in, _Ed_: in _O'F_]
[10 move; _Ed_: move _O'F_]
[15 ill, _Ed_: ill _O'F_]
[16 will, _Ed_: will _O'F_]
_Upon his scornefull Mistresse. Elegy._
Cruell since that thou dost not feare the curse W^{ch} thy disdayne, and my despayre procure, My prayer for thee shall torment thee worse Then all the payne thou coudst thereby endure. May, then, that beauty w^{ch} I did conceave 5 In thee above the height of heavens course, When first my Liberty thou didst bereave, Bee doubled on thee and with doubled force. Chayne thousand vassalls in like thrall with mee, W^{ch} in thy glory mayst thou still despise, 10 As the poore Trophyes of that victory Which thou hast onely purchasd by thine eyes; And when thy Triumphs so extended are That there is nought left to bee conquered, Mayst thou with the great Monarchs mournfull care 15 Weepe that thine Hono^{rs} are so limited; So thy disdayne may melt it selfe to love By an unlookd for and a wondrous change, W^{ch} to thy selfe above the rest must prove In all th'effects of love paynefully strange, 20 While wee thy scorned subjects live to see Thee love the whole world, none of it love thee.
[Upon his scornefull Mistresse. _O'F_: _no title_, _B_, _which adds note_, This hath relation to 'When by thy scorne'. _See_ The Apparition, _p._ 191]
[2 despayre _B_: disdayne _O'F_
procure, _Ed_: procure _O'F_]
[6 course, _Ed_: course _O'F_]
[7 bereave, _Ed_: bereave _O'F_]
[8 force. _Ed_: force _O'F_]
[9 Chayne _B_: Stay _O'F_ mee, _Ed_: mee _O'F_]
[10 despise, _Ed_: despise _O'F_]
[12 eyes; _Ed_: eyes _O'F_]
[14 conquered, _Ed_: conquered _O'F_]
[16 limited; _Ed_: limited _O'F_]
[18 change, _Ed_: change _O'F_]
[20 strange, _Ed_: strange _O'F_]
<_Absence._>
Wonder of Beautie, Goddesse of my sense, You that have taught my soule to love aright, You in whose limbes are natures chief expense Fitt instrument to serve your matchless spright, If ever you have felt the miserie 5 Of being banish'd from your best desier, By Absence, Time, or Fortunes tyranny, Sterving for cold, and yet denied for fier: Deare mistresse pittie then the like effects The which in mee your absence makes to flowe, 10 And haste their ebb by your divine aspect In which the pleasure of my life doth growe: Stay not so long for though it seem a wonder You keepe my bodie and my soule asunder.
FINIS.
<_Tongue-tied Love._>
Faire eies do not think scorne to read of Love That to your eies durst never it presume, Since absence those sweet wonders do<th> remove That nourish thoughts, yet sence and wordes consume; This makes my pen more hardy then my tongue, 5 Free from my feare yet feeling my desire, To utter that I have conceal'd so long By doing what you did yourself require. Believe not him whom Love hath left so wise As to have power his owne tale for to tell, 10 For childrens greefes do yield the loudest cries, And cold desires may be expressed well: In well told Love most often falsehood lies, But pittie him that only sighes and dies.
FINIS.
[<Absence.> <Tongue-tied Love.> _Ed_: _whole sonnets without titles in_ _L74_: _the last six lines of the second appear among Donne's poems in_ _B_, _O'F_, _S96_ <Tongue-tied Love.>]
[12 cold desires] coldest Ayres _O'F_]
<_Love, if a God thou art._>
Love if a god thou art then evermore thou must Bee mercifull and just; If thou bee just, ô wherefore doth thy dart Wound mine alone and not my mistresse hart? 5
If mercifull, then why Am I to payne reservd Who have thee truely serv'd, When shee that by thy powre sets not a fly Laughs thee to scorne and lives at liberty? 10
Then if a God thou woulds accounted bee, Heale mee like her, or else wound her like mee.
<_Great Lord of Love._>
Greate Lord of love, how busy still thou art To give new wounds and fetters to my hart! Is't not enough that thou didst twice before It so mangle And intangle 5 By sly arts of false harts. Forbeare mee, Ile make love no more.
Fy busy Lord, will it not thee suffice To use the Rhetorique of her tongue and eyes 10 When I am waking, but that absent so They invade mee To perswade mee, When that sleepe Oft should keepe 15 And lock out every sence of woe.
If thou perswade mee thus to speake, I dye And shee the murdresse, for me will deny; And if for silence I bee prest, Her good Yet I cherish 20 Though I perish, For that shee Shall bee free From that foule guilt of spilling bloud.
[<Love if a God thou art.> <Great Lord of Love.> <Loves Exchange.> _all without titles in_ _O'F_: _punctuation mainly the Editor's_]
<_Loves Exchange_>
1. To sue for all thy Love, and thy whole hart were madnesse. I doe not sue, nor can admitt, (Fayrest) from yo^u to have all yet; Who giveth all, hath nothing to impart 5 But sadnesse.
2. Hee who receaveth all can have no more, Then seeing. My love by length of every howre Gathers new strength, new growth, new power: 10 You must have dayly new rewards in store Still beeing.
3. You cannot every day give mee yo^r hart For merit; Yet if you will, when yours doth goe 15 You shall have still one to bestow, For you shall mine, when yours doth part, Inherit.
4. Yet if you please weele find a better way Then change them, 20 For so alone (dearest) wee shall Bee one and one another all; Let us so joyne our harts, that nothing may Estrange them.
_Song._
Now y'have killd mee with yo^{r} scorne Who shall live to call yo^{u} fayre? What new foole must now bee borne To prepare Dayly sacrifice of service new, 5 Teares too good for woemen true? Who shall sorrow when yo^{u} crye And to please yo^{u} dayly dye? Men succeeding shall beware And woemen cruell, no more fayre. 10
2.
Now y'have killd mee, never looke Any left to call yo^{u} trewe; Who more madd must now bee tooke To renewe My oblations dayly, lost? 15 Vowes too good for woemen chast! Who shall call yo^{u} sweete, and sweare T'is yo^{r} face renews the yeare? Men by my Death shall beleeve, And woemen cruell yet shall greeve. 20
[Song. _O'F_: _punctuation mainly Editor's_]
_Love, bred of glances._
Love bred of Glances twixt amorous eyes Like Childrens fancies, sone borne, sone dyes. Guilte, Bitternes, and smilinge woe Doth ofte deceaue poore lovers soe, As the fonde Sence th'unwary soule deceives 5 With deadly poison wrapt in Lily leaves.
But harts so chain'd as Goodnes stands With truthe unstain'd to couple hands, Love beinge to all beauty blinde Save the cleere beauties of the minde, 10 There heaven is pleasd, continuall blessings sheddinge, Angells are guests and dance at this blest weddinge.
[Love _&c._ <True Love.> _Chambers_, _who prints from RP117_: _no title_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_ (_from which present text is taken_)]
[2 borne _B_, _P_, _O'F_, _S96_: bred _Chambers_]
[4 Doth _S96_: does _B_, _O'F_: doe _P_]
[5 As] And _Chambers_]
[7 as Goodnes] 'tis goodnes _Chambers_]
[8 hands, _Ed_: hands _S96_]
[10 minde, _B_: minde _S96_]
[11 There heav'n is _O'F_, _P_, _S96_: Where Reason is _Chambers_
sheddinge, _Ed_: sheddinge _S96_]
[12 this] his _Chambers_]
_To a Watch restored to its Mystres._
Goe and Count her better howers. For they are happier than oures. The day that gives her any bliss, Make it as long againe as 'tis. The hower shee smyles in, lett it bee 5 By thy acte multiplyde to three. But if shee frowne on thee or mee, Know night is made by her, not thee; Be swifte in such an hower & soone, See thou make night, ere it be noone. 10 Obey her tymes, whoe is the free Faire Sunne that governes thee & mee.
[To a Watch _&c._ _B_, _where note below title says_ none of J. D. _and poem is signed_ W. L.]
<_Ad Solem._>
Wherfore peepst thou, envious daye? We can kisse without thee. Lovers hate the golden raye, Which thou bearst about thee. Goe and give them light that sorowe 5 Or the saylor flyinge: Our imbraces need noe morowe Nor our blisses eying.
We shall curse thy curyous eye For thy soone betrayinge, 10 And condemn thee for a spye Yf thou catch us playinge. Gett thee gone and lend thy flashes Where there's need of lendinge, Our affections are not ashes 15 Nor our pleasures endinge.
Weare we cold or withered heare We would stay thee by us, Or but one anothers feare Then thou shouldst not flye us. 20 Wee are yongue, thou spoilst our pleasure; Goe to sea and slumber, Darknes only gives us leasure Our stolne joyes to number.
[<Ad Solem.> _Ed_: _no title_, _Add. MSS._ _22603_, _33998_, _Egerton MS. 2013_, _Harleian MS. 791_, _S_, _TCD(II)_: _printed J. Wilson_: Cheerful Ayres (1659), _Grosart and Chambers_: _text from Eg. MS. 2013_: _punctuation partly Editor's_]
[2 kisse] live _E20_]
[9 curyous _A22_, _A33_, _H79_, _S_, _TCD_: envious _E20_]
[19 one anothers feare _TCD_: one another fear _E20_: one anothers sphere _A22_, _A33_, _S_]
[23 gives] lends _A22_, _A33_]
<_If She Deride._>
Greate and goode if she deryde mee Let me walke Ile not despayre, Ere to morrowe Ile provide mee One as greate, lesse prowd, more faire. They that seeke Love to constraine 5 Have theire labour for their paine.
They that strongly can importune And will never yeild nor tyre, Gaine the paye in spight of Fortune But such game Ile not desyre. 10 Where the prize is shame or synn, Wynners loose and loosers wynn.
Looke upon the faythfull lover, Griefe stands paynted in his face, Groanes, and Teares and sighs discover 15 That they are his onely grace: Hee must weepe as children doe That will in the fashion wooe.
I whoe flie these idle fancies Which my dearest rest betraye, 20 Warnd by others harmfull chances, Vse my freedome as I may. When all the worlde says what it cann 'Tis but--Fie, vnconstant mann!
[<If She Deryde.> _Chambers_: _no title_, _S_: _also, Chambers reports, in C.C.C. Oxon. MS. 327, f. 26: printed by Grosart and Chambers_]
[11 Where the prize is _Chambers_: Where they prize this (_'t' struck out_) _S_: Where they prize is _Grosart_]
[14 Teares and sighs] _Chambers reverses_]
<_Fortune Never Fails._>
What if I come to my mistris bedd The candles all ecclipst from shyninge, Shall I then attempt for her mayden-head Or showe my selfe a coward by declyninge? Oh noe 5 Fie doe not soe, For thus much I knowe by devyninge, Blynd is Love The dark it doth approve, To pray on pleasures pantinge; 10 What needeth light For Cupid in the night, If jealous eyes be wantinge.
Fortune never failes, if she badd take place, To shroude all the faire proceedings: 15 Love and she though blynd, yet each other embrace, To favor all their servants meetings: Venture I say To sport and to play, If in place all be fitting; 20 Though she say fie Yet doth she not denie: For fie is but a word of tryall: Jealosie doth sleepe, Then doe not weepe 25 At force of a faynt denyall.
Glorious is my love, with tryumphs in her face, Then to to bould were I to venter: Who loves deserves to live in a princes grace, Why stand you then affraid to enter? 30 Lights are all out Then make noe doubt A lover bouldly maye take chusinge. Bewtie is a baite For a princely mate. 35 Fy, why stand you then a musinge? You'll repent too late If she doe you hate, For loves delight refusinge.
[<Fortune Never Fails.> _Grosart_: _no title_, _RP31_, _S_: _also, Chambers reports, in C.C.C. Oxon. MS. 327, f. 21: printed Grosart and Chambers, and, last two verses only, Simeon_]
[10 pantinge;] hauntinge: _RP31_]
[14 she badd _S_: she bidd _Grosart_: she bids _Chambers_: the bould _RP31_]
[19 and to play _RP31_, _S_: and play _Grosart and Chambers_]
[26 faynt] fair _Chambers_]
[28 were] was _RP31_]
[29 princes] Princess _Chambers_]
[33 lover] woer _Chambers_
chusinge] a choosing _Chambers_]
_To His Mistress._
1. Beleeve yo^r Glasse, and if it tell you (Deare) Yo^r Eyes inshrine A brighter shine Then faire Apollo, looke if theere appeare The milkie skye 5 The Crimson dye Mixt in your cheeks, and then bid Phoebus sett, More Glory then hee owes appears. But yet
2. Be not deceived with fond Alteration . . . . . 10 . . . . . . . . . . . . . As Cynthias Globe, A snow white robe Is soonest spotled, a Carnation dye 15 Fades, and discolours open'd but to Eie.
3. Make use of youth, and bewty whilest they flourish: Tyme never sleepes, Though it but creeps It still gets forward. Do not vainly nourish 20 Them to selfe-use, It is Abuse; The richest Grownds lying wast turne Boggs and rott, And soe beinge useles, were as good were not.
4. Walke in a meddowe by a Rivers side, 25 Upon whose Bancks Grow milk-white Ranks Of full blown Lyllies in their height of Pryde, Which downward bend And nothing tend 30 Save their owne Bewties in the Glassie streame: Looke to yo^r selfe: Compare yo^{r}selfe to them.
5. In show, in bewtie, marke what followes then: Sommer must end, The sunn must bend 35 His Longe Absented beames to others: then Their spring being crost By wynters frost And sneap'd by bytter storms against w^{ch} nought boots, They bend their prowd topps lower then their roots. 40
6. Then none regard them; but w^{th} heedles feet In durt each treads Their declyned heads. So when youthe wasted, Age, and yo^u shall meet, Then I alone Shall sadly moane 45 That Interviewe; others it will not move, So light regard we, what we little Love.
FINIS.
[To His Mistress. _Le Prince D'Amour_ (_1660_): _no title_, _S_ (_whence text_): _printed by Simeon_, _Grosart_, _Chambers_: _punctuation partly Editor's_]
[1 if it tell] it will tell _Chambers_]
[9 deceived] deceiv'd _S_]
[16 open'd] opened _S_]
[24 were not] as not _LeP D' A_]
[31 the Glassie _S_: a Glassie _LePD'A_: their Glassie _Chambers_]
[32 to them. _S_: with them. _Chambers_]
[36 then] when _Chambers_]
[39 sneap'd _Ed_: snep'd _S_: swept _LePD'A_: snipped _Chambers_]
_A Paradoxe of a Painted Face._
Not kisse? By Jove I must, and make impression As longe as Cupid dares to holde his Session Vpon my flesh and blood: our kisses shall Outminute Time and without number fall. Doe I not know these Balls of blushinge Red 5 That on thy Cheekes thus amorouslie are spred? Thy snowy necke, those veynes upon thy Browe Which with their azure crincklinge sweetly bowe Are artificiall? Borrowed? and no more thine owne Then Chaines which on St. George's Day are showne, 10 Are proper to the wearers? Yet for this I idole thee, and beg a luscious kisse. The fucus, and Ceruse, which on thy face Thy Cunninge hand layes on to add new Grace, Detaine me with such pleasing fraude, that I 15 Finde in thy art, what can in nature Lie. Much like a painter that upon some Wall On which the radiant Sun-beames use to fall Paints with such art a Gilded butterflye That silly maides with slowe-moved fingers trye 20 To Catch it, and then blush at theire mistake, Yet of this painted flye most reckonynge make: Such is our state; since what we looke upon Is nought but Coullor and Proportion. Take me a face, as full of fraud and Lies 25 As Gypsies in your cunninge Lotteries, That is more false, and more Sophisticate Than are Saints reliques, or a man of state. Yet such being Glazed by the sleight of arte, Gaines admiration, winninge many a Harte. 30 Put case there be a difference in the molde, Yet may thy Venus be more Chaste, and holde A dearer treasure: oftentimes we see Rich Candian wines in woodden Boules to bee. The odoriferous Civet doth not lie 35 Within the muskat's nose, or eare, or eye, But in a baser place; for prudent nature In drawinge us of various formes and stature Gives from the curious shop of hir rich treasure To faire parts comeliness, to baser, pleasure. 40 The fairest flowers, which in the Springe doe growe Are not so much for use, as for the showe, As Lillies, Hyacinths, and the georgious birthe Of all pide flowers that diaper the earthe, Please more with their discoloured purple traine 45 Then wholesome pothearbs which for use remaine. Shall I a Gaudy Speckled Serpent kiss For that the colours which he weares are his? A perfumed Cordevant who will not wear Because the sente is borrowed elsewhere? 50 The roabes and vestiments, which grace us all Are not our owne, but adventitiall. Time rifles Natures beauty, but slye Arte Repaires by cunninge this decayinge parte. Fills here a wrinckle, and there purles a veyne, 55 And with a nimble hand runs o're againe The breaches dented in by th'arme of time, And makes Deformity to be no crime. As when great men be grip't by sicknes hand, Industrious Physicke pregnantly doth stand 60 To patch up foule diseases, and doth strive To keepe theire totteringe Carcasses alive. Beautie is a candlelight which every puffe Blowes out, and leaves nought but a stinking snuffe To fill our nostrills with; this boldelie thinke, 65 The cleerest Candle makes the greatest stincke, As your pure fode and cleerest nutryment Gets the most hott, and nose stronge excrement. Why hange we then on thinges so apt to varie, So fleetinge, brittle, and so temporarie? 70 That agues, Coughes, the toothache, or Catarr (Slight hansells of diseases) spoile and marr. But when olde age theire beauties hath in Chace, And plowes up furrowes in theire once-smoothe face, Then they become forsaken, and doe showe 75 Like stately abbeyes ruin'd longe agoe. Nature but gives the modell, and first draught Of faire perfection, which by art is taught To speake itselfe, a compleat form and birthe, Soe stands a Copie to these shapes on earthe. 80 Jove grante me then a reparable face Which, whiles that Colours are, can want no grace. Pigmalions painted statue I coulde love, Soe it were warme and softe, and coulde but move.
[A Paradoxe of a Painted Face. _H39_, _S_, _S96_, _TCD_ (_II_) _Pembroke and Ruddier_ (_1660_), _Le Prince D'Amour_ (_1660_), _Simeon_ (_1856-7_), _Grosart_ (_from S_), _Chambers_ (_from Simeon_, _and Pembroke and Ruddier_): _text from S96_: _punctuation partly Editor's_]
[8 azure crincklinge _S96_: azure winckles _P and R_: azure twinklinge _S_: azur'd wrinklings _TCD_: azure wrinkles _Chambers_]
[15 Detaine] Deceive _H39_, _P and R_, _LeP D' A_, _TCD_, _Chambers_
pleasing] cunning _TCD_]
[18 radiant _S96_: cadent _H39_, _TCD_, _LeP D' A_, _Grosart_, _and Chambers_: splendent _P and R_]
[21 then] yet _S96_]
[32 Chaste] choise _P and R_, _LeP D' A_, _TCD_]
[39 shop] shape _S96_
rich] largest _S96_: large _P and R_, _Grosart_, _and Chambers_]
[45 discoloured] discovered _H39_: _but_ discoloured _is here_ variegated]
[53 rifles] rifled _S96_]
[55 purles] fills _S_: purls _is_ embroiders as with gold or silver thread]
[67 clearest] choicest _P and R_: cleanest _S_: finest _Chambers_]
[68 most hott] most stronge _S96_]
[72 hansells _H39_: houses _S_, _S96_, _Chambers_: touches _P and R_: causes _LeP D' A_]
[73 beauties] brav'ries _H39_]
[79 To speake itselfe _TCD_, _P and R_: Speake to itselfe _S_, _S96_: Speake for itselfe _H39_: To make itselfe _Simeon_, _Grosart_, _and Chambers_]
_Sonnett._
Madam that flea that Crept between your brests I envied, that there he should make his rest: The little Creatures fortune was soe good That Angells feed not on so pretious foode. How it did sucke how eager tickle you 5 (Madam shall fleas before me tickle you?)
Oh I can not holde; pardon if I kild it. Sweet Blood, to you I aske this, that which fild it Ran from my Ladies Brest. Come happie flea That dide for suckinge of that milkie Sea. 10 Oh now againe I well could wishe thee there, About hir Hart, about hir anywhere; I would vowe (Dearest flea) thou shouldst not dye, If thou couldst sucke from hir hir crueltye.
[Sonnett. _O'F_, _S96_: _no title_, _S_: On A Flea on His Mistress's Bosom _Simeon_, _Grosart_, _Chambers_ (_from Simeon_): _text from S96_]
[7 I can not holde] I not hold can _Chambers_
kild _Ed_: killed _Chambers_: kill _S96_]
[13 vowe ] now _Chambers_
Dearest _S96_: deare _S_, _O'F_, _Chambers_
thou] that thou _Chambers_]
_On Black Hayre and Eyes._
If shaddowes be the pictures excellence; And make it seeme more lively to the sence; If starres in the bright day are hid from sight And shine most glorious in the masque of night; Why should you thinke (rare creature) that you lack 5 Perfection cause your haire and eyes are blacke, Or that your heavenly beauty which exceedes The new sprung lillies in their mayden weeds, The damaske coullour of your cheekes and lipps Should suffer by their darknesse an eclipps? 10 Rich diamonds shine brightest, being sett And compassed within a foyle of Jett. Nor was it fitt that Nature should have mayde So bright a sunne to shine without a shade. It seemes that Nature when she first did fancie 15 Your rare composure studied Necromancie, That when to you this guift she did impart She used altogether the black art. By which infused power from Magique tooke You doe command all spiritts with a looke: 20 Shee drew those Magique circles in your eyes, And mayde your hayre the chaines wherewith shee ties Rebelling hearts: those blew veines which appeare, Winding Meander about either spheare, Misterious figures are, and when you list 25 Your voice commandeth like the Exorcist, And every word which from your Pallett falleth In a deep charme your hearer's heart inthralleth. Oh! If in Magique you have skill so farre, Vouchsafe me to be your familiar. 30 Nor hath kind Nature her black art reveal'd To outward partes alone, some lie conceal'd, And as by heads of springs men often knowe The nature of the streames that run belowe, So your black haire and eyes do give direction 35 To make me thinke the rest of like complexion: That rest where all rest lies that blesseth Man, That Indian mine, that straight of Magellan, That worlde dividing gulfe where he that venters, With swelling sayles and ravisht senses enters 40 To a new world of blisse. Pardon, I pray, If my rude muse presumeth to display Secretts unknowne, or hath her bounds orepast In praysing sweetnesse which I ne're did tast; Sterved men doe know there's meate, and blind men may 45 Though hid from light presume there is a day. The rover in the marke his arrowe sticks Sometimes as well as he that shootes att prickes, And if I might direct my shaft aright, The black mark would I hitt and not the white. 50
[On Black Hayre and Eyes _Add. MS. 11811, on which text is based: in several MSS. including A25, TCD (II), L77: printed in Parnassus Biceps (1656), Pembroke and Ruddier's Poems (1660), Simeon (1856-7), Grosart, and Chambers_]
[2 it _A2I_, _H60_, _TCD_: them _A11_: things _L77_]
[4 shine _H39_, _TCD_: seem _A11_, _Grosart_, _and Chambers_]
[8 mayden weeds,] maidenheads, _H39_, _TCD_, _Grosart_, _and Chambers_]
[9 The damasque coullor of] That cherry colour of _H39_, _TCD_: Or that the cherries of _Some MSS._]
[12 compassed ] compos'd _A11_
foyle] field _Chambers_]
[19 tooke] book _Grosart and Chambers_]
[20 all spiritts] like spirits _Grosart and Chambers_]
[25 figures] fables _A11_]
[26 commandeth] commands _A11_]
[29 you have skill _L77_, _TCD_, _&c._: your power _A11_: you have power _Grosart and Chambers_]
[33 For (And) as by the springhead a man may (men often) know _L77_, _TCD_, _and other MSS._]
[34 streame ... runs _L77_, _&c._]
[44 did] shall _TCD and other MSS._]
[47 sticks] strikes _Grosart and Chambers_]
[49 direct _L77_, _TCD_, _&c._: ayme _A11_, _Grosart_, _and Chambers_]
_Fragment of an Elegy._
And though thy glasse a burning one become And turne us both to ashes on her urne, Yet to our glory till the later day Our dust shall daunce like attomes in her ray. And when the world shall in confusion burne, 5 And Kinges and peasantes scramble at an urne, Like tapers new blowne out wee happy then Will at her beames catch fire and live againe. But this is sence, and some one may-be glad That I so good a cause of sorrow had, 10 Will with all those whome I affect may dye So I might please him with an elegie. O let there never line of witt be read To please the living that doth speake thee dead; Some tender-harted mother good and mild, 15 Who on the deare grave of her tender child So many sad teares hath beene knowne to rayne As out of dust would mould him up againe, And with hir plaintes enforce the wormes to place Themselves like veynes so neatly on his face, 20 And every lymne, as if that they wer striving To flatter hir with hope of his reviving: Shee should read this, and hir true teares alone Should coppy forth these sad lines on the stone Which hides thee dead, and every gentle hart 25 That passeth by should of his teares impart So great a portion, that if after times Ruine more churches for the Clergyes crimes, When any shall remove thy marble hence, Which is lesse stone then hee that takes it thence, 30 Thou shalt appeare within thy tearefull cell Much like a faire nymph bathing in a well. But when they find thee dead so lovely fair, Pitty and sorrow then shall straight repaire And weepe beside thy grave with cipresse cround, 35 To see the secound world of beauty dround, And add sufficient teares as they condole 'Twould make thy body swimme up to thy soule. Such eyes should read the lines are writ of thee; But such a losse should have no elegie 40 To palliate the wound wee tooke in hir, Who rightly greeves admittes no comforter. He that had tane to heart thy parting hence Should have beene chain'd to Bedlam two houres thence, And not a frind of his ere shed a teare 45 To see him for thy sake distracted there, But hugge himselfe for loving such as hee That could runne mad with greefe for loosing thee. I, haplesse soule, that never knew a frend But to bewayle his too untimely end, 50 Whose hopes (cropt in the bud) have never come But to sitt weeping on a sencelesse tombe, That hides not dust enough to count the teares Which I have fruitlesse spent in so few yeares, I that have trusted those that would have given 55 For our deare Saviour and the Sonne of heaven Ten times the valew Judas had of yore, Onely to sell him for three peeces more; I that have lov'd and trusted thus in vaine Yet weepe for thee, and till the clowdes shall daigne 60 To throw on Egipt more then Nile ere sweld, These teares of mine shalbee unparellell'd. He that hath lov'd, enjoy'd, and then beene crost, Hath teares at will to mourne for what he lost; He that hath trusted and his hope appeares 65 Wrong'd but by death may soone dissolve in teares; But hee unhappy man whose love and trust Nere met fruition nor a promise just, For him (unlesse like thee hee deadly slepe) 'Tis easier to runn mad then 'tis to weepe; 70 And yet I can. Fall then yee mournefull showers, And as old time leades on the winged howers, Bee you their minutes, and let men forgett To count their ages from the plague of sweat, From eighty eight, the Poulder-plot, or when 75 Men were affrayd to talke of it againe; And in their numerations be it sayd Thus old was I when such a teare was shed, And when that other fell a comett rose And all the world tooke notice of my woes. 80 Yet finding them past cure, as doctores fly Their patientes past all hope of remedy, No charitable soule will once impart One word of comfort to so sicke a heart; But as a hurt deare beaten from the heard, 85 Men of my shadow allmost now affeard Fly from my woes, that whilome wont to greet mee, And well nigh thinke it ominous to meete mee. Sad lines go yee abroad; go saddest muse, And as some nations formerly did use 90 To lay their sicke men in the street, that those, Who of the same disease had scapt the throwes, Might minister releefe as they went by To such as felt the selfsame malady, So haplesse lynes fly through the fairest land, 95 And if ye light into some blessed hand, That hath a heart as merry as the shine Of golden dayes, yet wrong'd as much as mine, Pitty may lead that happy man to mee, And his experience worke a remedy 100 To those sad fittes which (spight of nature's lawes) Torture a poore hart that out-lives the cause. But this must never bee, nor is it fitt An ague or some sickenes lesse then itt Should glory in the death of such as hee, 105 That had a heart of flesh and valued thee. Brave Roman, I admire thee that would'st dy At no lesse rate then for an empery. Some massy diamond from the center drawne, For which all Europ wer an equall pawne, 110 Should (beaten into dust) bee drunke by him That wanted courage good enough to swimme Through seas of woes for thee, and much despise To meet with death at any lower prize, Whilst greefe alone workes that effect in mee, 115 And yet no greefe but for the losse of thee. Fortune now doe thy worst, for I have gott By this her death so strong an antidote, That all thy future crosses shall not have More then an angry smile, nor shall the grave 120 Glory in my last day: these lines shall give To us a second life, and we will live To pull the distaffe from the hand of fate; And spinn our own thrides for so long a date, That death shall never seize uppon our fame 125 Till this shall perish in the whole world's frame.
[Fragment of an Elegy. _From_ _P_, _where it appears as portion of an 'heroical epistle' from Lady Penelope Rich to Sir Philip Sidney_: _punctuation Ed._]
<_Farewel, ye guilded follies._>
Farewel ye guilded follies, pleasing troubles, Farewel ye honour'd rags, ye glorious bubbles; Fame's but a hollow echo, gold pure clay, Honour the darling but of one short day. Beauty (th'eyes idol) but a damasked skin, 5 State but a golden prison, to keepe in And torture free-born minds; imbroidered trains Meerly but Pageants, proudly swelling vains, And blood ally'd to greatness, is a loane Inherited, not purchased, not our own. 10 Fame, honor, beauty, state, train, blood and birth, Are but the fading blossomes of the earth.
I would be great, but that the Sun doth still Level his rayes against the rising hill: I would be high, but see the proudest Oak 15 Most subject to the rending Thunder-stroke; I would be rich, but see men too unkind Dig in the bowels of the richest mine; I would be wise, but that I often see The Fox suspected whilst the Ass goes free; 20 I would be fair, but see the fair and proud Like the bright sun, oft setting in a cloud; I would be poor, but know the humble grass Still trampled on by each unworthy Asse: Rich, hated; wise, suspected; scorn'd, if poor; 25 Great, fear'd; fair, tempted; high, stil envied more: I have wish'd all, but now I wish for neither, Great, high, rich, wise, nor fair, poor I'l be rather.
Would the world now adopt me for her heir, Would beauties Queen entitle me the Fair, 30 Fame speak me fortune's Minion, could I vie Angels with India, with a speaking eye Command bare heads, bow'd knees, strike Justice dumb As wel as blind and lame, or give a tongue To stones, by Epitaphs, be called great Master 35 In the loose rhimes of every Poetaster; Could I be more then any man that lives, Great, fair, rich, wise in all Superlatives; Yet I more freely would these gifts resign Then ever fortune would have made them mine, 40 And hold one minute of this holy leasure, Beyond the riches of this empty pleasure.
Welcom pure thoughts, welcom ye silent groves, These guests, these Courts, my soul most dearly loves, Now the wing'd people of the Skie shall sing 45 My cheerful Anthems to the gladsome Spring; A Pray'r book now shall be my looking-glasse, Wherein I will adore sweet vertues face. Here dwell no hateful looks, no Pallace cares, No broken vows dwell here, nor pale-faced fears, 50 Then here I'l sit and sigh my hot loves folly, And learn t'affect an holy melancholy. And if contentment be a stranger, then I'l nere look for it, but in heaven again.
[<Farewell, Ye Guilded Follies.> _Ed_: _variously titled, Add. MS. 18220, C.C.C. Oxon. MS. 324, Egerton MS. 2603, Harleian MS. 6057: printed in Walton's Compleat Angler (1653), Wits Interpreter (1655) Hannah's Courtly Poets: Grosart prints from MS. Dd. 643 in Cambridge University Library, and Chambers follows--a very inferior version: text from Walton_]
[2 ye glorious] ye christal _A18_, _E26_, _H60_: the christall _WI_]
[6 keepe _A18_, _E26_, _H60_: live _Walton_]
[8 proudly] proud _Walton_]
[9 a loane _Ed_: a lone _Walton_: but loane _MSS._]
[18 mine _E26_, _CCC_: mind _Walton_, _A182_, _H60_, _WI_: minds _Grosart and Chambers_]
[19-20
I would be wise but that the fox I see Suspected guilty when the Ass goes free
_A182_, _E26_, _H60_, _Grosart_, _and Chambers_]
[21-2
I would be fair, but see that Champion proud The bright sun often setting in a cloud
_WI and MSS._, _but with The worlds bright eye or fair eye_]
[31-2
could I vie Angels with India,
_Walton_, _A182_, _E26_, _H60_
could I joy The blisse of angells, _CCC_
could I vie (vey _Grosart_) The blisse of angells, _Grosart and Chambers_ ]
[43 ye silent groves, _Walton_: the silent Groves, _WI_: ye careless groves, _H60_: the careless grove, _CCC_: ye careless groans, _Grosart and Chambers_]
[44 These are the courts my soul entire loves, _A182_: These are my guests, this is the court I love, _CCC_: These are my guests, this is that courtage tones, _Grosart and Chambers_: the court age loves, _Ash 38_]
[46 My Anthem; be my Selah gentle Spring. _A182_: Mine anthems; be my cellar, gentle spring. _Grosart and Chambers_]
[48 wherein] In which _Walton_]
[49-50
Here dwells no hartlesse Love, no palsey fears, No short joys purchased with eternal tears.
_A182_, _H60_]
[51 hot loves _Walton_: hot youths _H60_: past years _A182_]
[53 be] prove _A182_]
* * * * *
Index Of First Lines.
INDEX OF FIRST LINES.
_The poems marked * are contained in Appendixes B and C of doubtful or unauthentic poems. Those marked ± are poems to or on Donne._
PAGE
A Sheafe of Snakes used heretofore to be 399 *Absence heare my protestation 428 After those reverend papers, whose soule is 214 All haile sweet Poët, more full of more strong fire, 203 ±All is not well when such a one as I 374 All Kings, and all their favorites 24 Although thy hand and faith, and good workes too, 82 *And though thy glasse a burning one become 462 As due by many titles I resigne 322 As the sweet sweat of Roses in a Still 90 As virtuous men passe mildly away 49 At once, from hence, my lines and I depart, 206 At the round earths imagin'd corners, blow 325 Away thou fondling motley humorist, 145
Batter my heart, three person'd God; for, you 328 Before I sigh my last gaspe, let me breath, 56 *Beleeve yo^{r} Glasse, and if it tell you (Deare) 455 Beyond th'old Pillers many have travailed 76 Blasted with sighs, and surrounded with teares 28 Blest are your North parts, for all this long time 213 Both rob'd of aire, we both lye in one ground, 75 Busie old foole, unruly Sunne, 11 By childrens births, and death, I am become 75 *By Euphrates flowry side 424 By miracles exceeding power of man, 320 By our first strange and fatall interview, 111
±Can we not force from widdowed Poetry, 378 *Chast Love, let mee embrace thee in mine armes 445 *Come, Fates; I feare you not. All whom I owe 407 Come live with mee, and bee my love, 46 Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defie, 119 *Comend her? no. I dare not terme her fayre, 439 Compassion in the world againe is bred: 78 ±_Conquerar? ignavoque sequar tua funera planctu?_ 390 *Cruell since that thou dost not feare the curse 446
*Deare Love, continue nice and chaste, 412 Deare love, for nothing lesse then thee 37 Death be not proud, though some have called thee 326 *Death be not proud, thy hand gave not this blow, 422 Death I recant, and say, unsaid by mee 282 Deigne at my hands this crowne of prayer and praise, 318 ±_Donne_ dead? 'Tis here reported true, though I 386 ±Donne, _the delight of Phoebus, and each Muse_, 5
Eternall God, (for whom who ever dare 348 Even as lame things thirst their perfection, so 208
Faire eies do not think scorne to read of Love 447 Faire, great, and good, since seeing you, wee see 224 Faire soule, which wast, not onely, as all soules bee, 271 *Farewel ye guilded follies, pleasing troubles, 465 Father of Heaven, and him, by whom 338 Father, part of his double interest 329 Fond woman, which would'st have thy husband die, 79 For every houre that thou wilt spare mee now 13 For Godsake hold your tongue, and let me love 14 For the first twenty yeares, since yesterday, 69 *Fye, Fye you sonnes of Pallas what madd rage 435
God grant thee thine own wish, and grant thee mine, 400 Goe, and catche a falling starre, 8 *Goe and Count her better howres 451 Good wee must love, and must hate ill, 32 *Greate and goode if she deryde mee 452 *Greate Lord of love, how busy still thou art 448
Haile Bishop Valentine, whose day this is, 127 Harke newes, o envy, thou shalt heare descry'd 104 Hast thee harsh verse, as fast as thy lame measure 205 He is starke mad, who ever sayes, 48 He that cannot chuse but love, 73 ±Hee that would write an Epitaph for thee, 374 *He was the Word that spake it, 427 Her of your name, whose fair inheritance 317 ±_Heere lies Deane Donne_; Enough; Those words alone 388 Here's no more newes, then vertue,'I may as well 187 Here take my Picture; though I bid farewell, 86 Here where by All All Saints invoked are, 221 Honour is so sublime perfection, 218 How sits this citie, late most populous, 354
I am a little world made cunningly 324 I am two fooles, I know, 16 I am unable, yonder begger cries, 76 I can love both faire and browne, 12 ±I cannot blame those men, that knew thee well, 373 I fixe mine eye on thine, and there 45 I have done one braver thing 10 I'll tell thee now (deare Love) what thou shalt doe 29 I long to talke with some old lovers ghost, 54 I never stoop'd so low, as they 66 I scarce beleeve my love to be so pure 33 ±I see in his last preach'd, and printed Booke, 3 I sing no harme good sooth to any wight, 105 I sing the progresse of a deathlesse soule, 295 *I that y^{e} higher half of loues 440 I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I 7 If, as mine is, thy life a slumber be, 209 If faithfull soules be alike glorifi'd 325 *If great men wrong me, I will spare my selfe; 415 *If her disdaine least change in you can move, 430 If in his Studie he hath so much care 77 If poysonous mineralls, and if that tree, 326 *If shaddowes be the pictures excellence; 460 If yet I have not all thy love, 17 If you from spoyle of th'old worlds farthest end 76 Image of her whom I love, more then she, 95 Immensitie cloysterd in thy deare wombe, 319 *In that, ô Queene of Queenes, thy birth was free 427 ±_In thy Impression of_ Donnes _Poems rare_, 3 In what torn ship soever I embarke, 352 ±Is _Donne_, great _Donne_ deceas'd? then England say 376 Is not thy sacred hunger of science 212
Kinde pitty chokes my spleene; brave scorn forbids 154 Kindly I envy thy songs perfection 210 _Klockius_ so deeply hath sworne, ne'r more to come 77
Language thou art too narrow, and too weake 284 Let mans Soule be a Spheare, and then, in this, 336 Let me powre forth 38 Like Esops fellow-slaves, O _Mercury_, 78 Like one who'in her third widdowhood doth professe 185 Little think'st thou, poore flower, 59 ±Long since this taske of teares from you was due, 394 Looke to mee faith, and looke to my faith, God; 267 _Love_, any devill else but you, 34 *Love bred of Glances twixt amorous eyes 450 *Love if a god thou art, 448 ±_Lucy_, you brightnesse of our Spheare, who are, 6
Mad paper stay, and grudge not here to burne 216 *Madam that flea that Crept between your brests 459 Man is a lumpe, where all beasts kneaded bee, 193 Man is the World, and death th'Ocean, 279 Man to Gods image; _Eve_, to mans was made, 201 Marke but this flea, and marke in this, 40 Marry, and love thy _Flavia_, for, shee 80 *Men write that love and reason disagree, 406 Moyst with one drop of thy blood, my dry soule 321 Muse not that by thy mind thy body is led: 207 My Fortune and my choice this custome break, 292 *My love doth fly w^{th} wings of feare 437 My name engrav'd herein, 25
*Nature amaz'd sawe man without mans ayde 443 Natures lay Ideot, I taught thee to love, 89 No Lover saith, I love, nor any other 69 No _Spring_, nor _Summer_ Beauty hath such grace, 92 *Not Kisse? By Jove I must, and make impression 456 Not that in colour it was like thy haire, 96 Nothing could make me sooner to confesse 251 ±Now by one yeare, time and our frailtie have 392 Now thou hast lov'd me one whole day, 9 *Now y'have killd mee with yo^{r} scorne 450
*O eyes, what do you see? 438 *O frutefull garden, and yet never tilde, 434 O might those sighes and teares returne againe 323 O Thou which to search out the secret parts 211 *O what a blisse 441 Of that short Roll of friends writ in my heart 212 Oh do not die, for I shall hate 21 Oh, let mee not serve so, as those men serve 87 Oh my blacke Soule! now thou art summoned 323 Oh, to vex me, contraryes meet in one: 331 Oh to what height will love of greatnesse drive 172 Once, and but once found in thy company, 84 Our storme is past, and that storms tyrannous rage, 178 Out of a fired ship, which, by no way 75
_Parturiunt madido quae nixu praela, recepta_, 397 _Philo_, with twelve yeares study, hath beene griev'd 77 ±Poets attend, the Elegie I sing 380 Pregnant again with th'old twins Hope, and Feare, 206
_Qui prius assuetus Serpentum fasce Tabellas_ 398 _Quod arte ausus es hic tuâ, Poeta_, 398 _Quot_, _dos haec_, Linguists perfetti, _Disticha_ fairont, 174
Reason is our Soules left hand, Faith her right 189
Salute the last and everlasting day, 321 Salvation to all that will is nigh; 319 See Sir, how as the Suns hot Masculine flame 317 Send home my long strayd eyes to mee, 43 Send me some token, that my hope may live, 72 *Shall I goe force an Elegie? abuse 410 Shee'is dead; And all which die 64 Show me deare Christ, thy spouse, so bright and clear. 330 Since Christ embrac'd the Crosse it selfe, dare I 331 *Since ev'ry Tree beginns to blossome now 433 Since I am comming to that Holy roome, 368 Since she must go, and I must mourn, come Night, 100 Since she whom I lov'd hath payd her last debt 330 Sir, more then kisses, letters mingle Soules; 180 Sir; though (I thanke God for it) I do hate 149 *Sleep, next Society and true friendship, 401 Sleep sleep old Sun, thou canst not have repast 333 So, so breake off this last lamenting kisse, 68 Some man unworthy to be possessor 36 Some that have deeper digg'd loves Myne then I, 39 Sorrow, who to this house scarce knew the way: 287 *Soules joy, now I am gone, 429 Spit in my face you Jewes, and pierce my side, 327 Stand still, and I will read to thee 71 *Stay, O sweet, and do not rise, 432 Sweetest love, I do not goe, 18
Take heed of loving mee, 67 Tamely, fraile body,'abstaine to day; to day 334 *Tell her if she to hired servants shew 416 *Tell me who can when a player dies 443 That I might make your Cabinet my tombe, 291 *That unripe side of earth, that heavy clime 417 The heavens rejoyce in motion, why should I 113 *The State and mens affaires are the best playes 414 The Sun-beames in the East are spred, 141 ±This decent Urne a sad inscription weares, 389 This is my playes last scene, here heavens appoint 324 *This lyfe it is not life, it is a sight 437 This twilight of two yeares, not past nor next, 198 *Those drossy heads & irrepurged braynes 440 Thou art not so black, as my heart, 65 Thou art repriv'd old yeare, thou shalt not die, 135 Thou hast made me, And shall thy worke decay? 322 Thou in the fields walkst out thy supping howers, 78 Thou shalt not laugh in this leafe, Muse, nor they 168 Thou which art I, ('tis nothing to be soe) 175 Thou, whose diviner soule hath caus'd thee now 351 Though I be _dead_, and buried, yet I have 220 Thy father all from thee, by his last Will, 77 Thy flattering picture, _Phryne_, is like thee, 77 Thy friend, whom thy deserts to thee enchaine, 208 Thy sinnes and haires may no man equall call 77 Till I have peace with thee, warr other men, 122 'Tis lost, to trust a Tombe with such a quest, 245 Tis the yeares midnight, and it is the dayes, 44 'Tis true, 'tis day; what though it be? 23 *To sue for all thy Love, and thy whole hart 449 ±To have liv'd eminent, in a degree 371 T'have written then, when you writ, seem'd to mee 195 To make the doubt cleare, that no woman's true, 108 To what a combersome unwieldinesse 55 _Transiit in Sequanam Moenus; Victoris in aedes;_ 397 *True Love findes witt, but he whose witt doth move 412 Twice or thrice had I loved thee, 22 Two, by themselves, each other, love and feare 75 ±Two Soules move here, and mine (a third) must move 249
Vnder an undermin'd, and shot-bruis'd wall 76 Vnseasonable man, statue of ice, 131 Vpon this Primrose hill, 61 Vengeance will sit above our faults; but till 350
Well dy'd the World, that we might live to see 229 Well; I may now receive, and die; My sinne 158 Went you to conquer? and have so much lost 188 *What if I come to my mistris bedd 453 What if this present were the worlds last night? 328 *What is o^{r} life? a play of passion 441 When by thy scorne, O murdresse, I am dead, 47 *When fortune, love, and Tyme bad me be happie, 440 When I am dead, and Doctors know not why, 63 When I dyed last, and, Deare, I dye 20 When my grave is broke up againe 62 When that rich Soule which to her heaven is gone, 231 ±When thy _Loose_ raptures, _Donne_, shall meet with Those 372 Where is that holy fire, which Verse is said 124 Where, like a pillow on a bed, 51 *Wherefore peepst thou, envious daye? 451 Whether that soule which now comes up to you 288 Whilst yet to prove, 70 ±Who dares say thou art dead, when he doth see 384 Who ever comes to shroud me, do not harme 58 Who ever guesses, thinks, or dreames he knowes 41 Who ever loves, if he do not propose 116 Who makes the Past, a patterne for next yeare, 183 ±Who shall doubt, _Donne_, where I a _Poet_ bee, 6 ±Who shall presume to mourn thee, _Donne_, unlesse 382 Why are wee by all creatures waited on? 327 *Why chose shee black; was it that in whitenes 436 Why this man gelded _Martiall_ I muse, 78 Wilt thou forgive that sinne where I begunne, 369 Wilt thou forgive that sinn, where I begunn, 370 Wilt thou love God, as he thee! then digest, 329 With his kinde mother who partakes thy woe, 320 *Wonder of Beautie, Goddesse of my sense, 447
You have refin'd mee, and to worthyest things 191 You that are she and you, that's double shee, 227 Your mistris, that you follow whores, still taxeth you: 76
Zealously my Muse doth salute all thee, 207
* * * * *
Oxford: Horace Hart, M.A. Printer To The University
OXFORD: HORACE HART, M.A.
PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note:
- - indicates italic script; + + indicates Old English script; = = indicates bold script or non-italic text within italic passages; ^ or ^{} indicates a superscript.
Doubtful words or passages were checked against a 1968 reprint of the 1933 edition, based, by the author, on this larger 1912 edition.
The Mediæval long 's' has been replaced by the modern 's', but usually the capital 'V' for 'U', and lower case v/u, u/v have been retained (as in the 1968 reprint).
The spelling is, of course, early 17th century.
Unspaced punctuation, e.g. "Thy beauty,'and all parts,", is as printed in this, and the 1968 reprint, and denotes elisions (the running together of words to fit the metre).
In general, footnotes have been moved to the ends of their relevant sections, and linenotes to the ends of their relevant poems. An exception is on page 251 et seq., where the footnotes fit naturally in sequence with the linenotes.
'_See note_' (usually) refers to poem note in the Commentary in Volume II.
Page 7: 'seelily', from Middle English, via Old English, Old Saxon, West Germanic.... 'sely', 'seely', from 'sælig' etc.
'seely' also occurs in other poems.
The modern word 'silly' has evolved from Old English sælig (holy, blessed, fortunate, prosperous, happy) through meanings of 'innocent', 'naive', 'unworldly', 'foolish' ....
Page 65: 'A Ieat Ring Sent.' Ieat = Jeat, probably jet, a black semi-precious stone, popular in English costume jewellery.
Page 95: Notes: Elegy X. 'S96' is given twice, with different titles. Second entry possible error, but retained.
Page 251: The Author has placed the footnotes to the sidenotes, in order, with the linenotes. This is probably the least confusing place for them, so they have been retained here.
Page 262: Printer's error: 'foveraigne' corrected to 'soveraigne'.
Page 276: Printer's error: _169-69_ corrected to _1639-69_. "[176 them. _D_: them; _1633_, _1639-69_: them, _1635_]"
Pages 390-392: This Latin text contains a number of instances of words ending in 'que', and a few instances (at the ends of words) of the letter 'q' with an acute accent (stress mark) and a subscript which looks like '3', but is 'Latin Small Letter ET'.
This is a Mediæval scribal abbreviation for 'que' (indicating 'and') at the ends of certain words. To avoid problems with the text, all the abbreviated words in this passage have been written out in full.
Page 405, line note 133: _OF_ corrected to _O'F_. Probable printer's error.
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The Poems Of John Donne
THE POEMS OF JOHN DONNE
Edited from the Old Editions and Numerous Manuscripts with Introductions & Commentary
by
Herbert J. C. Grierson M.A.
HERBERT J. C. GRIERSON M.A.
Chalmers Professor of English Literature in the University Of Aberdeen
VOL. II
Introduction and Commentary
Oxford At the Clarendon Press 1912
Henry Frowde, M.A. Publisher to the University of Oxford London, Edinburgh, New York Toronto and Melbourne
Contents Page
CONTENTS
PAGE INTRODUCTION v
I. THE POETRY OF DONNE v
II. THE TEXT AND CANON OF DONNE'S POEMS lvi
COMMENTARY 1
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 276
Introduction I
INTRODUCTION
I
The Poetry Of Donne
THE POETRY OF DONNE
Donne's position among English poets, regarded from the historical and what we like to call scientific point of view, has been defined with learning and discrimination by Mr. Courthope in his _History of English Poetry_. As a phenomenon of curious interest for the student of the history of thought and literary fashions, there it is. Mr. Courthope is far too well-informed and judicious a critic to explain Donne's subtle thought and erudite conceits by a reference to 'Marini and his followers'. Gongora and Du Bartas are alike passed over in silence. What we are shown is the connexion of 'metaphysical wit' with the complex and far-reaching changes in men's conception of Nature which make the seventeenth century perhaps the greatest epoch in human thought since human thinking began.
The only thing that such a criticism leaves unexplained and undefined is the interest which Donne's poetry still has for us, not as an historical phenomenon, but as poetry. Literary history has for the historian a quite distinct interest from that which it possesses for the student and lover of literature. For the historian it is a matter of positive interest to connect Donne's wit with the general disintegration of mediaeval thought, to recognize the influence on the Elizabethan drama of the doctrines of Machiavelli, or to find in Pope's achievement in poetry a counterpart to Walpole's in politics. For the lover of literature none of these facts has any positive interest whatsoever. Donne's wit attracts or repels him equally whatever be its source; Tamburlaine and Iago lose none of their interest for us though we know nothing of Machiavelli; Pope's poetry is not a whit more or less poetical by being a strange by-product of the Whig spirit in English life. For the lover of literature, literary history has an indirect value. He studies history that he may discount it. What he relishes in a poet of the past is exactly the same essential qualities as he enjoys in a poet of his own day--life and passion and art. But between us and every poet or thinker of the past hangs a thinner or thicker veil of outworn fashions and conventions. The same life has clothed itself in different garbs; the same passions have spoken in different images; the same art has adapted itself to different circumstances. To the historian these old clothes are in themselves a subject of interest. His enjoyment of Shakespeare is heightened by finding the explanation of Falstaff's hose, Pistol's hyperboles, and the poet's neglect of the Unities. To the lover of literature they are, until by understanding he can discount them, a disadvantage because they invest the work of the poet with an irrelevant air of strangeness. He studies them that he may grow familiar with them and forget them, that he may clear and intensify his sense of what alone has permanent value, the poet's individuality and the art in which it is expressed.
Donne's conceits, of which so much has been made and on whose historical significance Mr. Courthope has probably said the last word, are just like other examples of these old clothes. The question for literature is not whence they came, but how he used them. Is he a poet in virtue or in spite of them, or both? Are they fit only to be gathered into a museum of antiquated fashions such as Johnson prefixed to his study of the last poet who wore them in quite the old way (for Dryden, who pilfered more freely from Donne than from any of his predecessors, cut them to a new fashion), or are they the individual and still expressive dress of a true and great poet, commanding admiration in their own manner and degree as freshly and enduringly as the stiff and brocaded magnificence of Milton's no less individual, no less artificial style?
Donne's reputation as a poet has passed through many vicissitudes in the course of the last three centuries. With regard to his 'wit', its range and character, erudition and ingenuity, all generations of critics have been at one. It is as to the relation of this 'wit' to, and its effect on, his poetry that they have been at variance. To his contemporaries the 'wit' was identical with the poetry. Donne's 'wit' gave him the same supremacy among poets that learning and humour and art gave to Jonson among dramatists. To certain of his Dutch admirers the wit of _The Flea_ seemed superhuman, and the epitaph with which Carew closes his _Elegy_ expresses the almost universal English opinion of the seventeenth century:
Here lies a king that ruled as he thought fit The universal monarchy of wit; Here lies two flamens, and both those the best, Apollo's first, at last the true God's priest.
It may be doubted if Milton shared this opinion. He never mentions Donne, but it was probably of him or his imitators he was thinking when in his verses at Cambridge he spoke of
those new-fangled toys and trimmings slight Which take our late fantastics with delight.
Certainly the growing taste for 'correctness' led after the Restoration to a discrimination between Donne's wit and his poetry. 'The greatest wit,' Dryden calls him, 'though not the greatest poet of our nation.' What he wanted as a poet were just the two essentials of 'classical' poetry--smoothness of verse and dignity of expression. This point of view is stated with clearness and piquancy in the sentences of outrageous flattery which Dryden addressed to the Earl of Dorset in the opening paragraphs of his delightful _Essay on Satire_:
'There is more of salt in all your verses, than I have seen in any of the moderns, or even of the ancients; but you have been sparing of the gall, by which means you have pleased all readers, and offended none. Donne alone, of all our countrymen, had your talent; but was not happy enough to arrive at your versification; and were he translated into numbers, and English, he would yet be wanting in the dignity of expression. That which is the prime virtue, and chief ornament, of Virgil, which distinguishes him from the rest of writers, is so conspicuous in your verses, that it casts a shadow on all your contemporaries; we cannot be seen, or but obscurely, while you are present. You equal Donne in the variety, multiplicity, and choice of thoughts; you excel him in the manner and the words. I read you both with the same admiration, but not with the same delight.
He affects the metaphysics, not only in his satires, but in his amorous verses, where nature only should reign; and perplexes the minds of the fair sex with nice speculations of philosophy, when he should engage their hearts, and entertain them with the softnesses of love. In this (if I may be pardoned for so bold a truth) Mr. Cowley has copied him to a fault; so great a one, in my opinion, that it throws his Mistress infinitely below his Pindarics and his latter compositions, which are undoubtedly the best of his poems and the most correct.'
Dryden's estimate of Donne, as well as his application to his poetry of the epithet 'metaphysical', was transmitted through the eighteenth century. Johnson's famous paragraphs in the _Life of Cowley_ do little more than echo and expand Dryden's pronouncement, with a rather vaguer use of the word 'metaphysical'. In Dryden's application it means correctly 'philosophical'; in Johnson's, no more than 'learned'. 'The metaphysical poets were men of learning, and to show their learning was their whole endeavour; but unluckily resolving to show it in rhyme, instead of writing poetry, they only wrote verses, and very often such verses as stood the trial of the fingers better than of the ear.' They 'drew their conceits from recesses of learning not very much frequented by common readers of poetry'. Waller is exempted from being a metaphysical poet because 'he seldom fetches an amorous sentiment from the depths of science; his thoughts are for the most part easily understood, and his images such as the superficies of nature readily supplies'.
Even to those critics with whom began a revived appreciation of Donne as a poet and preacher, his 'wit' still bulks largely. It is impossible to escape from it. 'Wonder-exciting vigour,' writes Coleridge, 'intenseness and peculiarity, using at will the almost boundless stores of a capacious memory, and exercised on subjects where we have no right to expect it--this is the wit of Donne.' And lastly De Quincey, who alone of these critics recognizes the essential quality which may, and in his best work does, make Donne's wit the instrument of a mind which is not only subtle and ingenious but profoundly poetical: 'Few writers have shown a more extraordinary compass of powers than Donne; for he combined what no other man has ever done--the last sublimation of dialectical subtlety and address with the most impassioned majesty. Massy diamonds compose the very substance of his poem on the Metempsychosis, thoughts and descriptions which have the fervent and gloomy sublimity of Ezekiel or Aeschylus, whilst a diamond dust of rhetorical brilliancies is strewed over the whole of his occasional verses and his prose.'
What is to-day the value and interest of this wit which has arrested the attention of so many generations? How far does it seem to us compatible with poetry in the full and generally accepted sense of the word, with poetry which quickens the imagination and touches the heart, which satisfies and delights, which is the verbal and rhythmical medium whereby a gifted soul communicates to those who have ears to hear the content of impassioned moments?
Before coming to close quarters with this difficult and debated question one may in the first place insist that there is in Donne's verse a great deal which, whether it be poetry in the full sense of the word or not, is arresting and of worth both historically and intrinsically. Whatever we may think of Donne's poetry, it is impossible not to recognize the extraordinary interest of his mind and character. In an age of great and fascinating men he is not the least so. The immortal and transcendent genius of Shakespeare leaves Donne, as every other contemporary, lost in the shadows and cross-lights of an age that is no longer ours, but from which Shakespeare emerges into the clear sunlight. Of Bacon's mind, 'deep and slow, exhausting thought,' and divining as none other the direction in which the road led through the débris of outworn learning to a renovated science and a new philosophy, Donne could not boast. Alike in his poetry and in his soberest prose, treatise or sermon, Donne's mind seems to want the high seriousness which comes from a conviction that truth is, and is to be found. A spirit of scepticism and paradox plays through and disturbs almost everything he wrote, except at moments when an intense mood of feeling, whether love or devotion, begets faith, and silences the sceptical and destructive wit by the power of vision rather than of intellectual conviction. Poles apart as the two poets seem at a first glance to lie in feeling and in art, there is yet something of Tennyson in the conflict which wages perpetually in Donne's poetry between feeling and intellect.
But short of the highest gifts of serene imagination or serene wisdom Donne's mind has every power it well could, wit, insight, imagination; and these move in such a strange medium of feeling and learning, mediaeval, renaissance and modern, that every imprint becomes of interest. To do full justice to that interest one's study of Donne must include his prose as well as his verse, his paradoxical _Pseudomartyr_, and equally paradoxical, more strangely mooded _Biathanatos_, the intense and subtle eloquence of his sermons, the tormented passion and wit of his devotions, and the gaiety and melancholy, wit and wisdom, of his letters. But most of these qualities have left their mark on his poetry, and given it interests over and above its worth simply as poetry.
One quality of his verse, which has been somewhat overlooked by critics intent upon the definition and sources of metaphysical wit, is wit in our sense of the word, wit like the wit of Swift and Sheridan. The habit in which this wit masquerades is doubtless old-fashioned. It is not always the worse for that, for the wit of the Elizabethans is delightfully blended with fancy and feeling. There is a little of Jaques in all of them. But if fanciful and at times even boyish, Donne's wit is still amusing, the quickest and most fertile wit of the century till we come to the author of _Hudibras_.
It is not in the _Satyres_ that this wit is to us most obvious. Nothing grows so soon out of date as contemporary satire. Even the brilliance and polish of Pope's satire--and Pope's art is nowhere more perfect than in _The Dunciad_ and the _Imitations of Horace_--cannot interest us in Lord Hervey, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, and the forgotten poets of an unpoetic age. How then should we be interested in Elizabeth's fantastic 'Presence', the streets of sixteenth-century London, and the knavery of pursuivants, presented with a satiric art which is wonderfully vivid and caustic but still tentative,--over-emphatic, rough in style and verse, though with a roughness which is obviously a studied and in a measure successful effect. The verses upon _Coryats Crudities_ are in their way a masterpiece of insult veiled as compliment, but it is a rather boyish and barbarous way.
It is in the lighter of his love verses that Donne's laughable wit is most obvious and most agile. Whatever one may think of the choice of subject, and the flame of a young man's lust that burns undisguised in some of the _Elegies_, it is impossible to ignore the dazzling wit which neither flags nor falters from the first line to the last. And in the more graceful and fanciful, the less heated _Songs and Sonets_, the same wit, gay and insolent, disports itself in a philosophy of love which must not be taken altogether seriously. Donne at least, as we shall see, outgrew it. His attitude is very much that of Shakespeare in the early comedies. But the Petrarchian love, which Shakespeare treats with light and charming irony, the vows and tears of Romeo and Proteus, Donne openly scoffs. He is one of Shakespeare's young men as these were in the flesh and the Inns of Court, and he tells us frankly what in their youthful cynicism (which is often even more of a pose than their idealism) they think of love, and constancy, and women.
Of all miracles, Donne cries, a constant woman is the greatest, of all strange sights the strangest:
If thou findst one, let mee know, Such a Pilgrimage were sweet; Yet doe not, I would not goe, Though at next doore wee might meet, Though shee were true, when you met her, And last, till you write your letter, Yet shee Will bee False, ere I come, to two, or three.
But is it true that we desire to find her? Donne's answer is _Woman's Constancy_:
Now thou hast lov'd me one whole day, To-morrow when thou leav'st what wilt thou say?
She will, like Proteus in the _Two Gentlemen of Verona_, have no dearth of sophistries--but why elaborate them?
Vain lunatique, against these scapes I could Dispute, and conquer, if I would, Which I abstaine to doe, For by to-morrow, I may think so too.
Why ask for constancy when change is the life and law of love?
I can love both fair and brown; Her whom abundance melts, and her whom want betrays; Her who loves loneness best, and her who masks and plays. . . . . . . . I can love her and her, and you and you, I can love any so she be not true.
It is not often that the reckless and wilful gaiety of youth masking as cynicism has been expressed with such ebullient wit as in these and companion songs. And when he adopts for a time the pose of the faithful lover bewailing the cruelty of his mistress the sarcastic wit is no less fertile. It would be difficult to find in the language a more sustained succession of witty surprises than _The Will_. Others were to catch these notes from Donne, and Suckling later flutes them gaily in his lighter fashion, never with the same fullness of wit and fancy, never with the same ardour of passion divinable through the audacious extravagances.
But to amuse was by no means the sole aim of Donne's 'wit'; gay humour touched with fancy and feeling is not its only quality. Donne's 'wit' has many strands, his humour many moods, and before considering how these are woven together into an effect that is entirely poetical, we may note one or two of the soberer strands which run through his _Letters_, _Epicedes_, and similar poems--descriptive, reflective, and complimentary.
Not much of Donne's poetry is given to description. Of the feeling for nature of the Elizabethans, their pastoral and ideal pictures of meadow and wood and stream, which delighted the heart of Izaak Walton, there is nothing in Donne. A greater contrast than that between Marlowe's _Come live with me_ and Donne's imitation _The Baite_ it would be hard to conceive. But in _The Storme_ and _The Calme_ Donne used his wit to achieve an effect of realism which was something new in English poetry, and was not reproduced till Swift wrote _The City Shower_. From the first lines, which describe how
The South and West winds join'd, and as they blew, Waves like a rolling trench before them threw,
to the close of _The Storme_ the noise of the contending elements is deafening:
Thousands our noises were, yet we 'mongst all Could none by his right name, but thunder call: Lightning was all our light, and it rain'd more Than if the Sunne had drunke the sea before. . . . . . . . . . Hearing hath deaf'd our sailors, and if they Knew how to hear, there's none knowes what to say: Compared to these stormes, death is but a qualme, Hell somewhat lightsome, and the Bermuda calme.
The sense of tropical heat and calm in the companion poem is hardly less oppressive, and, if the whole is not quite so happy as the first, it contains two lines whose vivid and unexpected felicity is as delightful to-day as when Ben Jonson recited them to Drummond at Hawthornden:
No use of lanthorns; and in one place lay Feathers and dust, to-day and yesterday.
Donne's letters generally fall into two groups. The first comprises those addressed to his fellow-students at Cambridge and the Inns of Court, the Woodwards, Brookes, and others, or to his maturer and more fashionable companions in the quest of favour and employment at Court, Wotton, and Goodyere, and Lord Herbert of Cherbury. To the other belong the complimentary and elegant epistles in which he delighted and perhaps bewildered his noble lady friends and patronesses with erudite and transcendental flattery.
In the first class, and the same is true of some of the _Satyres_, notably the third, and of the satirical _Progresse of the Soule_, especially at the beginning and the end, the reflective, moralizing strain predominates. Donne's 'wit' becomes the instrument of a criticism of life, grave or satiric, melancholy or stoical. Despite Matthew Arnold's definition, verse of this kind seldom is poetry in the full sense of the word; but, as Stevenson says in speaking of his own Scotch verses, talk not song. The first of English poets was a master of the art. Neither Horace nor Martial, whom Stevenson cites, is a more delightful talker in verse than Geoffrey Chaucer, and the archaism of his style seems only to lend the additional charm of a lisp to his babble. Since Donne's day English poetry has been rich in such verse talkers--Butler and Dryden, Pope and Swift, Cowper and Burns, Byron and Shelley, Browning and Landor. It did not come easy to the Elizabethans, whose natural accent was song. Donne's chief rivals were Daniel and Jonson, and I venture to think that he excels them both in the clear and pointed yet easy and conversational development of his thought, in the play of wit and wisdom, and, despite the pedantic cast of Elizabethan erudite moralizing, in the power to leave on the reader the impression of a potent and yet a winning personality. We seem to get nearer to the man himself in Donne's letters to Goodyere and Wotton than in Daniel's weighty, but also heavy, moralizing epistles to the Countess of Cumberland or Sir Thomas Egerton; and the personality whose voice sounds so distinct and human in our ear is a more attractive one than the harsh, censorious, burly but a little blustering Jonson of the epistles on country life and generous givers. Donne's style is less clumsy, his verse less stiff. His wit brings to a clear point whatever he has to say, while from his verse as from his prose letters there disengages itself a very distinct sense of what it was in the man, underlying his brilliant intellect, his almost superhuman cleverness, which won for him the devotion of friends like Wotton and Goodyere and Walton and King, the admiration of a stranger like Huyghens, who heard him talk as well as preach:--a serious and melancholy, a generous and chivalrous spirit.
However, keepe the lively tast you hold Of God, love him as now, but feare him more, And in your afternoones thinke what you told And promis'd him, at morning prayer before.
Let falshood like a discord anger you, Else be not froward. But why doe I touch Things, of which none is in your practise new, And Tables, or fruit-trenchers teach as much;
But thus I make you keepe your promise Sir, Riding I had you, though you still staid there, And in these thoughts, although you never stirre, You came with mee to Micham, and are here.
So he writes to Goodyere, but the letter to Wotton going Ambassador to Venice is Donne's masterpiece in this simpler style, and it seems to me that neither Daniel nor Jonson nor Drayton ever catches this note at once sensitive and courtly. To find a like courtliness we must go to Wotton; witness the reply to Donne's earlier epistle which I have printed in the notes. But neither Wotton nor any other of the courtly poets in Hannah's collection adds to this dignity so poignant a personal accent.
This personal interest is very marked in the two satires which are connected by tone and temper with the letters, the third of the early, classical _Satyres_ and the opening and closing stanzas of the _Progresse of the Soule_. Each is a vivid picture of the inner workings of Donne's soul at a critical period in his life. The first was doubtless written at the moment that he was passing from the Roman to the Anglican Church. It is one of the earliest and most thoughtful appeals for toleration, for the candid scrutiny of religious differences, which was written perhaps in any country--one of the most striking symptoms of the new eddies produced in the stream of religious feeling by the meeting currents of the Reformation and the Counter-Reformation.
It was a difficult and dangerous process through which Donne was passing, this conversion from the Church of his fathers to conformity with the Church of England as by law established. It would be as absurd, in the face of a poem like this and of all that we know of Donne's subsequent life, to call it a conversion in the full sense of the term, a changed conviction, as to dub it an apostasy prompted by purely political considerations. Yet doubtless the latter predominated. The position of a Catholic in the reign of Elizabeth was that of a man cut off rigorously from the main life of the nation, with every avenue of honourable ambition closed to him. He had to live the starved, suspected life of a recusant or to seek service under a foreign power. Some of the most pathetic documents in Strype's _Annals of the Reformation_ are those in which we hear the cry of young men of secure station and means driven by conscientious conviction to abandon home and country. It is possible that before 1592 Donne himself had been sent abroad by relatives with a view to his entering a seminary or the service of a foreign power. His mother spent a great part of her life abroad, and his own relatives were among those who suffered most severely under Walsingham's persecution. 'I had', Donne says, 'my first breeding and conversation with men of suppressed and afflicted Religion, accustomed to the despite of death, and hungry of an imagined Martyrdome.' To a young man of ambition, and as yet certainly with no bent to devotion or martyrdom, it was only common sense to conform if he might.
From this dilemma Donne escaped, not by any opportune change of conviction, or by any insincere profession, but by the way of intellectual emancipation. He looks round in this satire and sees that whichever be the true Church it is not by any painful quest of truth, and through the attainment of conviction, that most people have accepted the Church to which they may belong. Circumstances and whim have had more to do with their choice than reason and serious conviction. Yet it is only by search that truth is to be found:
On a huge hill Cragged, and steep, Truth stands, and hee that will Reach her, about must, and about must goe; And what the hills suddenes resists win so. Yet strive so, that before age, deaths twilight, Thy Soule rest, for none can work in that night.
It was not often in the sixteenth or seventeenth century that a completely emancipated and critical attitude on religious, not philosophical, questions was expressed with such entire frankness and seriousness. From this position, Walton would have us believe, Donne advanced through the study of Bellarmine and other controversialists to a convinced acceptance of Anglican doctrine. The evidence points to a rather different conclusion on Donne's part. He came to think that all the Churches were 'virtual beams of one sun', 'connatural pieces of one circle', a position from which the next step was to the conclusion that for an Englishman the Anglican Church was the right choice (Cujus regio, ejus religio); but Donne had not reached this conclusion when he wrote the _Satyre_, and doubtless did not till he had satisfied himself that the Church of England offered a reasonable _via media_. But changes of creed made on purely intellectual grounds, and prompted by practical motives, are not unattended with danger to a man's moral and spiritual life. Donne had doubtless outwardly conformed before he entered Egerton's service in 1598, but long afterwards, when he is already in Orders, he utters a cry which betrays how real the dilemma still was:
Show me, deare Christ, thy spouse, so bright and clear;
and the first result of his 'conversion' was apparently to deepen the sceptical vein in his mind.
Scepticism and melancholy, bitter and sardonic, are certainly the dominant notes in the sombre fragment of satire _The Progresse of the Soule_, which he composed in 1601, when he was Sir Thomas Egerton's secretary, four months before his marriage and six months after the death of the Earl of Essex. There can be little doubt, as I have ventured to suggest elsewhere, that it was the latter event which provoked this strange and sombre explosion of spleen, a satire of the same order as the _Tale of a Tub_ or the _Vision of Judgment_. The account of the poem which Jonson gave to Drummond does not seem to be quite accurate, though it was probably derived from Donne himself. It was, one suspects from several circumstances, a little Donne's way in later years to disguise the footprints of his earlier indiscretions. According to this tradition the final _habitat_ of the soul which 'inanimated' the apple
Whose mortal taste Brought death into the world and all our woe,
was to be John Calvin. The tradition is interesting as marking how far Donne was in 1601 from his later orthodox Protestantism, for Calvin is never mentioned but with respect in the _Sermons_. A few months later he wrote to Egerton disclaiming warmly all 'love of a corrupt religion'. But, though sceptical in tone, the poem is written from a Catholic standpoint; its theme is the progress of the soul of heresy. And, as the seventh stanza clearly indicates, the great heretic in whom the line closed was to be not Calvin but Queen Elizabeth:
the great soule which here among us now Doth dwell, and moves that hand, and tongue, and brow Which, as the Moone the sea, moves us.
Donne can hardly have thought of publishing such a poem, or circulating it in the Queen's lifetime. It was an expression of the mood which begot the 'black and envious slanders breath'd against Diana for her divine justice on Actaeon' to which Jonson refers in _Cynthia's Revels_ the same year. That some copies were circulated in manuscript later is probably due to the reaction which brought into favour at James's Court the Earl of Southampton and the former adherents of Essex generally.
The tone, moreover, of the stanza quoted above suggests that it was no vulgar libel on Elizabeth which Donne contemplated. Elizabeth, the cruel persecutor of his Catholic kinsfolk, now stained with the blood of her favourite, appeared to him somewhat as she did to Pope Sixtus, a heretic but a great woman. He felt to her as Burke did to the 'whole race of Guises, Condés and Colignis'--'the hand that like a destroying angel smote the country communicated to it the force and energy under which it suffered.' In a mood of bitter admiration, of sceptical and sardonic wonder, he contemplates the great bad souls who had troubled the world and served it too, for the idea on which the poem was to rest is the disconcerting reflection that we owe many good things to heretics and bad men:
Who ere thou beest that read'st this sullen Writ, Which just so much courts thee, as thou dost it, Let me arrest thy thoughts; wonder with mee, Why plowing, building, ruling and the rest, Or most of those arts, whence our lives are blest, By cursed _Cains_ race invented be, And blest _Seth_ vext us with Astronomie. Ther's nothing simply good, nor ill alone, Of every quality comparison, The onely measure is, and judge, opinion.
It would have been interesting to read Donne's history of the great souls that troubled and yet quickened the world from Cain to Arius and from Mahomet to Elizabeth, but unfortunately Donne never got beyond the introduction, a couple of cantos which describe the progress of the soul while it is still passing through the vegetable and animal planes, the motive of which, so far as it can be disentangled, is to describe the pre-human education of a woman's soul:
keeping some quality Of every past shape, she knew treachery, Rapine, deceit, and lust, and ills enow To be a woman.
The fragment has some of the sombre power which De Quincey attributes to it, but on the whole one must confess it is a failure. The 'wit' of Donne did not apparently include invention, for many of the episodes seem pointless as well as disgusting, and indeed in no poem is the least attractive side of Donne's mind so clearly revealed, that aspect of his wit which to some readers is more repellent, more fatal to his claim to be a poet, than too subtle ingenuity or misplaced erudition--the vein of sheer ugliness which runs through his work, presenting details that seem merely and wantonly repulsive. The same vein is apparent in the work of Chapman, of Jonson, and even in places of Spenser, and the imagery of _Hamlet_ and the tragedies owes some of its dramatic vividness and power to the same quality. The ugly has its place in art, and it would not be difficult to find it in every phase of Renaissance art, marked like the beautiful in that art by the same evidence of power. Decadence brought with it not ugliness but prettiness.
The reflective, philosophic, somewhat melancholy strain of the poems I have been touching on reappears in the letters addressed to noble ladies. Here, however, it is softened, less sardonic in tone, while it blends with or gives place to another strain, that of absurd and extravagant but fanciful and subtle compliment. Donne cannot write to a lady without his heart and fancy taking wing in their own passionate and erudite fashion. Scholastic theology is made the instrument of courtly compliment and pious flirtation. He blends in the same disturbing fashion as in some of the songs and elegies that depreciation of woman in general, which he owes less to classical poetry than to his over-acquaintance with the Fathers, with an adoration of her charms in the individual which passes into the transcendental. He tells the Countess of Huntingdon that active goodness in a woman is a miracle; but it is clear that she and the Countess of Bedford and Mrs. Herbert and Lady Carey and the Countess of Salisbury are all examples of such miracle--ladies whose beauty itself is virtue, while their virtues are a mystery revealable only to the initiated.
The highest place is held by Lady Bedford and Mrs. Herbert. Nothing could surpass the strain of intellectual and etherealized compliment in which he addresses the Countess. If lines like the following are not pure poetry, they haunt some quaint borderland of poetry to which the polished felicities of Pope's compliments are a stranger. If not pure fancy, they are not mere ingenuity, being too intellectual and argumentative for the one, too winged and ardent for the other:
Should I say I liv'd darker then were true, Your radiation can all clouds subdue; But one, 'tis best light to contemplate you.
You, for whose body God made better clay, Or tooke Soules stuffe 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 quicke Soule; that we May in your through-shine front your hearts thoughts see.
You teach (though wee learne not) a thing unknowne 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; _Beeing_ and _seeming_ is your equall care, And _vertues_ whole _summe_ is but _know_ and _dare_.
The long poem dedicated to the same lady's beauty,
You have refin'd me
is in a like dazzling and subtle vein. Those addressed to Mrs. Herbert, notably the letter
Mad paper stay,
and the beautiful _Elegie_
No Spring, nor Summer Beauty hath such grace As I have seen in one Autumnall face,
are less transcendental in tone but bespeak an even warmer admiration. Indeed it is clear to any careful reader that in the poems addressed to both these ladies there is blended with the respectful flattery of the dependant not a little of the tone of warmer feeling permitted to the 'servant' by Troubadour convention. And I suspect that some poems, the tone of which is still more frankly and ardently lover-like, were addressed to Lady Bedford and Mrs. Herbert, though they have come to us without positive indication.
The title of the subtle, passionate, sonorous lyric _Twicknam Garden_,
Blasted with sighs, and surrounded with teares,
points to the person addressed, for Twickenham Park was the residence of Lady Bedford from 1607 to 1618, and Donne's intimacy with her seems to have begun in or about 1608. There can, I think, be little doubt that it is to her, and neither to his wife nor the mistresses of his earlier, wandering fancy, that these lines, conventional in theme but given an amazing _timbre_ by the impulse of Donne's subtle and passionate mind, were addressed. But if _Twicknam Garden_ was written to Lady Bedford, so also, one is tempted to think, must have been _A Nocturnall upon S. Lucies Day_, for Lucy was the Countess's name, and the thought, feeling, and rhythm of the two poems are strikingly similar.
But the _Nocturnall_ is a sincerer and profounder poem than _Twicknam Garden_, and it is more difficult to imagine it the expression of a conventional sentiment. Mr. Gosse, and there is no higher authority when it comes to the interpretation of Donne's character and mind, rightly, I think, suggests that the death of the lady addressed is assumed, not actual, but he connects the poem with Donne's earlier and troubled loves. 'So also in a most curious ode, the _Nocturnal_ ..., amid fireworks of conceit, he calls his mistress dead and protests that his hatred has grown cold at last.' But I can find no note of bitterness, active or spent, in the song. It _might_ have been written to Ann More. It is a highly metaphysical yet sombre and sincere description of the emptiness of life without love. The critics have, I think, failed somewhat to reckon with this stratum in Donne's songs, of poems Petrarchian in convention but with a Petrarchianism coloured by Donne's realistic temper and impatient wit. Any interpretation of so enigmatical a poem must be conjectural, but before one denied too positively that its subject was Lady Bedford--perhaps her illness in 1612--one would need to answer two questions, how far could a conventional passion inspire a strain so sincere, and what was Donne's feeling for Lady Bedford and hers for him?
Poetry is the language of passion, but the passion which moves the poet most constantly is the delight of making poetry, and very little is sufficient to quicken the imagination to its congenial task. Our soberer minds are apt to think that there must be an actual, particular experience behind every sincere poem. But history refutes the idea of such a simple relation between experience and art. No poet will sing of love convincingly who has never loved, but that experience will suffice him for many and diverse webs of song and drama. Without pursuing the theme, it is sufficient for the moment to recall that in the fashion of the day Spenser's sonnets were addressed to Lady Carey, not to his wife; that it was to Idea or to Anne Goodere that Drayton wrote so passionate a poem as
Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part;
and that we know very little of what really lies behind Shakespeare's profound and plangent sonnets, weave what web of fancy we will.
Of Lady Bedford's feeling for Donne we know only what his letters reveal, and that is no more than that she was his warm friend and generous patroness. It is clear, however, from their enduring friendship and from the tone of that correspondence that she found in him a friend of a rarer and finer calibre than in the other poets whom she patronized in turn, Daniel and Drayton and Jonson--some one whose sensitive, complex, fascinating personality could hardly fail to touch a woman's imagination and heart. Friendship between man and woman is love in some degree. There is no need to exaggerate the situation, or to reflect on either her loyalty or his to other claims, to recognize that their mutual feeling was of the kind for which the Petrarchian convention afforded a ready and recognized vehicle of expression.
And so it was, one fancies, with Mrs. Herbert. She too found in Donne a rare and comprehending spirit, and he in her a gracious and delicate friend. His relation to her, indeed, was probably simpler than to Lady Bedford, their friendship more equal. The letter and the elegy referred to already are instinct with affection and tender reverence. To her Donne sent some of his earliest religious sonnets, with a sonnet on her beautiful name. And to her also it would seem that at some period in the history of their friendship, the beginning of which is very difficult to date, he wrote songs in the tone of hopeless, impatient passion, of Petrarch writing to Laura, and others which celebrate their mutual affection as a love that rose superior to earthly and physical passion. The clue here is the title prefixed to that strange poem _The Primrose, being at Montgomery Castle upon the hill on which it is situate_. It is true that the title is found for the first time in the edition of 1635 and is in none of the manuscripts. But it is easier to explain the occasional suppression of a revealing title than to conceive a motive for inventing such a gloss. The poem is doubtless, as Mr. Gosse says, 'a mystical celebration of the beauty, dignity and intelligence of Magdalen Herbert'--a celebration, however, which takes the form (as it might with Petrarch) of a reproach, a reproach which Donne's passionate temper and caustic wit seem even to touch with scorn. He appears to hint to Mrs. Herbert that to wish to be more than a woman, to claim worship in place of love, is to be a worse monster than a coquette:
Since there must reside Falshood in woman, I could more abide She were by Art, than Nature falsifi'd.
Woman needs no advantages to arbitrate the fate of man.
In exactly the same mood as _The Primrose_ is _The Blossome_, possibly written in the same place and on the same day, for the poet is preparing to return to London. _The Dampe_ is in an even more scornful tone, and one hesitates to connect it with Mrs. Herbert. But all these poems recur so repeatedly together in the manuscripts as to suggest that they have a common origin. And with them go the beautiful poems _The Funerall_ and _The Relique_. In the former the cruelty of the lady has killed her lover, but in the second the tone changes entirely, the relation between Donne and Mrs. Herbert (note the lines
Thou shalt be a Mary _Magdalen_ and I A something else thereby)
has ceased to be Petrarchian and become Platonic, their love a thing pure and of the spirit, but none the less passionate for that:
First, we lov'd well and faithfully, Yet knew not what wee lov'd, nor why, Difference of sex no more wee knew, Then our Guardian Angells doe; Comming and going, wee Perchance might kisse, but not between those meales; Our hands ne'r toucht the seales, Which nature, injur'd by late law, sets free: These miracles wee did; but now alas, All measure, and all language, I should passe, Should I tell what a miracle shee was.
Such were the notes that a poet in the seventeenth century might still sing to a high-born lady his patroness and his friend. No one who knows the fashion of the day will read into them more than they were intended to convey. No one who knows human nature will read them as merely frigid and conventional compliments. Any uncertainty one may feel about the subject arises not from their being love-poems, but from the difficulty which Donne has in adjusting himself to the Petrarchian convention, the tendency of his passionate heart and satiric wit to break through the prescribed tone of worship and complaint.
Without some touch of passion, some vibration of the heart, Donne is only too apt to accumulate 'monstrous and disgusting hyperboles'. This is very obvious in the _Epicedes_--his complimentary laments for the young Lord Harington, Miss Boulstred, Lady Markham, Elizabeth Drury and the Marquis of Hamilton, poems in which it is difficult to find a line that moves. Indeed, seventeenth-century elegies are not as a rule pathetic. A poem in the simple, piercing strain and the Wordsworthian plainness of style of the Dutch poet Vondel's lament for his little daughter is hardly to be found in English. An occasional epitaph like Browne's
May! be thou never grac'd with birds that sing, Nor Flora's pride! In thee all flowers and roses spring, Mine only died,
comes near it, but in general seventeenth-century elegy is apt to spend itself on three not easily reconcilable themes--extravagant eulogy of the dead, which is the characteristically Renaissance strain, the Mediaeval meditation on death and its horrors, the more simply Christian mood of hope rising at times to the rapt vision of a higher life. In the pastoral elegy, such as _Lycidas_, the poet was able to escape from a too literal treatment of the first into a sequence of charming conventions. The second was alien to Milton's thought, and with his genius for turning everything to beauty Milton extracts from the reference to the circumstances of King's death the only touch of pathos in the poem:
Ay me! whilst thee the shores and sounding Seas Wash far away, where ere thy bones are hurld,
and some of his loveliest allusions:
Where the great vision of the guarded Mount Looks towards _Namancos_ and _Bayona's_ hold; Look homeward Angel now, and melt with ruth. And, O ye _Dolphins_, waft the hapless youth.
In the metaphysical elegy as cultivated by Donne, Beaumont, and others there was no escape from extravagant eulogy and sorrow by way of pastoral convention and mythological embroidery, and this class of poetry includes some of the worst verses ever written. In Donne all three of the strains referred to are present, but only in the third does he achieve what can be truly called poetry. In the elegies on Lord Harington and Miss Boulstred and Lady Markham it is difficult to say which is more repellent--the images in which the poet sets forth the vanity of human life and the humiliations of death or the frigid and blasphemous hyperboles in which the virtues of the dead are eulogized.
Even the _Second Anniversary_, the greatest of Donne's epicedes, is marred throughout by these faults. There is no stranger poem in the English language in its combination of excellences and faults, splendid audacities and execrable extravagances. 'Fervour of inspiration, depth and force and glow of thought and emotion and expression'--it has something of all these high qualities which Swinburne claimed; but the fervour is in great part misdirected, the emotion only half sincere, the thought more subtle than profound, the expression heated indeed but with a heat which only in passages kindles to the glow of poetry.
Such are the passages in which the poet contemplates the joys of heaven. There is nothing more instinct with beautiful feeling in _Lycidas_ than some of the lines of Apocalyptic imagery at the close:
There entertain him all the Saints above, In solemn troops, and sweet Societies That sing, and singing in their glory move, And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
But in spiritual sense, in passionate awareness of the transcendent, there are lines in Donne's poem that seem to me superior to anything in Milton if not in purity of Christian feeling, yet in the passionate, mystical sense of the infinite as something other than the finite, something which no suggestion of illimitable extent and superhuman power can ever in any degree communicate.
Think then my soule that death is but a Groome, Which brings a Taper to the outward roome, Whence thou spiest first a little glimmering light, And after brings it nearer to thy sight: For such approaches does heaven make in death. . . . . . . . Up, up my drowsie Soule, where thy new eare Shall in the Angels songs no discord heere, &c.
In passages like these there is an earnest of the highest note of spiritual eloquence that Donne was to attain to in his sermons and last hymns.
Another aspect of Donne's poetry in the _Anniversaries_, of his _contemptus mundi_ and ecstatic vision, connects them more closely with Tennyson's _In Memoriam_ than Milton's _Lycidas_. Like Tennyson, Donne is much concerned with the progress of science, the revolution which was going on in men's knowledge of the universe, and its disintegrating effect on accepted beliefs. To him the new astronomy is as bewildering in its displacement of the earth and disturbance of a concentric universe as the new geology was to be to Tennyson with the vistas which it opened into the infinities of time, the origin and the destiny of man:
The new philosophy calls all in doubt, The Element of fire is quite put out; The Sun is lost, and th' earth, and no mans wit Can well direct him where to look for it. And freely men confesse that this world's spent, When in the Planets, and the Firmament They seeke so many new; they see that this Is crumbled out againe to his Atomies.
On Tennyson the effect of a similar dislocation of thought, the revelation of a Nature which seemed to bring to death and bring to life through endless ages, careless alike of individual and type, was religious doubt tending to despair:
O life as futile, then, as frail! . . . . . What hope of answer, or redress? Behind the veil, behind the veil.
On Donne the effect was quite the opposite. It was not of religion he doubted but of science, of human knowledge with its uncertainties, its shifting theories, its concern about the unimportant:
Poore soule, in this thy flesh what dost thou know? Thou know'st thy selfe so little, as thou know'st not, How thou didst die, nor how thou wast begot. . . . . . . . . . Have not all soules thought For many ages, that our body is wrought Of Ayre, and Fire, and other Elements? And now they thinke of new ingredients; And one Soule thinkes one, and another way Another thinkes, and 'tis an even lay. . . . . . . . . . Wee see in Authors, too stiffe to recant, A hundred controversies of an Ant; And yet one watches, starves, freeses, and sweats, To know but Catechismes and Alphabets Of unconcerning things, matters of fact; How others on our stage their parts did Act; What _Cæsar_ did, yea, and what _Cicero_ said.
With this welter of shifting theories and worthless facts he contrasts the vision of which religious faith is the earnest here:
In this low forme, poore soule, what wilt thou doe? When wilt thou shake off this Pedantery, Of being taught by sense, and Fantasie? Thou look'st through spectacles; small things seeme great Below; But up unto the watch-towre get, And see all things despoyl'd of fallacies: Thou shalt not peepe through lattices of eyes, Nor heare through Labyrinths of eares, nor learne By circuit, or collections, to discerne. In heaven thou straight know'st all concerning it, And what concernes it not, shalt straight forget.
It will seem to some readers hardly fair to compare a poem like _In Memoriam_, which, if in places the staple of its feeling and thought wears a little thin, is entirely serious throughout, with poems which have so much the character of an intellectual _tour de force_ as Donne's _Anniversaries_, but it is easy to be unjust to the sincerity of Donne in these poems. Their extravagant eulogy did not argue any insincerity to Sir Robert and Lady Drury. It was in the manner of the time, and doubtless seemed to them as natural an expression of grief as the elaborate marble and alabaster tomb which they erected to the memory of their daughter. The _Second Anniversarie_ was written in France when Donne was resident there with the Drurys. And it was on this occasion that Donne had the vision of his absent wife which Walton has related so graphically. The spiritual sense in Donne was as real a thing as the restless and unruly wit, or the sensual, passionate temperament. The main thesis of the poem, the comparative worthlessness of this life, the transcendence of the spiritual, was as sincere in Donne's case as was in Tennyson the conviction of the futility of life if death closes all. It was to be the theme of the finest passages in his eloquent sermons, the burden of all that is most truly religious in the verse and prose of a passionate, intellectual, self-tormenting soul to whom the pure ecstasy of love of a Vondel, the tender raptures of a Crashaw, the chastened piety of a Herbert, the mystical perceptions of a Vaughan could never be quite congenial.
I have dwelt at some length on those aspects of Donne's 'wit' which are of interest and value even to a reader who may feel doubtful as to the beauty and interest of his poetry as such, because they too have been obscured by the criticism which with Dr. Johnson and Mr. Courthope represents his wit as a monster of misapplied ingenuity, his interest as historical and historical only. Apart from poetry there is in Donne's 'wit' a great deal that is still fresh and vivid, wit as we understand wit; satire pungent and vivid; reflection on religion and on life, rugged at times in form but never really unmusical as Jonson's verse is unmusical, and, despite frequent carelessness, singularly lucid and felicitous in expression; elegant compliment, extravagant and grotesque at times but often subtle and piquant; and in the _Anniversaries_, amid much that is both puerile and extravagant, a loftier strain of impassioned reflection and vision. It is not of course that these things are not, or may not be constituents of poetry, made poetic by their handling. To me it seems that in Donne they generally are. It is the poet in Donne which flavours them all, touching his wit with fancy, his reflection with imagination, his vision with passion. But if we wish to estimate the poet simply in Donne, we must examine his love-poetry and his religious poetry. It is here that every one who cares for his unique and arresting genius will admit that he must stand or fall as a great poet.
For it is here that we find the full effect of what De Quincey points to as Donne's peculiarity, the combination of dialectical subtlety with weight and force of passion. Objections to admit the poetic worth and interest of Donne's love-poetry come from two sides--from those who are indisposed to admit that passion, and especially the passion of love, can ever speak so ingeniously (this was the eighteenth-century criticism); and from those, and these are his more modern critics, who deny that Donne is a great poet because with rare exceptions, exceptions rather of occasional lines and phrases than of whole poems, his songs and elegies lack beauty. Can poetry be at once passionate and ingenious, sincere in feeling and witty,--packed with thought, and that subtle and abstract thought, Scholastic dialectic? Can love-poetry speak a language which is impassioned and expressive but lacks beauty, is quite different from the language of Dante and Petrarch, the loveliest language that lovers ever spoke, or the picturesque hyperboles of _Romeo and Juliet_? Must not the imagery and the cadences of love poetry reflect 'l'infinita, ineffabile bellezza' which is its inspiration?
The first criticism is put very clearly by Steele, who goes so far as to exemplify what the style of love-poetry should be; and certainly it is something entirely different from that of _The Extasie_ or the _Nocturnall upon S. Lucies Day_. Nothing could illustrate better the 'return to nature' of our Augustan literature than Steele's words:
'I will suppose an author to be really possessed with the passion which he writes upon and then we shall see how he would acquit himself. This I take to be the safest way to form a judgement upon him: since if he be not truly moved, he must at least work up his imagination as near as possible to resemble reality. I choose to instance in love, which is observed to have produced the most finished performances in this kind. A lover will be full of sincerity, that he may be believed by his mistress; he will therefore think simply; he will express himself perspicuously, that he may not perplex her; he will therefore write unaffectedly. Deep reflections are made by a head undisturbed; and points of wit and fancy are the work of a heart at ease; these two dangers then into which poets are apt to run, are effectually removed out of the lover's way. The selecting proper circumstances, and placing them in agreeable lights, are the finest secrets of all poetry; but the recollection of little circumstances is the lover's sole meditation, and relating them pleasantly, the business of his life. Accordingly we find that the most celebrated authors of this rank excel in love-verses. Out of ten thousand instances I shall name one which I think the most delicate and tender I ever saw.
To myself I sigh often, without knowing why; And when absent from Phyllis methinks I could die.
A man who hath ever been in love will be touched by the reading of these lines; and everyone who now feels that passion, actually feels that they are true.'
It is not possible to find so distinct a statement of the other view to which I have referred, but I could imagine it coming from Mr. Robert Bridges, or (since I have no authority to quote Mr. Bridges in this connexion) from an admirer of his beautiful poetry. Mr. Bridges' love-poetry is far indeed from the vapid naturalness which Steele commended in _The Guardian_. It is as instinct with thought, and subtle thought, as Donne's own poetry; but the final effect of his poetry is beauty, emotion recollected in tranquillity, and recollected especially in order to fix its delicate beauty in appropriate and musical words:
Awake, my heart, to be loved, awake, awake! The darkness silvers away, the morn doth break, It leaps in the sky: unrisen lustres slake The o'ertaken moon. Awake, O heart, awake!
She too that loveth awaketh and hopes for thee; Her eyes already have sped the shades that flee, Already they watch the path thy feet shall take: Awake, O heart, to be loved, awake, awake!
And if thou tarry from her,--if this could be,-- She cometh herself, O heart, to be loved, to thee; For thee would unashamed herself forsake: Awake to be loved, my heart, awake, awake!
Awake, the land is scattered with light, and see, Uncanopied sleep is flying from field and tree: And blossoming boughs of April in laughter shake; Awake, O heart, to be loved, awake, awake!
Lo all things wake and tarry and look for thee: She looketh and saith, 'O sun, now bring him to me. Come more adored, O adored, for his coming's sake, And awake my heart to be loved: awake, awake!'
Donne has written nothing at once so subtle and so pure and lovely as this, nothing the end and aim of which is so entirely to leave an untroubled impression of beauty.
But it is not true either that the thought and imagery of love-poetry must be of the simple, obvious kind which Steele supposes, that any display of dialectical subtlety, any scintillation of wit, must be fatal to the impression of sincerity and feeling, or on the other hand that love is always a beautiful emotion naturally expressing itself in delicate and beautiful language. To some natures love comes as above all things a force quickening the mind, intensifying its purely intellectual energy, opening new vistas of thought abstract and subtle, making the soul 'intensely, wondrously alive'. Of such were Donne and Browning. A love-poem like 'Come into the garden, Maud' suspends thought and fills the mind with a succession of picturesque and voluptuous images in harmony with the dominant mood. A poem such as _The Anniversarie_ or _The Extasie_, _The Last Ride Together_ or _Too Late_, is a record of intense, rapid thinking, expressed in the simplest, most appropriate language--and it is a no whit less natural utterance of passion. Even the abstractness of the thought, on which Mr. Courthope lays so much stress in speaking of Donne and the 'metaphysicals' generally, is no necessary implication of want of feeling. It has been said of St. Augustine 'that his most profound thoughts regarding the first and last things arose out of prayer ... concentration of his whole being in prayer led to the most abstract observation'. So it may be with love-poetry--so it was with Dante in the _Vita Nuova_, and so, on a lower scale, and allowing for the time that the passion is a more earthly and sensual one, the thought more capricious and unruly, with Donne. The _Nocturnall upon S. Lucies Day_ is not less passionate because that passion finds expression in abstract and subtle thought. Nor is it true that all love-poetry is beautiful. Of none of the four poems I have mentioned in the last paragraph is pure beauty, beauty such as is the note of Mr. Bridges' song, the distinctive quality. It is rather vivid realism:
And alive I shall keep and long, you will see! I knew a man, was kicked like a dog From gutter to cesspool; what cared he So long as he picked from the filth his prog? He saw youth, beauty and genius die, And jollily lived to his hundredth year. But I will live otherwise: none of such life! At once I begin as I mean to end.
But this sacrifice of beauty to dramatic vividness is a characteristic of passionate poetry. Beauty is not precisely the quality we should predicate of the burning lines of Sappho translated by Catullus:
lingua sed torpet, tenuis sub artus flamma demanat, sonitu suopte tintinant aures geminae, teguntur lumina nocte.
Beauty is the quality of poetry which records an ideal passion recollected in tranquillity, rather than of poetry either dramatic or lyric which utters the very movement and moment of passion itself.
Donne's love-poetry is a very complex phenomenon, but the two dominant strains in it are just these: the strain of dialectic, subtle play of argument and wit, erudite and fantastic; and the strain of vivid realism, the record of a passion which is not ideal nor conventional, neither recollected in tranquillity nor a pure product of literary fashion, but love as an actual, immediate experience in all its moods, gay and angry, scornful and rapturous with joy, touched with tenderness and darkened with sorrow--though these last two moods, the commonest in love-poetry, are with Donne the rarest. The first of these strains comes to Donne from the Middle Ages, the dialectic of the Schools, which passed into mediaeval love-poetry almost from its inception; the second is the expression of the new temper of the Renaissance as Donne had assimilated it in Latin countries. Donne uses the method, the dialectic of the mediaeval love-poets, the poets of the _dolce stil nuovo_, Guinicelli, Cavalcanti, Dante, and their successors, the intellectual, argumentative evolution of their _canzoni_, but he uses it to express a temper of mind and a conception of love which are at the opposite pole from their lofty idealism. The result, however, is not so entirely disintegrating as Mr. Courthope seems to think: 'This fine Platonic edifice is ruthlessly demolished in the poetry of Donne. To him love, in its infinite variety and inconsistency, represented the principle of perpetual flux in nature.'[1] The truth is rather that, owing to the fullness of Donne's experience as a lover, the accident that made of the earlier libertine a devoted lover and husband, and from the play of his restless and subtle mind on the phenomenon of love conceived and realized in this less ideal fashion, there emerged in his poetry the suggestion of a new philosophy of love which, if less transcendental than that of Dante, rests on a juster, because a less dualistic and ascetic, conception of the nature of the love of man and woman.
The fundamental weakness of the mediaeval doctrine of love, despite its refining influence and its exaltation of woman, was that it proved unable to justify love ethically against the claims of the counter-ideal of asceticism. Taking its rise in a relationship which excluded the thought of marriage as the end and justification of love, which presumed in theory that the relation of the 'servant' to his lady must always be one of reverent and unrewarded service, this poetry found itself involved from the beginning in a dualism from which there was no escape. On the one hand the love of woman is the great ennobler of the human heart, the influence which elicits its latent virtue as the sun converts clay to gold and precious stones. On the other hand, love is a passion which in the end is to be repented of in sackcloth and ashes. Lancelot is the knight whom love has made perfect in all the virtues of manhood and chivalry; but the vision of the Holy Grail is not for him, but for the virgin and stainless Sir Galahad.
In the high philosophy of the Tuscan poets of the 'sweet new style' that dualism was apparently transcended, but it was by making love identical with religion, by emptying it of earthly passion, making woman an Angel, a pure Intelligence, love of whom is the first awakening of the love of God. 'For Dante and the poets of the learned school love and virtue were one and the same thing; love _was_ religion, the lady beloved the way to heaven, symbol of philosophy and finally of theology.'[2] The culminating moment in Dante's love for Beatrice arrives when he has overcome even the desire that she should return his salutation and he finds his full beatitude in 'those words that do praise my lady'. The love that begins in the _Vita Nuova_ is completed in the _Paradiso_.
The dualism thus in appearance transcended by Dante reappears sharply and distinctly in Petrarch. 'Petrarch', says Gaspary, 'adores not the idea but the person of his lady; he feels that in his affections there is an earthly element, he cannot separate it from the desire of the senses; this is the earthly tegument which draws us down. If not as, according to the ascetic doctrine, sin, if he could not be ashamed of his passion, yet he could repent of it as a vain and frivolous thing, regret his wasted hopes and griefs.'[3] Laura is for Petrarch the flower of all perfection herself and the source of every virtue in her lover. Yet his love for Laura is a long and weary aberration of the soul from her true goal, which is the love of God. This is the contradiction from which flow some of the most lyrical strains in Petrarch's poetry, as the fine canzone 'I'vo pensando', where he cries:
E sento ad ora ad or venirmi in core Un leggiadro disdegno, aspro e severo, Ch'ogni occulto pensero Tira in mezzo la fronte, ov' altri 'l vede; Che mortal cosa amar con tanta fede, Quanta a Dio sol per debito convensi, Più si disdice a chi più pregio brama.
Elizabethan love-poetry is descended from Petrarch by way of Cardinal Bembo and the French poets of the _Pléiade_, notably Ronsard and Desportes. Of all the Elizabethan sonneteers the most finely Petrarchian are Sidney and Spenser, especially the former. For Sidney, Stella is the school of virtue and nobility. He too writes at times in the impatient strain of Petrarch:
But ah! Desire still cries, give me some food.
And in the end both Sidney and Spenser turn from earthly to heavenly love:
Leave me, O love, which reachest but to dust, And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things: Grow rich in that which never taketh rust, Whatever fades but fading pleasure brings.
And so Spenser:
Many lewd lays (Ah! woe is me the more) In praise of that mad fit, which fools call love, I have in the heat of youth made heretofore; That in light wits affection loose did move, But all these follies now I do reprove.
But two things had come over this idealist and courtly love-poetry by the end of the sixteenth century. It had become a literary artifice, a refining upon outworn and extravagant conceits, losing itself at times in the fantastic and absurd. A more important fact was that this poetry had begun to absorb a new warmth and spirit, not from Petrarch and mediaeval chivalry, but from classical love-poetry with its simpler, less metaphysical strain, its equally intense but more realistic description of passion, its radically different conception of the relation between the lovers and of the influence of love in a man's life. The courtly, idealistic strain was crossed by an Epicurean and sensuous one that tends to treat with scorn the worship of woman, and echoes again and again the Pagan cry, never heard in Dante or Petrarch, of the fleetingness of beauty and love:
Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus! Soles occidere et redire possunt: Nobis quum semel occidit brevis lux Nox est perpetua una dormienda.
Vivez si m'en croyez, n'attendez à demain; Cueillez dès aujourd'hui les roses de la vie.
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o'er-sways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
Now if we turn from Elizabethan love-poetry to the _Songs and Sonets_ and the _Elegies_ of Donne, we find at once two distinguishing features. In the first place his poetry is in one respect less classical than theirs. There is far less in it of the superficial evidence of classical learning with which the poetry of the 'University Wits' abounds, pastoral and mythological imagery. The texture of his poetry is more mediaeval than theirs in as far as it is more dialectical, though a dialectical evolution is not infrequent in the Elizabethan sonnet, and the imagery is less picturesque, more scientific, philosophic, realistic, and homely. The place of the
goodly exiled train Of gods and goddesses
is taken by images drawn from all the sciences of the day, from the definitions and distinctions of the Schoolmen, from the travels and speculations of the new age, and (as in Shakespeare's tragedies or Browning's poems) from the experiences of everyday life. Maps and sea discoveries, latitude and longitude, the phoenix and the mandrake's root, the Scholastic theories of Angelic bodies and Angelic knowledge, Alchemy and Astrology, legal contracts and _non obstantes_, 'late schoolboys and sour prentices,' 'the king's real and his stamped face'--these are the kind of images, erudite, fanciful, and homely, which give to Donne's poems a texture so different at a first glance from the florid and diffuse Elizabethan poetry, whether romantic epic, mythological idyll, sonnet, or song; while by their presence and their abundance they distinguish it equally (as Mr. Gosse has justly insisted) from the studiously moderate and plain style of 'well-languaged Daniel'.
But if the imagery of Donne's poetry be less classical than that of Marlowe or the younger Shakespeare there is no poet the spirit of whose love-poetry is so classical, so penetrated with the sensual, realistic, scornful tone of the Latin lyric and elegiac poets. If one reads rapidly through the three books of Ovid's _Amores_, and then in the same continuous rapid fashion the _Songs_ and the _Elegies_ of Donne, one will note striking differences of style and treatment. Ovid develops his theme simply and concretely, Donne dialectically and abstractly. There is little of the ease and grace of Ovid's verses in the rough and vehement lines of Donne's _Elegies_. Compare the song,
Busie old foole, unruly Sunne,
with the famous thirteenth Elegy of the first book,
Iam super oceanum venit a seniore marito, Flava pruinoso quae vehit axe diem.
Ovid passes from one natural and simple thought to another, from one aspect of dawn to another equally objective. Donne just touches one or two of the same features, borrowing them doubtless from Ovid, but the greater part of the song is devoted to the subtle and extravagant, if you like, but not the less passionate development of the thought that for him the woman he loves is the whole world.
But if the difference between Donne's metaphysical conceits and Ovid's naturalness and simplicity is palpable it is not less clear that the emotions which they express, with some important exceptions to which I shall recur, are identical. The love which is the main burden of their song is something very different from the ideal passion of Dante or of Petrarch, of Sidney or Spenser. It is a more sensual passion. The same tone of witty depravity runs through the work of the two poets. There is in Donne a purer strain which, we shall see directly, is of the greatest importance, but such a rapid reader as I am contemplating might be forgiven if for the moment he overlooked it, and declared that the modern poet was as sensual and depraved as the ancient, that there was little to choose between the social morality reflected in the Elizabethan and in the Augustan poet.
And yet even in these more cynical and sensual poems a careful reader will soon detect a difference between Donne and Ovid. He will begin to suspect that the English poet is imitating the Roman, and that the depravity is in part a reflected depravity. In revolt from one convention the young poet is cultivating another, a cynicism and sensuality which is just as little to be taken _au pied de la lettre_ as the idealizing worship, the anguish and adoration of the sonneteers. There is, as has been said already, a gaiety in the poems elaborating the thesis that love is a perpetual flux, fickleness the law of its being, which warns us against taking them too seriously; and even those _Elegies_ which seem to our taste most reprehensible are aerated by a wit which makes us almost forget their indecency. In the last resort there is all the difference in the world between the untroubled, heartless sensuality of the Roman poet and the gay wit, the paradoxical and passionate audacities and sensualities of the young Elizabethan law-student impatient of an unreal convention, and eager to startle and delight his fellow students by the fertility and audacity of his wit.
It is not of course my intention to represent Donne's love-poetry as purely an 'evaporation' of wit, to suggest that there is in it no reflection either of his own life as a young man or the moral atmosphere of Elizabethan London. It would be a much less interesting poetry if this were so. Donne has pleaded guilty to a careless and passionate youth:
In mine Idolatry what showres of raine Mine eyes did waste? what griefs my heart did rent? That sufferance was my sinne; now I repent; Cause I did suffer I must suffer pain.
From what we know of the lives of Essex, Raleigh, Southampton, Pembroke, and others it is probable that Donne's _Elegies_ come quite as close to the truth of life as Sidney's Petrarchianism or Spenser's Platonism. The later cantos of _The Faerie Queene_ reflect vividly the unchaste loves and troubled friendships of Elizabeth's Court. Whether we can accept in its entirety the history of Donne's early amours which Mr. Gosse has gathered from the poems or not, there can be no doubt that actual experiences do lie behind these poems as behind Shakespeare's sonnets. In the one case as in the other, to recognize a literary model is not to exclude the probability of a source in actual experience.
But however we may explain or palliate the tone of these poems it is impossible to deny their power, the vivid and packed force with which they portray a variously mooded passion working through a swift and subtle brain. If there is little of the elegant and accomplished art which Milton admired in the Latin Elegiasts while he 'deplored' their immorality, there is more strength and sincerity both of thought and imagination. The brutal cynicism of
Fond woman which would have thy husband die,
the witty anger of _The Apparition_, the mordant and paradoxical wit of _The Perfume_ and _The Bracelet_, the passionate dignity and strength of _His Picture_,
My body a sack of bones broken within, And powders blew stains scatter'd on my skin,
the passion that rises superior to sensuality and wit, and takes wing into a more spiritual and ideal atmosphere, of _His parting from her_,
I will not look upon the quick'ning Sun, But straight her beauty to my sense shall run; The ayre shall note her soft, the fire most pure; Water suggest her clear, and the earth sure--
compare these with Ovid and the difference is apparent between an artistic, witty voluptuary and a poet whose passionate force redeems many errors of taste and art. Compare them with the sonnets and mythological idylls and _Heroicall Epistles_ of the Elizabethans and it is they, not Donne, who are revealed as witty and 'fantastic' poets content to adorn a conventional sentiment with mythological fancies and verbal conceits. Donne's interest is his theme, love and woman, and he uses words not for their own sake but to communicate his consciousness of these surprising phenomena in all their varying and conflicting aspects. The only contemporary poems that have the same dramatic quality are Shakespeare's sonnets and some of Drayton's later sonnets. In Shakespeare this dramatic intensity and variety is of course united with a rarer poetic charm. Charm is a quality which Donne's poetry possesses in a few single lines. But to the passion which animates these sensual, witty, troubled poems the closest parallel is to be sought in Shakespeare's sonnets to a dark lady and in some of the verses written by Catullus to or of Lesbia:
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame.
But neither sensual passion, nor gay and cynical wit, nor scorn and anger, is the dominant note in Donne's love-poetry. Of the last quality there is, despite the sardonic emphasis of some of the poems, less than in either Shakespeare or Catullus. There is nothing in his poetry which speaks so poignantly of an outraged heart, a love lavished upon one who was worthless, as some of Shakespeare's sonnets and of Catullus's poems. The finest note in Donne's love-poetry is the note of joy, the joy of mutual and contented passion. His heart might be subtle to plague itself; its capacity for joy is even more obvious. Other poets have done many things which Donne could not do. They have invested their feelings with a garb of richer and sweeter poetry. They have felt more deeply and finely the reverence which is in the heart of love. But it is only in the fragments of Sappho, the lyrics of Catullus, and the songs of Burns that one will find the sheer joy of loving and being loved expressed in the same direct and simple language as in some of Donne's songs, only in Browning that one will find the same simplicity of feeling combined with a like swift and subtle dialectic.
I wonder by my troth what thou and I Did till we loved.
For God's sake hold your tongue and let me love.
If yet I have not all thy love, Deare, I shall never have it all.
Lines like these have the same direct, passionate quality as
[Greek: phainetai moi kênos isos theoisin emmen ônêr]
or
O my love's like a red, red rose That's newly sprung in June.
The joy is as intense though it is of a more spiritual and intellectual quality. And in the other notes of this simple passionate love-poetry, sorrow which is the shadow of joy, and tenderness, Donne does not fall far short of Burns in intensity of feeling and directness of expression. These notes are not so often heard in Donne, but
So, so break off this last lamenting kiss
is of the same quality as
Had we never lov'd sae kindly
or
Take, O take those lips away.
And strangest of all perhaps is the tenderness which came into Donne's poetry when a sincere passion quickened in his heart, for tenderness, the note of
O wert thou in the cauld blast,
is the last quality one would look for in the poetry of a nature at once so intellectual and with such a capacity for caustic satire. But the beautiful if not flawless _Elegy XVI_,
By our first strange and fatal interview,
and the _Valedictions_ which he wrote on different occasions of parting from his wife, combine with the peculiar _élan_ of all Donne's passionate poetry and its intellectual content a tenderness as perfect as anything in Burns or in Browning:
O more than Moone, Draw not up seas to drowne me in thy spheare, Weepe me not dead in thine armes, but forbeare To teach the sea, what it may doe too soone.
Let not thy divining heart Forethink me any ill, Destiny may take thy part And may thy feares fulfill; But thinke that we Are but turn'd aside to sleep; They who one another keepe Alive, ne'er parted be.
Such wilt thou be to mee, who must Like th' other foot, obliquely runne; Thy firmnes makes my circle just, And makes me end, where I begunne.
The poet who wrote such verses as these did not believe any longer that 'love ... represents the principle of perpetual flux in nature'.
But Donne's poetry is not so simple a thing of the heart and of the senses as that of Burns and Catullus. Even his purer poetry has more complex moods--consider _The Prohibition_--and it is metaphysical, not only in the sense of being erudite and witty, but in the proper sense of being reflective and philosophical. Donne is always conscious of the import of his moods; and so it is that there emerges from his poems a philosophy or a suggested philosophy of love to take the place of the idealism which he rejects. Set a song of the joy of love by Burns or by Catullus such as I have cited beside Donne's _Anniversarie_,
All Kings, and all their favorites, All glory of honors, beauties, wits, The Sun itselfe, which makes times, as they passe, Is elder by a year, now, than it was When thou and I first one another saw,
and the difference is at once apparent. Burns gets no further than the experience, Catullus than the obvious and hedonistic reflection that time is flying, the moment of pleasure short. In Donne's poem one feels the quickening of the brain, the vision extending its range, the passion gathering sweep with the expanding rhythms, and from the mind thus heated and inspired emerges, not a cry that time might stay its course,
Lente, lente currite noctis equi,
but a clearer consciousness of the eternal significance of love, not the love that aspires after the unattainable, but the love that unites contented hearts. The method of the poet is, I suppose, too dialectical to be popular, for the poem is in few Anthologies. It may be that the Pagan and Christian strains which the poet unites are not perfectly blended--if it is possible to do so--but to me it seems that the joy of love has never been expressed at once with such intensity and such elevation.
And it is with sorrow as with joy. There is the same difference of manner in the expression between Donne and these poets, and the deepest thought is the same. The _Nocturnall on S. Lucies Day_ is at the opposite pole of Donne's thought from the _Anniversarie_, and compared with
Had we never loved sae kindly
or
Take, O take those lips away,
both the feeling and its expression are metaphysical. But the passion is felt through the subtle and fantastic web of dialectic; and the thought from which the whole springs is the emptiness of life without love.
What, then, is the philosophy which disengages itself from Donne's love-poetry studied in its whole compass? It seems to me that it is more than a purely negative one, that consciously or unconsciously he sets over against the abstract idealism, the sharp dualism of the Middle Ages, a justification of love as a natural passion in the human heart the meaning and end of which is marriage. The sensuality and exaggerated cynicism of so much of the poetry of the Renaissance was a reaction from courtly idealism and mediaeval asceticism. But a mere reaction could lead no-whither. There are no steps which lead only backward in the history of human thought and feeling. Poems like Donne's _Elegies_, like Shakespeare's _Venus and Adonis_, like Marlowe's _Hero and Leander_ could only end in penitent outcries like those of Sidney and Spenser and of Donne himself. The true escape from courtly or ascetic idealism was a poetry which should do justice to love as a passion in which body and soul alike have their part, and of which there is no reason to repent.
And this with all its imperfections Donne's love-poetry is. It was not for nothing that Sir Thomas Egerton's secretary made a runaway match for love. For Dante the poet, his wife did not exist. In love of his wife Donne found the meaning and the infinite value of love. In later days he might bewail his 'idolatry of profane mistresses'; he never repented of having loved. Between his most sensual and his most spiritual love-songs there is no cleavage such as separates natural love from Dante's love of Beatrice, who is in the end Theology. The passion that burns in Donne's most outspoken elegies, and wantons in the _Epithalamia_, is not cast out in _The Anniversarie_ or _The Canonization_, but absorbed. It is purified and enriched by being brought into harmony with his whole nature, spiritual as well as physical. It has lost the exclusive consciousness of itself which is lust, and become merged in an entire affection, as a turbid and discoloured stream is lost in the sea.
This justification of natural love as fullness of joy and life is the deepest thought in Donne's love-poems, far deeper and sincerer than the Platonic conceptions of the affinity and identity of souls with which he plays in some of the verses addressed to Mrs. Herbert. The nearest approach that he makes to anything like a reasoned statement of the thought latent rather than expressed in _The Anniversarie_ is in _The Extasie_, a poem which, like the _Nocturnall_, only Donne could have written. Here with the same intensity of feeling, and in the same abstract, dialectical, erudite strain he emphasizes the interdependence of soul and body:
As our blood labours to beget Spirits, as like soules as it can, Because such fingers need to knit That subtile knot, which makes us man: So must pure lovers soules descend T'affections, and to faculties, Which sense may reach and apprehend, _Else a great Prince in prison lies_.
It may be that Donne has not entirely succeeded in what he here attempts. There hangs about the poem just a suspicion of the conventional and unreal Platonism of the seventeenth century. In attempting to state and vindicate the relation of soul and body he falls perhaps inevitably into the appearance, at any rate, of the dualism which he is trying to transcend. He places them over against each other as separate entities and the lower bulks unduly. In love, says Pascal, the body disappears from sight in the intellectual and spiritual passion which it has kindled. That is what happens in _The Anniversarie_, not altogether in _The Extasie_. Yet no poem makes one realize more fully what Jonson meant by calling Donne 'the first poet in the world for some things'. 'I should never find any fault with metaphysical poems,' is Coleridge's judgement, 'if they were all like this or but half as excellent.'
It was only the force of Donne's personality that could achieve even an approximate harmony of elements so divergent as are united in his love-verses, that could master the lower-natured steed that drew the chariot of his troubled and passionate soul and make it subservient to his yoke-fellow of purer strain who is a lover of honour, and modesty, and temperance, and the follower of true glory. In the work of his followers, who were many, though they owed allegiance to Jonson also, the lower elements predominated. The strain of metaphysical love-poetry in the seventeenth century with its splendid _élan_ and sonorous cadence is in general Epicurean and witty. It is only now and again--in Marvell, perhaps in Herrick's
Bid me to live, and I will live, Thy Protestant to be,
certainly in Rochester's songs, in
An age in her embraces past Would seem a winter's day,
or the unequalled:
When wearied with a world of woe To thy safe bosom I retire, Where love, and peace, and truth does flow, May I contented there expire,
that the accents of the _heart_ are clearly audible, that passion prevails over Epicurean fancy or cynical wit. On the other hand, the idealism of seventeenth-century poetry and romances, the Platonism of the Hôtel de Rambouillet that one finds in Habington's _Castara_, in Kenelm Digby's _Private Memoirs_, in the French romances of chivalry and their imitations in English is the silliest, because the emptiest, that ever masqueraded as such in any literature, at any period. A sensual and cynical flippancy on the one hand, a passionless, mannered idealism on the other, led directly to that thinly veiled contempt of women which is so obvious in the satirical essays of Addison and Pope's _Rape of the Lock_.
But there was one poet who meditated on the same problem as Donne, who felt like him the power and greatness of love, and like him could not accept a doctrine of love which seemed to exclude or depreciate marriage. In 1640, just before his marriage, as rash in its way as Donne's but less happy in the issue, Milton, defending his character against accusations of immorality, traced the development of his thought about love. The passage, in _An Apology against a Pamphlet called 'A Modest Confutation'_, &c., has been taken as having a reference to the _Paradise Lost_. But Milton rather seems at the time to have been meditating a work like the _Vita Nuova_ or a romance like that of Tasso in which love was to be a motive as well as religion, for the whole theme of his thought is love, true love and its mysterious link with chastity, of which, however, 'marriage is no defilement'. In the arrogance of his youthful purity Milton would doubtless have looked with scorn or loathing on the _Elegies_ and the more careless of Donne's songs. But perhaps pride is a greater enemy of love than such faults of sense as Donne in his passionate youth was guilty of, and from which Dante by his own evidence was not exempt. Whatever be the cause--pride, and the disappointment of his marriage, and political polemic--Milton never wrote any English love-poetry, except it be the one sonnet on the death of the wife who might have opened the sealed wells of his heart; and some want of the experience which love brought to Dante has dimmed the splendour of the great poem in which he undertook to justify the ways of God to men. Donne is not a Milton, but he sounded some notes which touch the soul and quicken the intellect in a way that Milton's magnificent and intense but somewhat hard and objective art fails to achieve.
That the simpler and purer, the more ideal and tender of Donne's love-poems were the expression of his love for Ann More cannot of course be proved in the case of each individual poem, for all Donne's verses have come to us (with a few unimportant exceptions) undated and unarranged. But the general thesis, that it was a great experience which purified and elevated Donne's poetry, receives a striking confirmation from the better-known history of his devotional poetry. Here too wit, often tortured wit, fancy, and the heat which Donne's wit was always able to generate, would have been all his verse had to show but for the great sorrow which struck him down in 1617 and gave to his subsequent sonnets and hymns a sincerer and profounder note, his imagery a more magnificent quality, his rhythms a more sonorous music.
Donne was not by nature a devotional poet in the same way and to the same degree as Giles Fletcher or Herbert or Crashaw. It was a sound enough instinct which, despite his religious upbringing and his wide and serious interest in theological questions, made him hesitate to cross the threshold of the ministry and induced him to seek rather for some such public service as fell to the lot of his friend Wotton. It was not, I think, the transition from the Roman to the Anglican Church which was the obstacle. I have tried to describe what seems to me to have been the path of enlightenment which opened the way for him to a change which on every ground of prudence and ambition was desirable and natural. But to conform, and even to take a part as a free-lance in theological controversy was one thing, to enter the ministry another. When this was pressed upon him by Morton or by the King it brought him into conflict with something deeper and more fundamental than theological doctrines, namely, a temperament which was rather that of the Renaissance than that either of Puritan England or of the Counter-Reformation, whether in Catholic countries or in the Anglican Church--the temperament of Raleigh and Bacon rather than of Milton or Herbert or Crashaw.
The simple way of describing Donne's difficulty is Walton's, according to whom Donne shrank from entering the ministry for fear the notorious irregularities of his early years should bring discredit on the sacred calling. But there was more in Donne's life than a youth of pleasure, an old age of prayers. It is not the case that all which was best and most serious in Donne's nature led him towards Holy Orders. In his earliest satires and even in his 'love-song weeds' there is evidence enough of an earnest, candid soul underneath the extravagances of wit and youthful sensuality. Donne's mind was naturally serious and religious; it was not naturally devout or ascetic, but worldly and ambitious. But to enter the ministry was, for Donne and for all the serious minds of his age, to enter a profession for which the essential qualifications were a devotional and an ascetic life. The country clergy of the Anglican Church were often careless and scandalous livers before Laud took in hand the discipline of the Church; but her bishops and most eminent divines, though they might be courtly and sycophantic, were with few exceptions men of devout and ascetic life. When Donne finally crossed the Rubicon, convinced that from the King no promotion was to be hoped for in any other line of life, it was rather with the deliberate resolution that he would make his life a model of devotion and ascetic self-denial than as one drawn by an irresistible attraction or impelled by a controlling sense of duty to such a life. Donne was no St. Augustine whose transition from libertinism to saintliness came entirely from within. The noblest feature of Donne's earlier clerical life was the steadfast spirit in which he set himself to realize the highest ideals of the calling he had chosen, and the candour with which he accepted the contrast between his present position and his earlier life, leaving to whosoever wished to judge while he followed the path of duty and penitence.
But such a spirit will not easily produce great devotional poetry. There are qualities in the religious poetry of simpler and purer souls to which Donne seldom or never attains. The natural love of God which overflows the pages of the great mystics, which dilates the heart and the verses of a poet like the Dutchman Vondel, the ardour and tenderness of Crashaw, the chaste, pure piety and penitence of Herbert, the love from which devotion and ascetic self-denial come unbidden--to these Donne never attained. The high and passionate joy of _The Anniversary_ is not heard in his sonnets or hymns. Effort is the note which predominates--the effort to realize the majesty of God, the heinousness of sin, the terrors of Hell, the mercy of Christ. Some of the very worst traits in Donne's mind are brought out in his religious writing. _The Essays on Divinity_ are an extraordinary revelation of his accumulations of useless Scholastic erudition, and his capacity to perform feats of ingenious deduction from traditional and accepted premises. To compare these freakish deductions from the theory of verbal inspiration with the luminous sense of the _Tractatus Theologico-Politicus_ is to realize how much rationalism was doing in the course of the century for the emancipation and healing of the human intellect. Some of the poems, and those the earliest written, before Donne had actually taken Orders, are not much more than exercises in these theological subtleties, poems such as that _On the Annunciation and Passion falling in the same year_ (1608), _The Litany_ (1610), _Good-Friday_ (1613), and _The Cross_ (_c._ 1615) are characteristic examples of Donne's intense and imaginative wit employed on traditional topics of Catholic devotion to which no change of Church ever made him indifferent. Donne never ignored in his sermons the gulf that separated the Anglican from the Roman Church, or the link that bound her to the Protestant Churches of the Continent. 'Our great protestant divines' are one of his courts of appeal, and included Luther and Calvin of whom he never speaks but with the deepest respect. But he was unwilling to sacrifice to a fanatical puritanism any element of Catholic devotion which was capable of an innocent interpretation. His language is guarded and perhaps not always consistent, but it would not be difficult to show from his sermons and prose-writings that many of the most distinctively Catholic tenets were treated by him with the utmost tenderness.
But, as Mr. Gosse has pointed out, the sincerest and profoundest of Donne's devotional poetry dates from the death of his wife. The loss of her who had purified and sweetened his earliest love songs lent a new and deeper _timbre_ to the sonnets and lyrics in which he contemplates the great topics of personal religion,--sin, death, the Judgement, and throws himself on the mercy of God as revealed in Christ. The seven sonnets entitled _La Corona_ have been generally attributed to this period, but it is probable that they were composed earlier, and their treatment of the subject of Christ's life and death is more intellectual and theological than spiritual and poetical. It is when the tone becomes personal, as in the _Holy Sonnets_, when he is alone with his own soul in the prospect of death and the Judgement, that Donne's religious poetry acquires something of the same unique character as his love songs and elegies by a similar combination of qualities, intensity of feeling, subtle turns of thought, and occasional Miltonic splendour of phrase. Here again we meet the magnificent openings of the _Songs and Sonets_:--
This is my playes last scene; here heavens appoint My pilgrimages last mile; and my race Idly yet quickly run hath this last space, My spans last inch, my minutes latest point;
or,
At the round earths imagin'd quarters blow Your trumpets, Angels, and arise, arise From death you numberlesse infinities Of soules, and to your scatter'd bodies go:
and again--
What if this present were the worlds last night! Marke in my heart, O Soule, where thou dost dwell, The picture of Christ crucified, and tell Whether that countenance can thee affright, Teares in his eyes quench the amazing light, Blood fills his frownes, which from his pierc'd head fell.
This passionate penitence, this beating as it were against the bars of self in the desire to break through to a fuller apprehension of the mercy and love of God, is the intensely human note of these latest poems. Nothing came easily to his soul that knew so well how to be subtle to plague itself. The vision of divine wrath he can conjure up more easily than the beatific vision of the love that 'moves the sun in heaven and all the stars'. Nevertheless it was that vision which Donne sought. He could never have been content with Milton's heaven of majesty and awe divorced from the quickening spirit of love. And there are moments when he comes as close to that beatific vision as perhaps a self-tormenting mind involved in the web of seventeenth-century theology ever could,--at moments love and ecstasy gain the upper hand of fear and penitence. But it is in the sermons that he reaches these highest levels. There is nothing in the florid eloquence of Jeremy Taylor that can equal the splendour of occasional passages in Donne's sermons, when the lava-like flow of his heated reasoning seems suddenly to burst and flower in such a splendid incandescence of mystical rapture as this:--
'Death and life are in the power of the tongue, says Solomon, in another sense: and in this sense too, If my tongue, suggested by my heart, and by my heart rooted in faith, can say, _non moriar, non moriar_: If I can say (and my conscience do not tell me that I belie mine own state) if I can say, That the blood of the Saviour runs in my veins, That the breath of his spirit quickens all my purposes, that all my deaths have their Resurrection, all my sins their remorses, all my rebellions their reconciliations, I will hearken no more after this question as it is intended _de morte naturali_, of a natural death; I know I must die that death; what care I? nor _de morte spirituali_, the death of sin, I know I doe, and shall die so; why despair I? but I will find out another death, _mortem raptus_, a death of rapture and of extasy, that death which St. Paul died more than once, the death which St. Gregory speaks of, _divina contemplatio quoddam sepulchrum animae_, the contemplation of God and heaven is a kind of burial and sepulchre and rest of the soul; and in this death of rapture and extasy, in this death of the Contemplation of my interest in my Saviour, I shall find myself and all my sins enterred, and entombed in his wounds, and like a Lily in Paradise, out of red earth, I shall see my soul rise out of his blade, in a candor, and in an innocence, contracted there, acceptable in the sight of his Father.'
This is the highest level that Donne ever reached in eloquence inspired by the vision of the joy and not the terror of the Christian faith, higher than anything in the _Second Anniversary_, but in his last hymns hope and confidence find a simpler and a tenderer note. The noble hymn, 'In what torn ship so ever I embark,' is in somewhat the same anguished tone as the _Holy Sonnets_; but the highly characteristic
Since I am coming to that Holy roome, Where with thy Quire of Saints for evermore, I shall be made thy Musique;
and the _Hymn to God the Father_, speak of final faith and hope in tones which recall--recall also by their sea-coloured imagery, and by their rhythm--the lines in which another sensitive and tormented poet-soul contemplated the last voyage:
I have a sinne of feare, that when I have spunne My last thred, I shall perish on the shore; Swear by thy self that at my death thy sunne Shall shine as he shines now and heretofore: And having done that, Thou hast done, I feare no more.
Beside the passion of these lines even Tennyson's grow a little pale:
Twilight and evening bell And after that the dark; And may there be no sadness of farewell When I embark: For though from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crost the bar.
It has not been the aim of the present editor to attempt to pronounce a final judgement upon Donne. It seems to him idle to compare Donne's poetry with that of other poets or to endeavour to fix its relative worth. Its faults are great and manifest; its beauties _sui generis_, incommunicable and incomparable. My endeavour here has been by an analysis of some of the different elements in this composite work--poems composed at different times and in different moods; flung together at the end so carelessly that youthful extravagances of witty sensuality and pious aspirations jostle each other cheek by jowl; and presenting a texture so diverse from that of poetry as we usually think of it--to show how many are the strands which run through it, and that one of these is a poetry, not perfect in form, rugged of line and careless in rhyme, a poetry in which intellect and feeling are seldom or never perfectly fused in a work that is of imagination all compact, yet a poetry of an extraordinarily arresting and haunting quality, passionate, thoughtful, and with a deep melody of its own.
[Footnote 1: _History of English Poetry_, iii. 154. Mr. Courthope qualifies this statement somewhat on the next page: 'From this spirit of cynical lawlessness he was perhaps reclaimed by genuine love,' &c. But he has, I think, insufficiently analysed the diverse strains in Donne's love-poetry.]
[Footnote 2: Gaspary: _History of Italian Literature_ (Oelsner's translation), 1904. Consult also Karl Vossler: _Die philosophischen Grundlagen des 'süssen neuen Stils'_, Heidelberg, 1904, and _La Poesia giovanile &c. di Guido Cavalcanti: Studi di Giulio Salvadori_, Roma, 1895.]
[Footnote 3: Gaspary: _Op. Cit._]
* * * * *
Ii The Text And Canon Of Donne'S Poems Text
II
THE TEXT AND CANON OF DONNE'S POEMS
TEXT
Both the text and the canon of Donne's poems present problems which have never been frankly faced by any of his editors--problems which, considering the greatness of his reputation in the seventeenth century, and the very considerable revival of his reputation which began with Coleridge and De Quincey and has advanced uninterruptedly since, are of a rather surprising character. An attempt to define and, as far as may be, to solve these problems will begin most simply with a brief account of the form in which Donne's poems have come down to us.
Three of Donne's poems were printed in his lifetime--the Anniversaries (i.e. _The Anatomy of the World_ with _A Funerall Elegie_ and _The Progresse of the Soule_) in 1611 and 1612, with later editions in 1621 and 1625; the _Elegie upon the untimely death of the incomparable Prince Henry_, in Sylvester's _Lachrymae Lachrymarum_, 1613; and the lines prefixed to _Coryats Crudities_ in 1611. We know nothing of any other poem by Donne being printed prior to 1633. It is noteworthy, as Mr. Gosse has pointed out, that none of the _Miscellanies_ which appeared towards the end of the sixteenth century, as _Englands Parnassus_[1] (1600), or at the beginning of the seventeenth century, as Davison's _Poetical Rhapsody_,[2] contained poems by Donne. The first of these is a collection of witty and elegant passages from different authors on various general themes (Dissimulation, Faith, Learning, &c.) and is just the kind of book for which Donne's poems would have been made abundant use of at a somewhat later period. There are in our libraries manuscript collections of 'Donne's choicest conceits', and extracts long or short from his poems, dating from the second quarter of the seventeenth century.[3] The editor of the second of the anthologies mentioned, Francis Davison, became later much interested in Donne's poems. In notes which he made at some date after 1608, we find him inquiring for 'Satyres, Elegies, Epigrams etc., by John Don', and querying whether they might be obtained 'from Eleaz. Hodgson and Ben Johnson'. Among the books again which he has lent to his brother at a later date are 'John Duns Satyres'. This interest on the part of Davison in Donne's poems makes it seem to me very unlikely that if he had known them earlier he would not have included some of them in his _Rhapsody_, or that if he had done so he would not have told us. It has been the custom of late to assign to Donne the authorship of one charming lyric in the _Rhapsody_, 'Absence hear thou my protestation.' I hope to show elsewhere that this is the work, not of Donne, but of another young wit of the day, John Hoskins, whose few extant poems are a not uninteresting link between the manner of Sidney and the Elizabethans and of Donne and the 'Metaphysicals'.
The first collected edition of Donne's poems was issued in 1633, two years after his death. This is a small quarto, the title-page of which is here reproduced.
POEMS,
_By_ J. D.
By John Donne,
BY
JOHN DONNE,
_late Dean of St._ Pauls.
WITH
ELEGIES
ON THE
AUTHORS DEATH.
To which is added
_Divers Copies under his own hand_,
+Never before Printed.+
_In the SAVOY_,
Printed by _T. N._ for _Henry Herringman_, at the sign of the _Anchor_, in the lower-walk of the _New-Exchange._ 1669.
The last edition of Donne's poems which bears evidence of recourse to manuscript sources, and which enlarged the canon of the poems, was that of 1669. The younger Donne died in 1662, and this edition was purely a printer's venture. Its title-page runs as opposite.
This edition added two elegies which a sense of propriety had hitherto excluded from Donne's printed works, though they are in almost all the manuscript collections, and a satire which most of the manuscripts assign not to Donne but to Sir John Roe. The introductory material remains as in _1650-54_ and unpaged; but the _Elegies to the Author_ are now paged, and the poems with the prose letters inserted in _1633_ and added to in _1635_ (see above, p. lxiii, note 8), the _Elegies to the Author_, and the additional sheets inserted in _1650_, occupy pp. 1-414. The love _Elegies_ were numbered as in earlier editions, but the titles which some had borne were all dropped. _Elegie XIIII_ (XII in this edition) was enlarged. Two new Elegies were added, one (_Loves Progress_) as _Elegie XVIII_, the second (_Going to Bed_) unnumbered and simply headed _To his Mistress going to bed_. The text of the poems underwent considerable alteration, some of the changes showing a reversion to the text of _1633_, others a reference to manuscript sources, many editorial conjecture.
The edition of 1669 is the last edition of Donne's poems which can be regarded as in any degree an authority for the text of the poems, because it is the last which affords evidence of access to independent manuscript sources. All subsequent editions, till we come to those of Grosart and Chambers, were based on these. If the editor preferred one reading to another it was on purely internal evidence, a result of his own decision as to which was the more correct or the preferable reading. In 1719, for example, a new edition was brought out by the well-known publisher Jacob Tonson. The title-page runs as over.
Poems On Several Occasions.
POEMS
ON SEVERAL
OCCASIONS.
Written by the Reverend
_JOHN DONNE_, D.D.
Late Dean of St. PAUL'S.
WITH
ELEGIES on the Author's Death.
To this Edition is added,
Some ACCOUNT of the LIFE of the AUTHOR.
_LONDON_:
Printed for J. TONSON, and Sold by W. TAYLOR at the _Ship_ in _Pater-noster-Row_. 1719.
This edition opens with the Epistle Dedicatory as in _1650-69_, which is followed by an abridgement of Walton's _Life_ of Donne. An examination of the text of the poems shows clearly that this edition was printed from that of 1669, but is by no means a slavish reproduction. The editor has consulted earlier editions and corrected mistakes, but I have found no evidence either that he knew the editions of 1633 and 1635, or had access to manuscript collections. He very wisely dropped the Satire 'Sleep next Society', inserted for the first time by the editor of _1669_, and certainly not by Donne. It was reinserted by Chalmers in 1810.[12]
These, then, are the early editions of Donne's poems. But the printed editions are not the only form in which the poems, or the great majority of the poems, have come down to us. None of these editions, we have seen, was issued before the poet's death. None, so far as we can discover (I shall discuss this point more fully later), was printed from sources carefully prepared for the press by the author, as were for example the _LXXX Sermons_ issued in 1640. But Donne's poems were well known to many readers before 1633. One of the earliest published references to them occurs in 1614, in a collection of Epigrams by Thomas Freeman, called _Runne_ | _And a great Cast_ | _The_ | _Second Book_.
Epigram 84.
To Iohn Dunne.
The _Storme_ describ'd hath set thy name afloate, Thy _Calme_ a gale of famous winde hath got: Thy _Satyres_ short, too soone we them o'relooke, I prethee Persius write a bigger booke.
In 1616 Ben Jonson's _Epigrammes_ were published in the first (folio) edition of his works, and they contain the Epigram, printed in this edition, _To Lucy, Countesse of Bedford, with Mr. Donnes Satyres_. In these and similar cases the 'bookes' referred to are not printed but manuscript works. Mr. Chambers has pointed out (_Poems of John Donne_, i, pp. xxxviii-ix) an interesting reference in Drayton's _Epistle to Reynolds_ to poems circulating thus 'by transcription'; and Anthony Wood speaks of Hoskins having left a 'book of poems neatly written'. In Donne's own letters we find references to his poems, his paradoxes and problems, and even a long treatise like the [Greek: BIATHANATOS], being sent to his friends with injunctions of secrecy, and in the case of the last with an express statement that it had not been, and was not to be, printed. Sometimes the manuscript collection seems to have been made by Donne himself, or on his instruction, for a special friend and patron like Lord Ancrum; but after he had become a distinguished Churchman who, as Jonson told Drummond, 'repenteth highlie and seeketh to destroy all his poems,' it was his friends and admirers who collected and copied them. An instructive reference to the interest awakened in Donne's early poems by his fame as a preacher comes to us from Holland. Constantine Huyghens, the Dutch poet, and father of the more famous scientist, Christian, was a member of the Dutch embassy in 1618, 1621-23, and again in 1624. He moved in the best circles, and made the acquaintance of Donne ('great preacher and great conversationalist', he calls him) at the house probably of Sir Robert Killigrew. Writing to his friend and fellow-poet Hooft, in 1630, he says:[13]
'I think I have often entertained you with reminiscences of Dr. Donne, now Dean of St. Pauls in London, and on account of this remunerative post (such is the custom of the English) held in high esteem, in still higher for the wealth of his unequalled wit, and yet more incomparable eloquence in the pulpit. Educated early at Court in the service of the great; experienced in the ways of the world; sharpened by study; in poetry, he is more famous than anyone. Many rich fruits from the green branches of his wit[14] have lain mellowing among the lovers of art, which now, when _nearly rotten with age_, they _are distributing_. Into my hands have fallen, by the help of my special friends among the gentlemen of that nation, some five and twenty of the best sort of medlars. Among our people, I cannot select anyone to whom they ought to be communicated sooner than to you,[15] as this poets manner of conceit and expression are exactly yours, Sir.'
This is a very interesting piece of evidence as to the manner in which Donne's poems had been preserved by his friends, and the form in which they were being distributed. There is no reference to publication. It is doubtless due to this activity in collecting and transcribing the poems of the now famous preacher that we owe the number of manuscript collections dating from the years before and immediately after 1630.
Had Donne undertaken the publication of his own poems, such of these manuscript collections as have been preserved--none of which are autograph, and few or none of which have a now traceable history--would have little importance for a modern editor. The most that they could do would be to show us occasionally what changes a poem had undergone between its earliest and its latest appearance. But Donne's poems were not published in this way, and the manuscripts cannot be ignored. They must have for his editor at least the same interest and importance as the Quartos have for the editor of Shakespeare. Whatever opinion he may hold, on _a priori_ or _a posteriori_ grounds, regarding the superior authority of the First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, no editor, not 'thirled to' a theory, will deny that a right reading has been preserved for us often by the Quartos and the Quartos only. No wise man will neglect the assistance even of the more imperfect of them. Before therefore discussing the relative value of the different editions, and the use that may be made of the manuscripts, it will be well to give a short description of the manuscripts which the present editor has consulted and used, of their relation to one another, their comparative value, and the relation of _some_ of them to the editions. It is, of course, possible that there are manuscripts of Donne's poems which have not yet come to light; and among them may be some more correctly transcribed than any which has come into the present editor's hands. He has, however, examined between twenty and thirty, and with the feeling recently of moving in a circle--that new manuscripts were in part or whole duplicates of those which had been already examined, and confirmed readings already noted but did not suggest anything fresh.
I will divide the manuscripts into four classes, of which the first two, it will be seen at a glance, are likely to be the most important for the textual critic.
(1) Manuscript collections of portions of Donne's poems, e.g. the _Satyres_. The 'booke' to which Freeman refers in the epigram quoted above was probably a small collection of this kind, and we have seen that Jonson sent the _Satyres_ to Lady Bedford, and Francis Davison lent them to his brother. Of such collections I have examined the following:
_Q._ This is a small quarto manuscript, bound up with a number of other manuscripts, in a volume (MS. 216) in the library of Queen's College, Oxford. It is headed _Mr. John Dunnes Satires_, and contains the five Satires (which alone I have accepted as Donne's own) followed by _A Storme_, _A Calme_, and one song, _The Curse_ (see p. 41), here headed _Dirae_. As Mr. Chambers says (_Poems of John Donne_, i, p. xxxvi), this is probably just the kind of 'booke' which Freeman read. The poems it contains are probably those of Donne's poems which were first known outside the circle of his intimate friends.
What seems to be a duplicate of _Q_ is preserved among the Dyce MSS. in the South Kensington Museum. This contains the five _Satyres_, and the _Storme_ and _Calme_. The MSS. are evidently transcribed from the same source, but one is not a copy of the other. They agree in such exceptional readings as e.g. _Satyres_, I. 58 'Infanta of London'; 94 'goes in the way' &c.; II. 86 'In wringing each acre'; 88 'Assurances as bigge as glossie civill lawes'. The last suggests that the one is a copy of the other, but again they diverge in such cases as III. 49 'Crants' _Dyce MS._; 'Crates' _Q_; and IV. 215-16 'a Topclief would have ravisht him quite away' _Q_, where the _Dyce MS._ preserves the normal 'a Pursevant would have ravisht him quite away'.
If manuscripts like _Q_ and the _Dyce MS._ carry us back, as they seem to do, to the form in which the _Satyres_ circulated before any of the later collections of Donne's poems were made (between 1620 and 1630), they are clearly of great importance for the editor. The text of the _Satyres_ in _1633_ and the later editions, which closely resembles that of one of the later MS. collections, presents many variants from the older tradition. It is a difficult matter to decide how far these may be the corrections of the author himself, or of the collector and editor.
_W._ This, the Westmoreland MS., belonging to Mr. Edmund Gosse, is one of the most interesting and valuable manuscripts of Donne's poems which have come down to us. It is bound in its original vellum, and was written, Mr. Warner, late Egerton Librarian, British Museum, conjectured from the handwriting, 'a little later than 1625'. This date agrees with what one would gather from the contents, for the manuscript contains sonnets which must have been written after 1617, but does not contain any of the hymns written just at the close of Donne's life.
_W_ is a much larger 'book' than _Q_. It begins with the five _Satyres_, as that does. Leaving one page blank, it then continues with a collection of the _Elegies_ numbered, thirteen in all, of which twelve are Love Elegies, and one, the last, a Funeral Elegy, 'Sorrow who to this house.'[16] These are followed by an _Epithalamion_ (that generally called 'made at Lincolns Inn') and a number of verse letters to different friends, some of which are not contained in any of the old editions. So many of them are addressed to Rowland Woodward, or members of his family, that Mr. Gosse conjectures that the manuscript was prepared for him, but this cannot be proved.[17] The letters are followed by the _Holy Sonnets_, these by _La Corona_, and the book closes (as many collections of the poems do) with a bundle of prose _Paradoxes_, followed in this case by the _Epigrams_. Both the _Holy Sonnets_ and the _Epigrams_ contain poems not printed in any of the old editions.
It should be noted that though _W_ as a whole may have been transcribed as late as 1625, it clearly goes back in portions to an earlier date. The letters are headed e.g. To Mr. H. W., To Mr. C. B., &c. Now the custom in manuscripts and editions is to bring these headings up to date, changing 'To Mr. H. W.' into 'To S^r Henry Wotton'. That they bear headings which were correct at the date when the poems were written points to their fairly direct descent from the original copies.
If _Q_ probably represents the kind of manuscript which circulated pretty widely, _W_ is a good representative of the kind which circulated only among Donne's friends. Some of the poems escaped being transcribed into larger collections and were not published till our own day. The value of _W_ for the text of Donne's poems must stand high. For some of the letters and religious poems it is our sole authority. Though a unique manuscript now, it was probably not so always, for Addl. MS. 23229 in the British Museum contains a single folio which must have been torn from a manuscript identical with _W_. The handwriting is slightly different, but the order of the poems and their text prove the identity.
_A23._ This same manuscript (Addl. MS. 23229), which is a very miscellaneous collection of fragments, presented to the Museum by John Wilson Croker, contains two other portions of what seem to have been similar small 'books' of Donne's poems. The one is a fragment of what seems to have been a carefully written copy of the _Epithalamion_, with introductory _Eclogue_, written for the marriage of the Earl of Somerset. Probably it was one of those prepared and circulated at the time. The other consists of some leaves from a collection of the _Satyres_ finely written on large quarto sheets.
_G._ This is a manuscript containing only the _Metempsychosis_, or _Progresse of the Soule_, now in the possession of Mr. Gosse, who (_Life &c. of John Donne_, i. 141) states that it 'belonged to a certain Bradon, and passed into the Phillipps Collection'. It is not without errors, but its text is, on the whole, more correct than that of the manuscript source from which the version of 1633 was set up in the first instance.
(2) In the second class I place manuscripts which are, or aim at being, complete collections of Donne's poems. Most of these belong to the years between 1620 and 1633. They vary considerably in accuracy of text, and in the care which has been taken to include only poems that are authentic. They were made probably by professional copyists, and some of those whose calligraphy is most attractive show that the scribe must have paid the smallest attention to the meaning of what he was writing.
Of those which I have examined, two groups of manuscripts seem to me especially noteworthy, because both show that their collectors had a clear idea of what were, and what were not, Donne's poems, and because of the general accuracy with which the poems in one of them are transcribed. Taken with the edition of 1633 they form an invaluable starting-point for the determination of the canon of Donne's poems.
The first of these is represented by three manuscripts which I have examined, _D_ (Dowden), _H49_ (Harleian MS. 4955), and _Lec_ (Leconfield).
_D_ is a small quarto manuscript, neatly written in a thin, clear hand and in ordinary script. It was formerly in the Haslewood collection, and is now in the possession of Professor Edward Dowden, Trinity College, Dublin, by whose kindness I have had it by me almost all the time that I have been at work on my edition.
_H49_ is a collection of Donne's poems, in the British Museum, bound up with some by Ben Jonson and others. It is a large folio written throughout apparently in the same hand. It opens with some poems and masques by Jonson. A certain Doctor Andrewes' poems occupy folios 57-87. They are signed _Franc: Andrilla. London August 14. 1629_. Donne's poems follow, filling folios 88 to 144_b_. Thereafter follow more poems by Andrewes, Jonson, and others, with some prose letters by Jonson.
_Lec._ This is a large quarto manuscript, beautifully transcribed, belonging to Lord Leconfield and preserved at Petworth House. Many of the manuscripts in this collection were the property of Henry, ninth Earl of Northumberland (1564-1632), the friend who communicated the news of Donne's marriage to his father-in-law.
These three manuscripts are obviously derived from one common source. They contain the same poems, except that _D_ has one more than _H49_, and both of these have some which are not in _Lec_. The order of the poems is the same, except that _D_ and _Lec_ show more signs of an attempt to group the poems than _H49_. The text, with some divergences, especially on the part of _Lec_, is identical. One instance seems to point to one of them being the source of the others. In the long _Obsequies to the Ld. Harrington, Brother to the Countess of Bedford_, the original copyist, after beginning l. 159 'Vertue whose flood', had inadvertently finished with the second half of l. 161, 'were [_sic_] blowne in, by thy first breath.' This error is found in all the three manuscripts. It may, however, have come from the common source of this poem, and there are divergences in order and text which make me think that they are thus derived from one common source.
A special interest attaches to this collection, apart from the relative excellence of its text and soundness of its canon, from the probability that a manuscript of this kind was used for a large, and that textually the best, part of the edition of 1633. This becomes manifest on a close examination of the order of the poems and of their text. Mr. Gosse has said, in speaking of the edition of 1633: 'The poems are thrown together without any attempt at intelligent order; neither date, nor subject, nor relation is in the least regarded.' This is not entirely the case. Satires, Elegies, Epigrams, Songs are grouped to some extent. The disorder which prevails is due to two causes: (1) to the fact that the printer set up from a variety of sources. There was no previous collected edition to guide him. Different friends supplied collections, and of a few poems there were earlier editions. He seems to have passed from one of these to another as was most convenient at the moment. Perhaps some were lent him only for a time. The differences between copies of _1633_ show that it was prepared carefully, but emended from time to time while the printing was actually going on. (2) The second source of the order of the poems is their order in the manuscripts from which they were copied. Now a comparison of the order in _1633_ with that in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ reveals a close connexion between them, and throws light on the composition of _1633_.
It is necessary, before instituting this comparison with _1633_, to say a word on the order of the poems in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ themselves, as it is not quite the same in all three. _H49_ is the most irregular, perhaps therefore the earliest, each of the others showing efforts to obtain a better grouping of the poems. All three begin with the _Satyres_, of which _D_ and _Lec_ have five, _H49_ only four; but the text of _Lec_ differs from that of the other two, agreeing more closely with the version of _1633_ and of another group of manuscripts. They have all, then, thirteen _Elegies_ in the same order. After these _H49_ continues with a number of letters (_The Storme_, _The Calme_, _To S^r Henry Wotton_, _To S^r Henry Goodyere_, _To the Countesse of Bedford_, _To S^r Edward Herbert_, and others) intermingled with Funeral Elegies (_Lady Markham_, _Mris Boulstred_) and religious poems (_The Crosse_, _The Annuntiation_, _Good Friday_). Then follows a long series of lyrical pieces, broken after _The Funerall_ by _A Letter to the Lady Carey, and Mrs. Essex Rich_, the _Epithalamion_ on the Palatine marriage, and an _Old Letter_ ('At once from hence', p. 206). The lyrical pieces are then resumed, and the collection ends with the Somerset _Eclogue_ and _Epithalamion_, the _Letanye_, both sets of _Holy Sonnets_, a letter (_To the Countesse of Salisbury_), and the long _Obsequies to the Ld. Harrington_.
_D_ makes an effort to arrange the poems following the _Elegies_ in groups. The _Funeral Elegies_ come first, and two blank pages are headed _An Elegye on Prince Henry_. The letters are then brought together, and are followed by the religious poems dispersed in _H49_. The lyrical poems follow piece by piece as in _H49_, and the whole closes with the two epithalamia and the _Obsequies to the Ld. Harrington_.
The order in _Lec_ resembles that of _H49_ more closely than that of _D_. The mixed letters, funeral elegies, and religious poems follow the _Elegies_ as in _H49_, but _Lec_ adds to them the two letters (_Lady Carey_ and _The Countess of Salisbury_) and the _Letanie_ which in _H49_ are dispersed through the lyrical pieces. _Lec_ does not contain any of the _Holy Sonnets_, but after _The Letanie_ ten pages are left blank, evidently intended to receive them. Thereafter, the lyrical poems follow piece by piece as in _D_, _H49_, except that _The Prohibition_ ('Take heed of loving mee') is omitted--a fact of some interest when we come to consider _1633_. _Lec_ closes, like _D_, with the epithalamia and the _Obsequies to the Lo: Harrington_.
Turning now to _1633_, we shall see that, whatever other sources the editor of that edition used, one was a collection identical with, or closely resembling, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, especially _Lec_. That edition begins with the _Progresse of the Soule_, which was _not_ derived from this manuscript. Thereafter follow the two sets of _Holy Sonnets_, the second set containing exactly the same number of sonnets, and in the same order, as in _D_, _H49_, whereas other manuscripts, e.g. _B_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, which will be described later, have more sonnets and in a different order; and _W_, which agrees otherwise with _B_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, adds three that are found nowhere else. The sonnets are followed in _1633_ by the _Epigrams_, which are not in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, but after that the resemblance of _1633_ to _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ becomes quite striking. These manuscripts, we have seen, begin with the _Satyres_. The edition, however, passes on at once to the _Elegies_. Of the thirteen given in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _1633_ prints eight, omitting the first (_The Bracelet_), the second (_Going to Bed_), the tenth (_Loves Warr_), the eleventh (_On his Mistris_), and the thirteenth (_Loves Progresse_). That the editor, however, had before him, and intended to print, the _Satyres_ and the thirteen _Elegies_ as he found them in _his_ copy of _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, is proved by the following extract which Mr. Chambers quotes from the Stationers' Register:
13^o September, 1632
John Marriot. Entered for his copy under the hands of Sir Henry Herbert and both the Wardens, a book of verse and poems (the five Satires, the first, second, tenth, eleventh and thirteenth Elegies being excepted) and these before excepted to be his, when he brings lawful authority. vi_d._
written by Doctor John Dunn
This note is intelligible only when compared with this particular group of manuscripts. In others the order is quite different.
This bar--which was probably dictated by reasons of propriety, though it is difficult to see why the first and the eleventh _Elegies_ should have been singled out--was got over later as far as the _Satyres_ were concerned. They are printed after all the other poems, just before the prose letters. But by this time the copy of _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ had perhaps passed out of Marriot's hands, for the text of the _Satyres_ seems to show that they were printed, not from this manuscript, but from one represented by another group, which I shall describe later. This is, however, not quite certain, for in _Lec_ the version of the _Satyres_ given is not the same as in _D_, _H49_, but is that of this second group of manuscripts. Several little details show that of the three manuscripts _D_, _H49_, and _Lec_ the last most closely resembles _1633_.
Following the _Elegies_ in _1633_ come a group of letters, epicedes, and religious poems, just as in _H49_, _Lec_ (_D_ re-groups them)--_The Storme_, _The Calme_, _To Sir Henry Wotton_, ('Sir, more than kisses'), _The Crosse_, _Elegie on the Lady Marckham_, _Elegie on Mris Boulstred_ ('Death I recant'), _To Sr Henry Goodyere_, _To Mr. Rowland Woodward_, _To Sr Henry Wootton_ ('Here's no more newes'), _To the Countesse of Bedford_ ('Reason is our Soules left hand'), _To the Countesse of Bedford_ ('Madam, you have refin'd'), _To Sr Edward Herbert, at Julyers_. Here _1633_ diverges. Having got into letters to noble and other people the editor was anxious to continue them, and accordingly from another source (which I shall discuss later) he prints a long series of letters to the Countess of Bedford, the Countess of Huntingdon, Mr. T. W., and other more intimate friends (they are 'thou', the Countesses 'you'), and Mrs. Herbert. He perhaps returns to _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ in those to _The Lady Carey and Mrs. Essex Riche, from Amyens_, and _To the Countesse of Salisbury_; and, as in that manuscript, the Palatine and Essex epithalamia (to which, however, _1633_ adds that written at Lincoln's Inn) are followed immediately by the long _Obsequies to Lord Harrington_. Three odd _Elegies_ follow, two of which (_The Autumnall_ and _The Picture_, 'Image of her') occur in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ in the same detached fashion. Other manuscripts include them among the numbered _Elegies_. _The Elegie on Prince Henry_, _Psalme 137_ (probably not by Donne), _Resurrection, imperfect_, _An hymne to the Saints, and to Marquesse Hamilton_, _An Epitaph upon Shakespeare_ (certainly not by Donne), _Sapho to Philaenis_, follow in _1633_--a queerly consorted lot. The _Elegie on Prince Henry_ is taken from the _Lachrymae Lachrymarum_ of Joshua Sylvester (1612); the rest were possibly taken from some small commonplace-book. This would account for the doubtful poems, the only doubtful poems in _1633_. These past, the close connexion with our manuscript is resumed. _The Annuntiation_ is followed, as in _H49_, _Lec_, by _The Litanie_. Thereafter the lyrical pieces begin, as in these manuscripts, with the song, 'Send home my long strayd eyes to me.' This is followed by two pieces which are not in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_,--the impressive, difficult, and in manuscripts comparatively rare _Nocturnall upon S. Lucies day_, and the much commoner _Witchcraft by a picture_. Thereafter the poems follow piece by piece the order in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_[18] until _The Curse_ is reached.[19] Then, in what seems to have been the editor's or printer's regular method of proceeding in this edition, he laid aside the manuscript from which he was printing the _Songs and Sonets_ to take up another piece of work that had come to hand, viz. _An Anatomie of the World_ with _A Funerall Elegie_ and _Of the Progresse of the Soule_, which he prints from the edition of 1625. Without apparent rhyme or reason these long poems are packed in between _The Curse_ and _The Extasie_. With the latter poem _1633_ resumes the songs and (with the exception of _The Undertaking_) follows the order in _Lec_ to _The Dampe_, with which the series in the manuscripts closes. It has been noted that in _Lec_, _The Prohibition_ (which in _D_, _H49_ follows _Breake of day_ and precedes _The Anniversarie_) is omitted. This must have been the case in the manuscript used for _1633_, for it is omitted at this place and though printed later was probably not derived from this source.
With _The Dampe_ the manuscript which I am supposing the editor to have followed in the main probably came to an end. The poems which follow in _1633_ are of a miscellaneous character and strangely conjoined. _The Dissolution_ (p. 64), _A Ieat Ring sent_ (p. 65), _Negative Love_ (p. 66), _The Prohibition_ (p. 67), _The Expiration_ (p. 68), _The Computation_ (p. 69), complete the tale of lyrics. A few odd elegies follow ('Language thou art,' 'You that are she,' 'To make the doubt clear') with _The Paradox_. _A Hymne to Christ, at the Authors last going into Germany_ is given a page to itself, and is followed by _The Lamentations of Jeremy_, _The Satyres_, and _A Hymne to God the Father_. Thereafter come the prose letters and the _Elegies upon the Author_.
What this comparison of the order of the poems points to is borne out by an examination of the text. The critical notes afford the materials for a further verification, and I need not tabulate the resemblances at length. In _Elegie IV_, for example, ll. 7, 8, which occur in all the other manuscripts and editions, are omitted by _1633_ and by _D_, _H49_, _Lec_. Again, when a song has no title in _1633_ it has frequently none in the manuscript. When there are evidently two versions of a poem, as e.g. in _The Good-morrow_ and _The Flea_, the version given in _1633_ is generally that of _D_, _H49_, _Lec_. Later editions often contaminate this with another version of the poem. At the same time there are ever and again divergences between the edition and the manuscript which are not to be ignored, and cannot always be explained. Some are due to error in one or the other, but some point either to divergence between the text of the editor's manuscript and ours, or to the use by the editor of other sources as well as this. In the fifth elegy (_The Picture_), for example, _1633_ twice seems to follow, not _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, but another source, another group of manuscripts which has been preserved; and in _The Aniversarie_ ll. 23, 24, the version of _1633_ is not that of _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ but of the same second group, which will be described later. On the whole, however, it is clear that a manuscript closely resembling that now represented by these three manuscripts supplied the editor of _1633_ with the bulk of the shorter poems, especially the older and more privately circulated poems, the _Songs and Sonets_ and _Elegies_. When he is not following this manuscript he draws from miscellaneous and occasionally inferior sources.
It would be interesting if we could tell whence this manuscript was obtained, and whether it was _a priori_ likely to be a good one. On this point we can only conjecture, but it seems to me a fairly tenable conjecture (though not to be built on in any way) that the nucleus of the collection, at any rate, may have been a commonplace-book which had belonged to Sir Henry Goodyere. The ground for this conjecture is the inclusion in the edition of some prose letters addressed to this friend, one in Latin and seven in English. There is indeed also one addressed to the Countess of Bedford; but in the preceding letter to Goodyere Donne says, 'I send you, with this, a letter which I sent to the Countesse. It is not my use nor duty to do so. But for your having it, there were but two consents, and I am sure you have mine, and you are sure you have hers.' He goes on to refer to some verses which are the subject of the letter to the Countesse. There can be no doubt that the letter printed is the letter sent to Goodyere. The Burley MS. (see Pearsall-Smith's _Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton_, Oxford, 1907) gives us a good example of how a gentleman in the seventeenth century dealt with his correspondence. That contains, besides various letters, as of Sidney to Queen Elizabeth on the Anjou marriage, and other matter which recurs in commonplace-books, a number of poems and letters, sent to Wotton by his friends, including Donne, and transcribed by one or other of Wotton's secretaries. The letters have no signatures appended, which is the case with the letters in the 1633 edition of Donne's poems. Wotton and Goodyere did not need to be reminded of the authors, and perhaps did not wish others to know. The reason then for the rather odd inclusion of nine prose letters in a collection of poems is probably, that the principal manuscript used by the printer was an 'old book'[20] which had belonged to Sir Henry Goodyere and in which his secretaries had transcribed poems and letters by Donne. Goodyere's collection of Donne's poems would not necessarily be exhaustive, but it would be full; it would not like the collections of others include poems that were none of Donne's; and its text would be accurate, allowing for the carelessness, indifference, and misunderstandings of secretaries and copyists.
After _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, the most carefully made collection of Donne's poems is one represented now by four distinct manuscripts:
_A18._ Additional MS. 18646, in the British Museum.
_N._ The Norton MS. in Harvard College Library, Boston, of which an account is given by Professor Norton in a note appended to the Grolier Club edition.
_TCC._ A manuscript in the Library of Trinity College, Cambridge.
_TCD._ A large manuscript in the Library of Trinity College, Dublin, containing two apparently quite independent collections of poems--the first a collection of Donne's poems with one or two additional poems by Sir John Roe, Francis Beaumont, Sir Thomas Overbury, and Corbet; the second a quite miscellaneous collection, put together some time in the thirties of the seventeenth century, and including some of Donne's poems. It is only the first of these which belongs to the group in question.
These four manuscripts are closely connected with one another, but a still more intimate relation exists between _A18_ and _TCC_ on the one hand, _N_ and _TCD_ on the other. _N_ and _TCD_ are the larger collections; _A18_ and _TCC_ contain each a smaller selection from the same body of poems. Indeed it would seem that _N_ is a copy of _TCD, A18_ of _TCC_.
_TCD_, to start with it, is a beautifully written collection of Donne's poems beginning with the _Satyres_, passing on to an irregularly arranged series of elegies, letters, lyrics and epicedes, and closing with the _Metempsychosis_ or _Progresse of the Soule_ and the _Divine Poems_, which include the hymns written in the last years of the poet's life. _N_ has the same poems, arranged in the same order, and its readings are nearly always identical with those of _TCD_, so far as I can judge from the collation made for me. The handwriting, unlike that of _TCD_, is in what is known as secretary hand and is somewhat difficult to read. What points to the one manuscript being a copy of the other is that in 'Sweetest Love, I do not go' the scribe has accidentally dropped stanza 4, by giving its last line to stanza 3, and passing at once to the fifth stanza. Both manuscripts make this mistake, whereas _A18_ and _TCC_ contain the complete poem. In other places _N_ and _TCD_ agree in their readings where _A18_ and _TCC_ diverge. If the one is a copy of the other, _TCD_ is probably the more authoritative, as it contains some marginal indications of authorship which _N_ omits.
_TCC_ is a smaller manuscript than _TCD_, but seems to be written in the same clear, fine hand. It does not contain the _Satyres_, the Elegy (XI. in this edition) _The Bracelet_, and the epistles _The Storme_ and _The Calme_, with which _N_ and _TCD_ open. It looks, however, as though the sheets containing these poems had been torn out. Besides these, however, _TCC_ omits, without any indication of their being lost, an _Elegie to the Lady Bedford_ ('You that are she'), the Palatine Epithalamion, a long series of letters[21] which in _N_, _TCD_ follow that _To M.M.H._ and precede _Sapho to Philaenis_, the elegies on Prince Henry and on Lord Harington, and _The Lamentations of Jeremy_. There are occasional differences in the grouping of the poems; and _TCC_ does not contain some poems by Beaumont, Corbet, Sir John Roe, and Sir Thomas Overbury which are found in _N_ and _TCD_. In _TCD_ these, with the exception of that by Beaumont, are carefully initialled, and therefore not ascribed to Donne. In _N_ these initials are in some cases omitted; and some of the poems have found their way into editions of Donne's poems.
Presumably _TCC_ is the earlier collection, and when _TCD_ was made, the copyist was able to add fresh poems. It is clear, however, that in the case of even those poems which the two have in common, the one manuscript is not simply a copy of the others. There are several divergences, and the mistake referred to above, in 'Sweetest Love, I do not go', is not made in _TCC_. Strangely enough, a similar mistake is made by _TCC_ in transcribing _Loves Deitie_ and is reproduced in _A18_.
_A18_, indeed, would seem to be a copy of _TCC_. It is not in the same handwriting, but in secretary hand. It omits the opening _Satyres_, &c., as does _TCC_, but there is no sign of excision. Presumably, then, the copy was made after these poems were, if they ever were, torn out of _TCC_. Wherever _TCC_ diverges from _TCD_, _A18_ follows _TCC_.[22]
Whoever was responsible for this collection of Donne's poems, it was evidently made with care, at least as regards the canon. Very few poems that are not certainly by Donne are included, and they are correctly initialled. The only uninitialled doubtful poems are _A Paradox_, 'Whoso terms Love a fire,' which in all the four manuscripts follows 'No Lover saith, I love', and Beaumont's letter to the Countess of Bedford, which begins, 'Soe may my verses pleasing be.' In _N_, _TCD_ this follows Donne's letter to the same lady, 'You that are she and you.' It is regrettable that the text of the poems is not so good as the canon is pure. The punctuation is careless. There are numerous stupid blunders, and there are evidences of editing in the interest of more regular metre or a more obvious meaning. At times, however, it would seem that the copyist is following a different version of a poem or poems (e.g. the _Satyres_) from that given in _D_, _H49_, and other manuscripts, and is embodying corrections perhaps made by the author himself. It is quite credible that Donne, in sending copies of his poems at different times to different people, may have revised and amended them. It is quite clear, as my notes will show, that of certain poems more than one version (each correct in itself) was in circulation.
Was _A18_, _N_, _TC_, or a manuscript resembling it one of the sources of the edition of _1633_? In part, I think, it was. The most probable case at first sight is that of the _Satyres_. These, we have seen, Marriot was at first prohibited from printing. Otherwise they would have followed the _Epigrams_, and immediately preceded the _Elegies_. As it is, they come after all the other poems; they are edited with some cautious dashes; and their text is almost identical with that of _N_, _TCD_. In the first satire the only difference between _1633_ and _N_, _TCD_ occurs in l. 70, where _N_, _TCD_, with all the other manuscripts read--
Sells for a little state his libertie;
_1633_,
Sells for a little state high libertie;
'high' is either a slip or an editorial emendation. There are other cases of similar editing, not all of which it is possible to correct with confidence; but a study of the textual notes will show that in general _1633_ follows the version preserved in _N_, _TCD_, and also in _L74_ (of which later), when the rest of the manuscripts present an interestingly different text. But strangely enough this version of the _Satyres_ is also in _Lec_. This is the feature in which that manuscript diverges most strikingly from _D_ and _H49_. Moreover in some details in which _1633_ differs from _A18_, _N_, _TC_ it agrees with _Lec_. It is possible therefore that the _Satyres_ were printed from the same manuscript as the majority of the poems.
Again in the _Letters_ not found in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ there is a close but not invariable agreement between the text of _1633_ and that of this group of manuscripts. Those letters, which follow that _To Sir Edward Herbert_, are printed in _1633_ in the same order as in this edition (pp. 195-226), except that the group of short letters beginning at p. 203 ('All haile sweete Poet') is here amplified and rearranged from _W_. Now in _A18_, _N_, _TC_ these letters are also brought together (_N_, _TCD_ adding some which are not in _A18_, _TCC_), and the special group referred to, of letters to intimate friends, are arranged in exactly the same order as in _1633_; have the same headings, the same omissions, and the same accidental linking of two poems. In the other letters, to the Countesses of Bedford, Huntingdon, Salisbury, &c., the textual notes will show some striking resemblances between the edition and the manuscripts. In the difficult letter, 'T'have written then' (p. 195), _1633_ follows _N_, _TCD_ where _O'F_ gives a different and in some details more correct text. In 'This twilight of two yeares' (p. 198) the strange reading of l. 35, 'a prayer prayes,' is obviously due to _N_, _TCD_, where 'a praiser prayes' has accidentally but explicably been written 'a prayer praise'. In the letter _To the Countesse of Huntingdon_ (p. 201) the _1633_ version of ll. 25, 26 is a correct rendering of what _N_, _TCD_ give wrongly:
Shee guilded us, But you are Gold; and shee Vs inform'd, but transubstantiates you.
On the other hand there are some differences, as e.g. in the placing of ll. 40-2 in 'Honour is so sublime' (p. 218), which make it impossible to affirm that these poems were taken direct from this group of manuscripts as we know them, without alteration or emendation. The _Progresse of the Soule_ or _Metempsychosis_, as printed in _1633_, must have been taken in the first instance from this manuscript. In both the manuscripts and the edition, at l. 83 of the poem a blank space is left after 'did'; in both, l. 137 reads, 'To see the Prince, and soe fill'd the waye'; in both, 'kinde' is substituted for 'kindle' at l. 150; in l. 180 the 'uncloth'd child' of 1633 is explicable as an emendation of the 'encloth'd' of _A18_, _N_, _TC_; and similarly the 'leagues o'rpast', l. 296 of _1633_, is probably due to the omission of 'many' before 'leagues' in _A18_, _N_, _TC_--'o'rpast' supplies the lost foot. It is clear, however, from a comparison of different copies that as _1633_ passed through the press this poem underwent considerable correction and alteration; and in its final printed form there are errors which I have been enabled to correct from _G_.
The paraphrase of _Lamentations_, and the _Epithalamion made at Lincolns Inn_ (which is not in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_) are other poems which show, in passages where there are divergent readings, a tendency to follow the readings of _A18_, _N_, _TC_, though in neither of these poems is the identity complete. It is further noteworthy that to several poems unnamed in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ the editor of _1633_ has given the title which these bear in _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, and _TCD_, as though he had access to both the collections at the same time.
These two groups of manuscripts, which have come down to us, thus seem to represent the two principal sources of the edition of _1633_. What other poems that edition contains were derived either from previously printed editions (The _Anniversaries_ and the _Elegy on Prince Henry_) or were got from more miscellaneous and less trustworthy sources.
A third manuscript collection of Donne's poems is of interest because it seems very probable that it or a similar collection came into the hands of the printer before the second edition of 1635 was issued. A considerable number of the errors, or inferior readings, of the later editions seem to be traceable to its influence. At least it is remarkable how often when _1635_ and the subsequent editions depart from _1633_ and the general tradition of the manuscripts they have the support of this manuscript and this manuscript alone. This is the manuscript which I have called
_O'F_, because it was at one time in the possession of the Rev. T. R. O'Flaherty, of Capel, near Dorking, a great student of Donne, and a collector. He contributed several notes on Donne to _Notes and Queries_. I do not know of any more extensive work by him on the subject.
This manuscript has been already described by Mr. R. Warwick Bond in the Catalogue of Ellis and Elvey, 1903. It is a large but somewhat indiscriminate collection, made apparently with a view to publication. The title-page states that it contains 'The Poems of D. J. Donne (not yet imprinted) consisting of
Divine Poems, beginning Pag. 1 Satyres 57 Elegies 113 Epicedes and Obsequies 161 Letters to severall personages 189 Songs and Sonnets 245 Epithalamions 317 Epigrams 337 With his paradoxes and problems 421 finished this 12 of October 1632.'
The reader will notice how far this arrangement agrees with, how far it differs from, that adopted in 1635.
Of the twenty-eight new poems, genuine, doubtful, and spurious, added in _1635_, this manuscript contains twenty, a larger number than I have found in any other single manuscript. An examination of the text of these does not, however, make it certain that all of them were derived from this source or from this source only. The text, for example, of the _Elegie XI. The Bracelet_, in _1635_, is evidently taken from a manuscript differing in important respects from _O'F_ and resembling closely _Cy_ and _P_. _Elegie XII_, also, _His parting from her_, can hardly have been derived from _O'F_, as _1635_ gives an incomplete, _O'F_ has an entire, version of the poem. In others, however, e.g. _Elegie XIII. Julia_; _Elegie XVI. On his Mistris_; _Satyre_, 'Men write that love and reason disagree,' it will be seen that the text of 1635 agrees more closely with _O'F_ than with any of the other manuscripts cited. The second of these, _On his Mistris_, is a notable case, and so are the four _Divine Sonnets_ added in _1635_. Most striking of all is the case of the _Song_, probably not by Donne, 'Soules joy now I am gone,' where the absurd readings 'Words' for 'Wounds' and 'hopes joyning' for 'lipp-joyning' (or perhaps 'lipps-joyning') must have come from this source. One can hardly believe that two independent manuscripts would perpetrate two such blunders. Taken with the many changes from the text of _1633_ in which _1635_ has the support of _O'F_, one can hardly doubt that among the fresh manuscript collections which came into the hands of the printer of _1635_ (often only to mislead him) _O'F_ was one.
Besides the twenty poems which passed into _1635_, _O'F_ attributes some eighteen other poems to Donne, of which few are probably genuine.[23] Of the other manuscript collections I must speak more shortly. There is no evidence that any of them was used by the seventeenth-century editors.
_B_ is a handsome, vellum-bound manuscript belonging to the Earl of Ellesmere's library at Bridgewater House. I am, I think, the first editor who has examined it. The volume bears on the fly-leaf the autograph signature ('J. Bridgewater') of the first Earl of Bridgewater, the son of Donne's early patron, Elizabeth's Lord Keeper and later Lord Chancellor. On the title-page 'Dr Donne' is written in the same hand. John Egerton, it will be remembered, was, like Donne, a volunteer in Essex's expedition to the Azores in 1597. In 1599 he and his elder brother Thomas were in Ireland, where the latter was killed, leaving John to be his father's heir. The book-number, inscribed on the second leaf, is in the handwriting of the second Earl of Bridgewater, the Elder Brother of Milton's _Comus_. The manuscript has thus interesting associations, and links with Donne's earliest patron. I had hoped that it might prove, being made for those who had known Donne all his life, an exceptionally good manuscript, but can hardly say that my expectations were fulfilled. It was probably put together in the twenties, because though it contains the _Holy Sonnets_ it does not contain the hymns written at the close of the poet's life. It resembles _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, and _P_, rather than either of the first two collections which I have described, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ and _A18_, _N_, _TC_, in that it includes with Donne's poems a number of poems not by Donne,[24] but most of them apparently by his contemporaries, Sir John Roe, Francis Beaumont, Jonson, and other of the wits of the first decade of the seventeenth century, the men who collaborated in writing witty poems on Coryat, or _Characters_ in the style of Sir Thomas Overbury. In the case of some of these initials are added, and a later, but not modern, hand has gone over the manuscript and denied or queried Donne's authorship of others. Textually also _B_ tends to range itself, especially in certain groups of poems, as the _Satyres_ and _Holy Sonnets_, with _O'F_, _S96_, _W_ when these differ from _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ and _A18_, _N_, _TC_. In such cases the tradition which it represents is most correctly preserved in _W_. In a few poems the text of _B_ is identical with that of _S96_. On the whole _B_ cannot be accepted in any degree as an independent authority for the text. It is important only for its agreements with other manuscripts, as helping to establish what I may call the manuscript tradition, in various passages, as against the text of the editions.
Still less valuable as an independent textual authority is
_P_. This manuscript is a striking example of the kind of collections of poems, circulating in manuscript, which gentlemen in the seventeenth century caused to be prepared, and one cannot help wondering how they managed to understand the poems, so full is the text of gross and palpable errors. _P_ is a small octavo manuscript, once in the Phillipps collection, now in the possession of Captain C. Shirley Harris, Oxford. On the cover of brown leather is stamped the royal arms of James I. On p. 1 is written, '1623 me possidet Hen. Champernowne de Dartington in Devonia, generosus.' Two other members of this old, and still extant, Devonshire family have owned the volume, as also Sir Edward Seymour (Knight Baronett) and Bridgett Brookbrige. The poems are written in a small, clear hand, and in Elizabethan character. Captain Harris has had a careful transcript of the poems made, and he allowed me after collating the original with the transcript to keep the latter by me for a long time.
The collection is in the nature of a commonplace-book, and includes a prose letter to Raleigh, and a good many poems by other poets than Donne, but the bulk of the volume is occupied with his poems,[25] and most of the poems are signed 'J. D. Finis.' The date of the collection is between 1619, when the poem _When he went with the Lo Doncaster_ was written, and 1623, the date on the title-page. Neither for text nor for canon is _P_ an authority, but the very carelessness with which it is written makes its testimony to certain readings indisputable. It makes no suggestion of conscious editing. In certain poems its text is identical with that of _Cy_, even to absurd errors. It sometimes, however, supports readings which are otherwise confined to _O'F_ and the later editions of the poem, showing that these may be older than 1632-5.
_Cy._ The Carnaby MS. consists of one hundred folio pages bound in flexible vellum, and is now in the Harvard College Library, Boston. It is by no means an exhaustive collection; the poems are chaotically arranged; the text seems to be careless, and the spelling unusually erratic; but most of the poems it contains are genuine.[26] This manuscript is not as a whole identical with _P_, but some of the poems it contains must have come from that or from a common source.
_JC._ The John Cave MS. is a small collection of Donne's poems now in the possession of Mr. Elkin Matthews, who has kindly allowed me to collate it. It was formerly in Mr. O'Flaherty's possession. The original possessor had been a certain John Cave, and the volume opens with the following poem, written, it will be seen, while Donne was still alive:
Oh how it joys me that this quick brain'd Age can nere reach thee (Donn) though it should engage at once all its whole stock of witt to finde out of thy well plac'd words thy more pure minde. Noe, wee are bastard Aeglets all; our eyes could not endure the splendor that would rise from hence like rays from out a cloud. That Man who first found out the Perspective which can make starrs at midday plainly seen, did more then could the whole Chaos of Arte<s> before or since; If I might have my wish 't shuld bee That Man might be reviv'd againe to see If hee could such another frame, whereby the minde might bee made see as farr as th' eye. Then might we hope to finde thy sense, till then The Age of Ignorance I'le still condemn.
IO. CA. Jun. 3. 1620.
The manuscript is divided into three parts, the first containing the five _Satyres_, the _Litany_ and the _Storme_ and _Calme_. The second consists of _Elegies_ and _Epigrammes_ and the third of _Miscellanea, Poems, Elegies, Sonnets by the same Author_. The elegies in the second part are, as in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, and _W_, thirteen in number. Their arrangement is that of _W_, and, like _W_, _JC_ gives _The Comparison_, which, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ do not, but drops _Loves Progress_, which the latter group contains. The text of these poems is generally that of _W_, but here and throughout _JC_ abounds in errors and emendations. It contains one or two poems which were published in the edition of 1650, and which I have found in no other manuscript except _O'F_. In these _JC_ supplies some obvious emendations. The poems in the third part are very irregularly arranged. This is the only manuscript, professing to be of Donne's poems, which contains the elegy, 'The heavens rejoice in motion,' which the younger Donne added to the edition of 1650. It is not a very correct, but is an interesting manuscript, with very few spurious poems. At the other end of the manuscript from Donne's, are poems by Corbet.
What seems to be practically a duplicate of _JC_ is preserved in the Dyce Collection at the South Kensington Museum. It belonged originally to a certain 'Johannes Nedlam e Collegio Lincolniense' and is dated 1625. Cave's poem 'Upon Doctor Donne's Satyres' is inscribed and the contents and arrangement of the volume are identical with those of _JC_ except that one poem, _The Dampe_, is omitted, probably by an oversight, in the Dyce MS. After my experience of _JC_ I did not think it necessary to collate this manuscript. It was from it that Waldron printed some of the unpublished poems of Donne and Corbet in _A Collection of Miscellaneous Poetry_ (1802).
_H40_ and _RP31_, i.e. Harleian MS. 4064 in the British Museum, and Rawlinson Poetical MS. 31, in the Bodleian Library, are two manuscripts containing a fairly large number of Donne's poems intermingled with poems by other and contemporary authors. A note on the fly-leaf of _RP31_ declares that the manuscript contains 'Sir John Harringtons poems written in the Reign of Queen Elizabeth', which is certainly not an accurate description.[27] Some of the poems must have been written as late as 1610, and they are by various authors, Wotton, Jonson, Sir Edward Herbert, Sir John Roe, Donne, Beaumont, and probably others, but names of authors are only occasionally given. Each manuscript starts with the words 'Prolegomena Quaedam', and the poem, 'Paynter while there thou sit'st.' The poems follow the same order in the two manuscripts, but of poems not by Donne _RP31_ contains several which are not in _H40_, and, on the other hand, of poems by Donne _H40_ inserts at various places quite a number, especially of songs, which are not in _RP31_. The latter is, in short, a miscellaneous collection of Elizabethan and early Jacobean poems, including several of Donne's; the former, the same collection in which Donne's poems have become by insertion the principal feature. I have cited the readings of _H40_ throughout; those of _RP31_ only when they differ from _H40_, or when I wish to emphasize their agreement. Wherever derived from, the poems are generally carefully and intelligently transcribed. They contain some unpublished poems of Jonson, Sir Edward Herbert, and probably Daniel.
_L74._ The Lansdowne MS. 740, in the British Museum, is an interesting collection of Donne's mainly earlier and secular poems, along with several by contemporaries.[28] The text of the _Satyres_ connects this collection with _A18_, _N_, _TC_, but it is probably older, as it contains none of the _Divine Poems_ and no poem written later than 1610. Its interest, apart from the support which it lends to the readings of other manuscripts, centres in the evidence it affords as to the authorship of some of the unauthentic poems which have been ascribed to Donne.
_S._ The Stephens MS., now in the Harvard College Library, Boston, is the manuscript on which Dr. Grosart based his edition (though he does not reproduce it either consistently or with invariable accuracy) in 1873--an unhappy choice even were it legitimate to adopt any single manuscript in preference to the edition of 1633. Of all the manuscripts I have examined (I know it only through the collation made for me and from Dr. Grosart's citations) it is, I think, without exception the worst, the fullest of obvious and absurd blunders. There are too in it more evidences of stupid editing than in _P_, whose blunders are due to careless copying by eye or to dictation, and therefore more easy to correct.
The manuscript is dated, at the end, '19th July 1620,' and contains no poems which are demonstrably later than this date, or indeed than 1610. As, however, it contains several of the _Divine Poems_, including _La Corona_, but _not_ the _Holy Sonnets_, it affords a valuable clue to the date of these poems,--of which more elsewhere. The collection is an ambitious one, and an attempt has been made at classification. Six Satires are followed by twenty-seven Elegies (one is torn out) under which head love and funeral elegies are included, and these by a long series of songs with the _Divine Poems_ interspersed. Some of the songs, as of the elegies, are not by Donne.[29]
_S96._ Stowe MS. 961 is a small folio volume in the British Museum, containing a collection of Donne's poems very neatly and prettily transcribed. It cannot have been made before 1630 as it contains all the three hymns written during the poet's last illnesses. Indeed it is the only manuscript which I have found containing a copy of the _Hymne to God, my God in my Sicknes_. It is a very miscellaneous collection. Three satires are followed by the long obsequies to the Lord Harington, and these by a sequence of Letters, Funeral Elegies, Elegies, and Songs intermingled. It is regrettable that so well-written a manuscript is not more reliable, but its text is poor, its titles sometimes erroneous, and its ascriptions inaccurate.[30]
(3) In the third class I place manuscripts which are not primarily collections of Donne's poems but collections of seventeenth-century poems among which Donne's are included. It is not easy to draw a hard and fast line between this class and the last because, as has been seen, most of the manuscripts at the end of the last list contain poems which are not, or probably are not, by Donne. Still, in these collections Donne's work predominates, and the tendency of the collector is to bring the other poems under his aegis. Initials like J. R., F. B., J. H. disappear, or J. D. takes their place. In the case of these last collections this is not so. Poems by Donne are included with poems which the collector assigns to other wits. Obviously this class could be made to include many different kinds of collections, ranging from those in which Donne is a prominent figure to those which include only one or two of his poems. But such manuscripts have comparatively little value and no authority for the textual critic, though they are not without importance for the student of the canon of Donne's poetry. I shall mention only one or two, though I have examined a good many more.
_A25._ Additional MS. 25707, in the British Museum, is a large and interesting collection, written in several different hands, of early seventeenth-century poems, Jacobean and Caroline. It contains an _Elegie_ by Henry Skipwith on the death of King Charles I, but most of the poems are early Jacobean, and either the bulk of the collection was made before this and some other poems were inserted, or it is derived from older collections. Indeed, most of the poems by Donne were probably got from some older collection or collections not unlike some of those already described. They consist of twelve elegies arranged in the same order as in _JC_, _W_, and to some extent _O'F_, which is not the order of _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ and _1633_; a number of _Songs_ with some _Letters_ and _Obsequies_ following one another sometimes in batches, at times interspersed with poems by other writers; the five _Satyres_, separated from the other poems and showing some evidences in the text of deriving from a collection like _Q_ or its duplicate in the Dyce collection.[31] The only one of the _Divine Poems_ which _A25_ contains is _The Crosse_. No poem which can be proved to have been written later than 1610 is included.
The poems by Donne in this manuscript are generally, but not always, initialled J. D., and are thus distinguished from others by F. B., H. K., N. H., H. W., Sr H. G., T. P., T. G., G. Lucy., No. B., &c. The care with which this has been done lends interest to those poems which are here ascribed to Donne but are not elsewhere assigned to him. _A25_ (with its partial duplicate _C_) is the only manuscript which attributes to 'J. D.' the Psalm, 'By Euphrates flowery side,' that was printed in _1633_ and all the subsequent editions.[32]
_C._ A strange duplicate of certain parts of _A25_ is a small manuscript in the Cambridge University Library belonging to the Baumgartner collection. It is a thin folio, much damaged by damp, and scribbled over. A long poem, _In cladem Rheensen_ ('Verses upon the slaughter at the Isle of Rhees'), has been used by the cataloguer to date the manuscript, but as this has evidently been inserted when the whole was bound, the rest of the contents may be older or younger. The collection opens with three of the _Elegies_ contained in _A25_. It then omits eleven poems which are in _A25_, and continues with twenty _Songs_ and _Obsequies_, following the order of _A25_ but omitting the intervening poems. Some nine more poems are given, following the order of _A25_, but many are omitted in _C_ which are found in _A25_, and the poems in _C_ are often only fragments of the whole poems in _A25_. Evidently _C_ is a selection of poems either made directly from _A25_, or from the collection of Donne's poems (with one or two by Beaumont and others) which _A25_ itself drew from.
_A10._ Additional MS. 10309, in the British Museum, is a little octavo volume which was once the property of Margaret Bellasis, probably the eldest daughter of Thomas, first Lord Fauconberg. It is a very miscellaneous collection of prose (Hall's _Characterismes of Vice_) and verse. Of Donne's undoubted poems there are very few, but there is an interesting group of poems by Roe or others (the authors are not named in the manuscript) which are frequently found with Donne's, and some of which have been printed as his.[33]
_M._ This is a manuscript bought by Lord Houghton and now in the library of the Marquis of Crewe. It is entitled
A Collection of
Original Poetry
written about the time of
Ben: Jonson
qui ob. 1637
A later hand, probably Sir John Simeon's, has added 'Chiefly in the Autograph of Dr. Donne Dean of St. Pauls', but this is quite erroneous. It is a miscellaneous collection of poems by Donne, Jonson, Pembroke, Shirley, and others, with short extracts from Fletcher and Shakespeare. Donne's are the most numerous, and their text generally good, but such a collection can have no authority. It is important only as supporting readings and ascriptions of other manuscripts. I cite it seldom.
_TCD_ (_Second Collection_).[34] The large manuscript volume in Trinity College, Dublin, contains two collections of poems (though editors have spoken of them as one) of very different character and value. The first I have already described. It occupies folios 1 to 292. On folio 293 a new hand begins with the song, 'Victorious Beauty though your eyes,' and from that folio to folio 565 (but some folios are torn out) follows a long and miscellaneous series of early seventeenth-century poems. There are numerous references to Buckingham, but none to the Long Parliament or the events which followed, so that the collection was probably put together before 1640. The poems are ascribed to different authors in a very haphazard and untrustworthy fashion. James I is credited with Jonson's epigram on the Union of the Crowns; Donne's _The Baite_ is given to Wotton; and Wotton's 'O Faithless World' to Robert Wisedom. Probably there is more reliance to be put on the ascriptions of later and Caroline poems, but for the student of Donne and early Jacobean poetry the collection has no value. Some of Donne's poems occur, and it is noteworthy that the version given is often a different one from that occurring in the first part of the volume. Probably two distinct collections have been bound up together.
Another collection frequently cited by Grosart, but of little value for the editor of Donne, is the _Farmer-Chetham MS._, a commonplace-book in the Chetham Library, Manchester, which has been published by Grosart. It contains one or two of Donne's poems, but its most interesting contents are the 'Gulling Sonnets' of Sir John Davies, and some poems by Raleigh, Hoskins, and others. Nothing could be more unsafe than to ascribe poems to Donne, as Grosart did, because they occur here in conjunction with some that are certainly his.
A similar collection, which I have not seen, is the _Hazlewood-Kingsborough MS._, as Dr. Grosart called it. To judge from the analysis in Thorpe's Catalogue, 1831, this too is a miscellaneous anthology of poems written by, or at any rate ascribed to, Shakespeare, Jonson, Bacon, Raleigh, Donne, and others. There is no end to the number of such collections, and it is absurd to base a text upon them.
The _Burley MS._, to which I refer once or twice, and which is a manuscript of great importance for the editor of Donne's letters, is not a collection of poems. It is a commonplace-book of Sir Henry Wotton's in the handwriting of his secretaries. Amid its varied contents are some letters, unsigned but indubitably by Donne; ten of his _Paradoxes_ with a covering letter; and a few poems of Donne's with other poems. Of the last, one is certainly by Donne (_H. W. in Hibernia belligeranti_), and I have incorporated it. The others seem to me exceedingly doubtful. They are probably the work of other wits among Wotton's friends. I have printed a selection from them in Appendix C.[35]
Of the manuscripts of the first two classes, which alone could put forward any claim to be treated as independent sources of the text of an edition of Donne's poems, it would be impossible, I think, to construct a complete genealogy. Different poems, or different groups of poems in the same manuscript, come from different sources, and to trace each stream to its fountain-head would be a difficult task, perhaps impossible without further material, and would in the end hardly repay the trouble, for the difficulties in Donne's text are not of so insoluble a character as to demand such heroic methods. The interval between the composition of the poems and their first publication ranges from about forty years at the most to a year or two. There is no case here of groping one's way back through centuries of transmission. The surprising fact is rather that so many of the common errors of a text preserved and transmitted in manuscript should have appeared so soon, that the text and canon of Donne's poems should present an editor in one form or another with all the chief problems which confront the editor of a classical or a mediaeval author.
The manuscripts fall into three main groups (1) _D_, _H49_, _Lec_. These with a portion of _1633_ come from a common source. (2) _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_. These also come from a single stream and some parts of _1633_ follow them. _L74_ is closely connected with them, at least in parts. (3) _A25_, _B_, _Cy_, _JC_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _W_. These cannot be traced in their entirety to a single head, but in certain groups of poems they tend to follow a common tradition which may or may not be that of one or other of the first two groups. Of the _Elegies_, for example, _A25_, _JC_, _O'F_ and _W_ transcribe twelve in the same order and with much the same text. Again, _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, and _W_ have taken the _Holy Sonnets_ from a common source, but _O'F_ has corrected or altered its readings by a reference to a manuscript resembling _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, while _W_ has a more correct version than the others of the common tradition, and three sonnets which none of these include. Generally, whenever _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, and _W_ derive from the same source, _W_ is much the most reliable witness.
Indeed, our first two groups and _W_ have the appearance of being derived from some authoritative source, from manuscripts in the possession of members of Donne's circle. All the others suggest, by the headings they give to occasional poems, their misunderstanding of the true character of some poems, their erroneous ascriptions of poems, that they are the work of amateurs to whom Donne was not known, or who belonged to a generation that knew Donne as a divine, only vaguely as a wit.
These being the materials at our command, the question is, how are we to use them to secure as accurate a text as possible of Donne's poems, to get back as close as may be to what the poet wrote himself. The answer is fairly obvious, though it could not be so until some effort had been made to survey the manuscript material as a whole.
Of the three most recent editors--the first to attempt to obtain a true text--of Donne's poems, each has pursued a different plan. The late Dr. Grosart[36] proceeded on a principle which makes it exceedingly difficult to determine accurately what is the source of, or authority for, any particular reading he adopted. He printed now from one manuscript, now from another, but corrected the errors of the manuscript by one or other of the editions, most often by that of 1669. He made no estimate of the relative value of either manuscripts or editions, nor used them in any systematic fashion.
The Grolier Club edition[37] was constructed on a different principle. For all those poems which _1633_ contains, that edition was accepted as the basis; for other poems, the first edition, whichever that might be. The text of _1633_ is reproduced very closely, even when the editor leans to the acceptance of a later reading as correct. Only one or two corrections are actually incorporated in the text. But the punctuation has been freely altered throughout, and no record of these changes is preserved in the textual notes even when they affect the sense. In more than one instance the words of _1633_ are retained in this edition but are made to convey a different meaning from that which they bear in the original.
The edition of Donne's poems prepared by Mr. E. K. Chambers[38] for the _Muses Library_ was not based, like Dr. Grosart's, on a casual use of individual manuscripts and editions, nor like the Grolier Club edition on a rigid adherence to the first edition, but on an eclectic use of all the seventeenth-century editions, supplemented by an occasional reference to one or other of the manuscript collections, either at first hand or through Dr. Grosart.
Of these three methods, that of the Grolier Club editor is, there can be no doubt, the soundest. The edition of 1633 comes to us, indeed, with no _a priori_ authority. It was not published, or (like the sermons) prepared for the press[39] by the author; nor (as in the case of the first folio edition of Shakespeare's plays) was it issued by the author's executors.
But if we apply to _1633_ the _a posteriori_ tests described by Dr. Moore in his work on the textual criticism of Dante's _Divina Commedia_, if we select a number of test passages, passages where the editions vary, but where one reading can be clearly shown to be intrinsically the more probable, by certain definite tests,[40] we shall find that _1633_ is, taken all over, far and away superior to any other single edition, and, I may add at once, to any _single_ manuscript.
Moreover, any careful examination of the later editions, of their variations from _1633_, and of the text of the poems which they print for the first time, shows clearly that some method more trustworthy than individual preference must be found if we are to distinguish between those of their variations which have, and those which have not, some authority behind them; those which are derived from a fresh reference to manuscript sources, and those which are due to carelessness, to misunderstanding, or to unwarrantable emendation. Apart from some such sifting, an edition of Donne based, like Mr. Chambers', on an eclectic use of the editions is exactly in the same position as would be an edition of Shakespeare based on an eclectic use of the Folios, helped out by a quite occasional and quite eclectic reference to a quarto. A plain reprint of _1633_ like Alford's (of such poems as he publishes) has fewer serious errors than an eclectic text.
It is here that the manuscripts come to our aid. To take, indeed, any single manuscript, as Dr. Grosart did, and select this or that reading from it as seems to you good, is not a justifiable procedure. This is simply to add to the editions one more possible source of error. There is no single manuscript which could with any security be substituted for _1633_. Our analysis of that edition has made it appear probable that a manuscript resembling _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ was the source of a large part of its text. But it would be very rash to prefer _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ as a whole to _1633_.[41] It corrects some errors in that edition; it has others of its own. Even _W_, which has a completer version of some poems than _1633_, in these poems makes some mistakes which _1633_ avoids.
If the manuscripts are to help us it must be by collating them, and establishing what one might call the agreement of the manuscripts whether universal or partial, noting in the latter case the comparative value of the different groups. When we do this we get at once an interesting result. We find that in about nine cases out of ten the agreement of the manuscripts is on the side of those readings of _1633_ which are supported by the tests of intrinsic probability referred to above,[42] and on the other hand we find that sometimes the agreement of the manuscripts is on the side of the later editions, and that in such cases there is a good deal to be said for the later reading.[43]
The first result of a collation of the manuscripts is thus to vindicate _1633_, and to provide us with a means of distinguishing among later variants those which have, from those which have not, authority. But in vindicating _1633_ the agreement of the manuscripts vindicates itself. If _B_'s evidence is found always or most often to support _A_, a good witness, on those points on which _A_'s evidence is in itself most probably correct, not only is _A_'s evidence strengthened but _B_'s own character as a witness is established, and he may be called in when _A_, followed by _C_, an inferior witness, has gone astray. In some cases the manuscripts _alone_ give us what is obviously the correct reading, e.g. p. 25, l. 22, 'But wee no more' for 'But now no more'; p. 72, l. 26, 'his first minute' for 'his short minute'. These are exceptionally clear cases. There are some where, I have no doubt, my preference of the reading of the manuscripts to that of the editions will not be approved by every reader. I have adopted no rigid rule, but considered each case on its merits. All the circumstances already referred to have to be weighed--which reading is most likely to have arisen from the other, what is Donne's usage elsewhere, what Scholastic or other 'metaphysical' dogma underlies the conceit, and what is the source of the text of a particular poem in _1633_.
For my analysis of this edition has thrown light upon what of itself is evident--that of some poems or groups of poems _1633_ provides a more accurate text than of others, viz. of those for which its source was a manuscript resembling _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, but possibly more correct than any one of these, or revised by an editor who knew the poems. But in printing some of the poems, e.g. _The Progresse of the Soule_, a number of the letters to noble ladies and others,[44] the _Epithalamion made at Lincolns Inne_, _The Prohibition_, and a few others, for which _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ was not available, _1633_ seems to have followed an inferior manuscript, _A18_, _N_, _TC_ or one resembling it. In these cases it is possible to correct _1633_ by comparing it with a better single manuscript, as _G_ or _W_, or group of manuscripts, as _D_, _H49_, _Lec_. Sometimes even a generally inferior manuscript like _O'F_ seems to offer a better text of an individual poem, at least in parts, for occasionally the correct reading has been preserved in only one or two manuscripts. Only _W_ among eleven manuscripts which I have recorded (and I have examined others) preserves the reading in the _Epithalamion made at Lincolns Inne_, p. 143, l. 57:
His steeds nill be restrain'd
--which is quite certainly right. Only three manuscripts have the, to my mind, most probably correct reading in _Satyre I_, l. 58, p. 147:
The Infanta of London;
and only two, _Q_ and the _Dyce MS._ which is its duplicate, the tempting and, I think, correct reading in _Satyre IV_, l. 38, p. 160:
He speaks no language.
Lastly, there are poems for which _1633_ is not available. The authenticity of these will be discussed later. Their text is generally very corrupt, especially of those added in _1650_ and _1669_. Here the manuscripts help us enormously. With their aid I have been able to give an infinitely more readable text of the fine _Elegie XII_, 'Since she must go'; the brilliant though not very edifying _Elegies XVII_, _XVIII_, and _XIX_; as well as of most of the poems in the Appendixes. The work of correcting some of these had been begun by Dr. Grosart and Mr. Chambers, but much was still left to do by a wider collation. Dr. Grosart was content with one or two generally inferior manuscripts, and Mr. Chambers mentions manuscripts which time or other reasons did not allow him to examine, or he could not have been content to leave the text of these poems as it stands in his edition.
One warning which must be borne in mind when making a comparison of alternative readings has been given by Mr. Chambers, and my examination of the manuscripts bears it out: 'In all probability most of Donne's poems existed in several more or less revised forms, and it was sometimes a matter of chance which form was used for printing a particular edition.' The examination of a large number of manuscripts has shown that it is not probable, but certain, that of some poems (e.g. _The Flea_, _A Lecture upon the Shadow_, _The Good-Morrow_, _Elegie XI. The Bracelet_) more than one distinct version was in circulation. Of the _Satyres_, too, many of the variants represent, I can well believe, different versions of the poems circulated by the poet among his friends. And the same may possibly be true of variants in other poems. Our analysis of _1633_ has shown us what versions were followed by that edition. What happened in later editions was frequently that the readings of two different versions were combined eclectically. In the present edition, when it is clear that there were two versions, my effort has been to retain one tradition pure, recording the variants in the notes, even when in individual cases the reading of the text adopted seemed to me inferior to its rival, provided it was not demonstrably wrong.
In view of what has been said, the aim of the present edition may be thus briefly stated:
(1) To restore the text of _1633_ in all cases where modern editors have abandoned or disguised it, if there is no evidence, internal or external, to prove its error or inferiority; and to show, in the textual notes, how far it has the general support of the manuscripts.
(2) To correct _1633_ when the meaning and the evidence of the manuscripts point to its error and suggest an indubitable or highly probable emendation.
(3) To correct throughout, and more drastically, by help of the manuscripts when such exist, the often carelessly and erroneously printed text of those poems which were added in _1635_, _1649_, _1650_, and _1669_.
(4) By means of the commentary to vindicate or defend my choice of reading, and to elucidate Donne's thought by reference to his other works and (but this I have been able to do only very partially) to his scholastic and other sources.
As regards punctuation, it was my intention from the outset to preserve the original, altering it only (_a_) when, judged by its own standards, it was to my mind wrong--stops were displaced or dropped, or the editor had misunderstood the poet; (_b_) when even though defensible the punctuation was misleading, tested frequently by the fact that it had misled editors. In doing this I frequently made unnecessary changes because it was only by degrees that I came to understand all the subtleties of older punctuation and to appreciate some of its nuances. A good deal of my work in the final revision has consisted in restoring the original punctuation. In doing this I have been much assisted by the study of Mr. Percy Simpson's work on _Shakespearian Punctuation_. My punctuation will not probably in the end quite satisfy either the Elizabethan purist, or the critic who would have preferred a modernized text. I will state the principles which have guided me.
I do not agree with Mr. Chambers that the punctuation, at any rate of _1633_, is 'exceptionally chaotic'. It is sometimes wrong, and in certain poems, as the _Satyres_, it is careless. But as a rule it is excellent on its own principles. Donne, indeed, was exceptionally fastidious about punctuation and such typographical details as capital letters, italics, brackets, &c. The _LXXX Sermons_ of 1640 are a model of fine rhetorical and rhythmical pointing, pointing which inserted stops to show you where to stop. The sermons were not printed in his lifetime, but we know that he wrote them out for the press, hoping that they might be a source of income to his son.
But Donne did not prepare his poems for the press. Their punctuation is that of the manuscript from which they were taken, revised by the editor or printer. One can often recognize in _D_ the source of a stop in _1633_, or can see what the pointing and use of capitals would have been had Donne himself supervised the printing. The printer's man was sometimes careless; the printer or editor had prejudices of his own in certain things; and Donne is a difficult and subtle poet. All these circumstances led to occasional error.
The printer's prejudice was one which Donne shared, but not, I think, to quite the same extent. Compared, for example, with the _Anniversaries_ (printed in Donne's lifetime) _1633_ shows a fondness for the semicolon,[45] not only within the sentence, but separating sentences, instead of a full stop, when these are closely related in thought to one another. In an argumentative and rhetorical poet like Donne the result is excellent, once one grows accustomed to it, as is the use of commas, where we should use semicolons, within the sentence, dividing co-ordinate clauses from one another. On the other hand this use of semicolons leads to occasional ambiguity when one which separates two sentences comes into close contact with another within the sentence. For example, in _Satyre III_, ll. 69-72, how should an editor, modernizing the punctuation, deal with the semicolons in ll. 70 and 71? Should he print thus?--
But unmoved thou Of force must one, and forc'd but one allow; And the right. Ask thy father which is shee; Let him ask his.
With trifling differences that is how Chambers and the Grolier Club editor print them. But the lines might run, to my mind preferably--
But unmoved thou Of force must one, and forc'd but one allow. And the right; ask thy father which is shee, Let him ask his.
'And the right' being taken as equivalent to 'And as to the right'. One might even print--
And the right? Ask, &c.
One of the semicolons is equivalent to a little more than a comma, the other to a little less than a full stop.
Another effect of this finely-shaded punctuation is that the question is constantly forced upon an editor, is it correct? Has the printer understood the subtler connexion of Donne's thought, or has he placed the semicolon where the full stop should be, the comma where the semicolon? My solution of these difficulties has been to face and try to overcome them. I have corrected the punctuation where it seemed to me, on its own principles, definitely wrong; and I have, but more sparingly, amended the pointing where it seemed to me to disguise the subtler connexions of Donne's thought or to disturb the rhetoric and rhythm of his verse paragraphs. In doing so I have occasionally taken a hint from the manuscripts, especially _D_ and _W_, which, by the kindness of Mr. Gosse and Professor Dowden, I have had by me while revising the text. But if I occasionally quote these manuscripts in support of my punctuation, it is only with a view to showing that I have not departed from the principles of Elizabethan pointing. I do not quote them as authoritative. On questions of punctuation none of the extant manuscripts could be appealed to as authorities. Their punctuation is often erratic and chaotic, when it is not omitted altogether. Finally, I have recorded every change that I have made. A reader should be able to gather from the text and notes combined exactly what was the text of the first edition of each poem, whether it appeared in _1633_ or a subsequent edition, in every particular, whether of word, spelling, or punctuation. My treatment of the last will not, as I have said, satisfy every reader. I can only say that I have given to the punctuation of each poem as much time and thought as to any part of the work. In the case of Donne this is justifiable. I am not sure that it would be in the case of a simpler, a less intellectual poet. It would be an easier task either to retain the old punctuation and leave a reader to correct for himself, or to modernize. With all its refinements, Elizabethan punctuation erred by excess. A reader who gives thought and sympathy to a poem does not need all these commands to pause, and they frequently irritate and mislead.
[Footnote 1: _Englands Parnassus; or The Choysest Flowers of our Moderne Poets: with their Poetical Comparisons. Descriptions of Bewties, Personages, Castles, Pallaces, Mountaines, Groves, Seas, Springs, Rivers etc. Whereunto are annexed Other Various Discourses both Pleasaunt and Profitable. Imprinted at London, For N. L. C. B. And T. H._ 1600.]
[Footnote 2: _A Poetical Rhapsody Containing, Diuerse Sonnets, Odes, Elegies, Madrigalls, and other Poesies, both in Rime and Measured Verse. Never yet published._ &c. 1602. The work was republished in 1608, 1611, and 1621. It was reprinted by Sir Samuel Egerton Brydges in 1814, by Sir Harris Nicolas in 1826, and by A. H. Bullen in 1890.
_Englands Helicon_, printed in 1600, is a collection of songs almost without exception in pastoral guise. The _Eclogue_ introducing the Somerset _Epithalamion_ is Donne's only experiment in this favourite convention. Donne's friend Christopher Brooke contributed an _Epithalamion_ to this collection, but not until 1614. It is remarkable that Donne's poem _The Baite_ did not find its way into _Englands Helicon_ which contains Marlowe's song and two variants on the theme. In 1600 Eleazar Edgar obtained a licence to publish _Amours by J. D. with Certen Oyr._ (i.e. other) _sonnetes by W. S._ Were Donne and Shakespeare to have appeared together? The volume does not seem to have been issued.]
[Footnote 3: e.g. Among Drummond of Hawthornden's miscellaneous papers; in Harleian MS. 3991; in a manuscript in Emmanuel College, Cambridge.]
[Footnote 4: So on the first page, and the opening sentences of the letter defend the use of the word 'Understanders'. Nevertheless the second and third pages have the heading, running across from one to the other, 'The Printer to the Reader.']
[Footnote 5: 'Will: Marshall sculpsit' implies that Marshall executed the plate from which the whole frontispiece is taken, including portrait and poem, not that he is responsible for the portrait itself. To judge from its shape the latter would seem to have been made originally from a medallion. Marshall, the _Dictionary of National Biography_ says, 'floruit c. 1630,' so could have hardly executed a portrait of Donne in 1591. Mr. Laurence Binyon, of the Print Department of the British Museum, thinks that the original may have been by Nicholas Hilyard (see II. p. 134) whom Donne commends in _The Storme_. The Spanish motto suggests that Donne had already travelled.
The portrait does not form part of the preliminary matter, which consists of twelve pages exclusive of the portrait. It was an insertion and is not found in all the extant copies. The paper on which it is printed is a trifle smaller than the rest of the book.]
[Footnote 6: One or two copies seem to have got into circulation without the _Errata_. One such, identical in other respects with the ordinary issue, is preserved in the library of Mr. Beverley Chew, New York. I am indebted for this information to Mr. Geoffrey Keynes, of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, who is preparing a detailed bibliography of Donne's works.]
[Footnote 7: Some such arrangement may have been intended by Donne himself when he contemplated issuing his poems in 1614, for he speaks, in a letter to Sir Henry Goodyere (see II. pp. 144-5), of including a letter in verse to the Countess of Bedford 'amongst the rest to persons of that rank'. The manuscripts, especially the later and more ambitious, e.g. _Stephens_ and _O'Flaherty_, show similar groupings; and in _1633_, though there is no consistent sequence, the poems fall into irregularly recurring groups. The order of the poems within each of these groups in _1633_ is generally retained in _1635_. In the _1633_ arrangement there were occasional errors in the placing of individual poems, especially _Elegies_, owing to the use of that name both for love poems and for funeral elegies or epicedes. These were sometimes corrected in later editions.
Modern editors have dealt rather arbitrarily and variously with the old classification. Grosart shifted the poems about according to his own whims in a quite inexplicable fashion. The Grolier Club edition preserves the groups and their original order (except that the _Epigrams_ and _Progresse of the Soule_ follow the _Satyres_), but corrects some of the errors in placing, and assigns to their relevant groups the poems added in _1650_. Chambers makes similar corrections and replacings, but he further rearranges the groups. In his first volume he brings together--possibly because of their special interest--the _Songs and Sonets_, _Epithalamions_, _Elegies_, and _Divine Poems_, keeping for his second volume the _Letters to Severall Personages_, _Funerall Elegies_, _Progresse of the Soul_, _Satyres_, and _Epigrams_. There is this to be said for the old arrangement, that it does, as Walton indicated, correspond generally to the order in which the poems were written, to the succession of mood and experience in Donne's life. In the present edition this original order has been preserved with these modifications: (1) In the _Songs and Sonets_, _The Flea_ has been restored to the place which it occupied in _1633_; (2) the rearrangement of the misplaced _Elegies_ by modern editors has been accepted; (3) their distribution of the few poems added in _1650_ (in two sheets bound up with the body of the work) has also been accepted, but I have placed the poem _On Mr. Thomas Coryats Crudities_ after the _Satyres_; (4) two new groups have been inserted, _Heroical Epistles_ and _Epitaphs_. It was absurd to class _Sappho to Philaenis_ with the _Letters to Severall Personages_. At the same time it is not exactly an _Elegy_. There is a slight difference again between the _Funerall Elegy_ and the _Epitaph_, though the latter term is sometimes loosely used. Ben Jonson speaks of Donne's _Epitaph on Prince Henry_. (5) The _Letter, to E. of D. with six holy Sonnets_ has been placed before the _Divine Poems_. (6) The _Hymne to the Saints, and to Marquesse Hamylton_ has been transferred to the _Epicedes_. (7) Some poems have been assigned to an Appendix as doubtful.]
[Footnote 8: The edition of 1633 contained one Latin, and seven English, letters to Sir Henry Goodyere, with one letter to the Countess of Bedford, a copy of which had been sent to Goodyere. To these were added in _1635_ a letter in Latin verse, _De libro cum mutuaretur_ (see p. 397), and four prose letters in English, one _To the La. G._ written from _Amyens_ in February, 1611-2, and three _To my honour'd friend G. G. Esquier_, the first dated April 14, 1612, the two last November 2, 1630, and January 7, 1630.]
[Footnote 9: In the copy of the 1633 edition belonging to the Library of Christ Church, Oxford, which has been used for the present edition, and bears the name 'Garrard att his quarters in ϑermyte' (_perhaps_ Donne's friend George Garrard or Gerrard: see Gosse: _Life and Letters &c._ i. 285), are some lines, signed J. V., which seem to imply that the writer had some hand in the publication of the poems; but the reference may be simply to his gift:
An early offer of him to yo^r sight Was the best way to doe the Author right My thoughts could fall on; w^ch his soule w^ch knew The weight of a iust Prayse will think't a true. Our commendation is suspected, when Wee Elegyes compose on sleeping men, The Manners of the Age prevayling so That not our conscience wee, but witts doe show. And 'tis an often gladnes, that men dye Of unmatch'd names to write more easyly. Such my religion is of him; I hold It iniury to have his merrit tould; Who (like the Sunn) is righted best when wee Doe not dispute but shew his quality. Since all the speech of light is less than it. An eye to that is still the best of witt. And nothing can express, for truth or haste So happily, a sweetnes as our taste. W^ch thought at once instructed me in this Safe way to prayse him, and yo^r hands to kisse.
Affectionately y^rs J. V. tu longe sequere et vestigia semper adora Vaughani
The name at the foot of the Latin line, scribbled at the bottom of the page, seems to identify J. V. with a Vaughan, probably John Vaughan (1603-74) who was a Christ Church man. In 1630 (_D.N.B._) he was a barrister at the Inner Temple, and a friend of Selden. He took an active part in politics later, and in 1668 was created Sir John Vaughan and appointed Chief Justice of the Common Pleas.]
[Footnote 10: I am inclined to believe that Henry King, the poet, and later Bishop of Chichester, assisted the printer. The 1633 edition bears more evidence of competent editing by one who knew and understood Donne's poems than any later edition. See p. 255.]
[Footnote 11: Professor Norton (Grolier Club edition, i, p. xxxviii) states that the _Epistle Dedicatory_ and the _Epigram_ by Jonson are omitted in this edition. This is an error, perhaps due to the two pages having been torn out of or omitted in the copy he consulted. They are in the Christ Church, Oxford, copy which I have used.]
[Footnote 12: In 1779 Donne's poems were included in Bell's _Poets of Great Britain_. The poems were grouped in an eccentric fashion and the text is a reprint of _1719_. In 1793 Donne's poems were reissued in a _Complete Edition of the Poets of Great Britain_, published by Arthur Arch, London, and Bell and Bradfute, Edinburgh, under the editorship of Robert Anderson. The text and arrangement of the poems show that this is a reprint of Bell's edition. The same is true of the text, so far as I have checked it, in Chalmers's _English Poets_, vol. v, 1810. But in the arrangement of the poems the editor has recurred to the edition of 1669, and has reprinted some poems from that source. Southey printed selections from Donne's poems in his _Select Works of the British Poets from Chaucer to Jonson_ (1831). The text is that of _1669_. In 1839 Dean Alford included some of Donne's poems in his very incomplete edition of the _Works of Donne_. He printed these from a copy of the 1633 edition.
There were two American editions of the poems before the Grolier Club edition. Donne's poems were included in _The Works of the British Poets with Lives of their Authors_, by Ezekiel Sanford, Philadelphia, 1819. The text is based on the edition of 1719. A complete and separate edition was published at Boston in 1850. This has an eclectic text, but the editor has relied principally on the editions after _1633_. Variants are sparingly and somewhat inaccurately recorded.
In 1802 F. G. Waldron printed in his _Shakespeare Miscellany_ 'Two Elegies of Dr. Donne not in any edition of his Works'. Of these, one, 'Loves War,' is by Donne. The other, 'Is Death so great a gamster,' is by Lord Herbert of Cherbury. In 1856-7 Sir John Simeon printed in the _Miscellanies_ of the Philobiblon Society several 'Unpublished Poems of Donne'. Very few of them are at all probably poems of Donne.
Of Grosart's edition (1873), the Grolier Club edition (1895), and Chambers's edition (1896), a full account will be given later.]
[Footnote 13: Huyghens sent some translations with the letter. He translated into Dutch (retaining the original metres, except that Alexandrines are substituted for decasyllabics) nineteen pieces in all. An examination of these shows that the text he used was a manuscript one, the readings he translates being in more than one instance those of the manuscript, as opposed to the printed, tradition. In a note which he prefixed to the translations when he published them many years later in his _Korenbloemen_ (1672) he states that Charles I, having heard of his intention to translate Dr. Donne, 'declared he did not believe that anyone could acquit himself of that task with credit'--an interesting testimony to the admiration which Charles felt for the poetry of Donne. A copy of the 1633 edition now in the British Museum is said to have belonged to the King, and to bear the marks of his interest in particular passages. Huyghens's comment on Charles's criticism shows what it was in the English language which most struck a foreigner speaking a tongue of a purer Germanic strain: 'I feel sure that he would not have passed so absolute a sentence had he known the richness of our language, a moderate command of which is sufficient to enable one to render the thoughts of peoples of all countries with ease and delight. From these I must, however, except the English; for their language is all languages; and as it pleases them, Greek and Latin become plain English. But since _we_ do not thus admit foreign words it is easy to understand in what difficulty we find ourselves when we have to express in a pure German speech, _Ecstasis_, _Atomi_, _Influentiae_, _Legatum_, _Alloy_, and the like. Set these aside and the rest costs us no great effort.'
At the end of his life Huyghens wrote a poem of reminiscences, _Sermones de Vita Propria_, in which he recalls the impression that Donne had left upon his mind:
Voortreffelyk Donn, o deugdzaam leeraer, duld Dat ik u bovenal, daar'k u bij voorkeur noeme, Als godlijk Dichter en welsprekend Reednaer roeme, Uit uwen gulden mond, 'tzij ge in een vriendenzaal Of van den kansel spraakt, klonk louter godentaal, Wier nektar ik zoo vaak met harte wellust proefde.
'Suffer me, all-surpassing Donne, virtuous teacher, to name you first and above all; and sing your fame as god-like poet and eloquent preacher. From your golden mouth, whether in the chamber of a friend, or in the pulpit, fell the speech of Gods, whose nectar I drank again and again with heartfelt joy.'
Vondel did not share the enthusiasm of Huyghens and Hooft.]
[Footnote 14: That is, many poems of his early years.]
[Footnote 15: Tot verschiedene reizen meen ik U. E. onderhouden te hebben met de gedachtenisse van Doctor Donne, tegenwoordigh Deken van St Pauls tot Londen, ende, door dit rijckelick beroep, volgens 't Engelsch gebruyck, in hooghen ansien, in veel hooger door den rijckdom van sijn gadeloos vernuft ende noch onvergelijckerer welsprekentheit op stoel. Eertijts ten dienst van de grooten ten hove gevoedt, in de werelt gewortelt, in de studien geslepen, in de dictkonst vermaerdt, meer als yemand. Van die groene tacken hebben veel weelderige vruchten onder de liefhebbers leggen meucken, diese nu bynaer verrot van ouderdom uytdeylen, my synde voor den besten slag van mispelen ter hand geraeckt by halve vijf en twintig, door toedoen van eenighe mijne besondere Heeren ende vrienden van die natie. Onder de onze hebb ick geene konnen uytkiesen, diese voor U. E. behoorden medegedeelt te werden, slaende deze dichter ganschelijck op U. E. manieren van invall ende uitspraeck.]
[Footnote 16: This is not the only manuscript in which this poem appears among the _Elegies_ following immediately on that entitled _The Picture_, 'Here take my picture, though I bid farewell.' It is thus placed in _1633_. The adhesion of two poems in a number of otherwise distinct manuscripts may mean, I think, that they were written about the same time.]
[Footnote 17: There are, however, grounds for the conjecture besides the contents. The Westmoreland MS. was secured, Mr. Gosse writes me, when the library of the Earls of Westmoreland was disposed of, about the year 1892. 'The interest of this library was that it had not been disturbed since the early part of the seventeenth century. With the Westmoreland MS. of Donne's Poems was attached a very fine copy of Donne's _Pseudomartyr_, which contained, in what was certainly Donne's handwriting, the words "Ex dono authoris: Row: Woodward" and a motto in Spanish "De juegos el mejor es con la hoja". There can be no doubt, I think, that these two books belonged to Rowland Woodward and were given him by Donne.' But is it likely that after 1617 Donne would give even to a friend a manuscript containing the most reprehensible of his earlier _Elegies_ and the _Epithalamion made at Lincolns Inn_? It seems to me more probable that the manuscript contains two distinct collections, made at different times. The one is a transcript from an early collection, quite probably Woodward's, containing Satires, Elegies, and one Epithalamion. To this the Divine Poems have been added.]
[Footnote 18: With the grouping of _1635_ I have adopted generally its order within the groups, but the reader will see quite easily what is the order of the _Songs_ in _1633_ and in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, if he will turn to the Contents and, beginning at _The Message_ (p. 43), will follow down to _A Valediction: forbidding mourning_ (p. 49). He must then turn back to the beginning and follow the list down till he comes to _The Curse_ (p. 41), and then resume at _The Extasie_ (p. 51). If the seven poems, _The Message_ to _A Valediction_: _forbidding mourning_, were brought to the beginning, the order of the _Songs and Sonets_ in _1635-69_ would be the same as in _1633_.
The editor of _1633_ began a process, which was carried on in _1635_, of naming poems unnamed in the manuscripts, and re-naming some that already had titles. The textual notes will give full details regarding the names, and will show that frequently a poem unnamed in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ remains unnamed in _1633_.]
[Footnote 19: There is one exception to this which I had overlooked. In _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _The Undertaking_ (p. 10) comes later, following _The Extasie_.]
[Footnote 20: When in 1614 Donne contemplated an edition of his poems he wrote to Goodyere: 'By this occasion I am made a Rhapsoder of mine own rags, and that cost me more diligence to seek them, than it did to make them. This made me aske to borrow that old book of you,' &c. _Letters_ (1651), p. 197.]
[Footnote 21: Five are to the Countess of Bedford--'Reason is', 'Honour is', 'You have refin'd', 'To have written then', and 'This Twy-light'. One is to the Countess of Huntingdon, 'Man to Gods image'; one to the Countess of Salisbury, 'Fair, great and good'; and one to Lady Carey, 'Here where by all.']
[Footnote 22: In citing this collection I use _TC_ for the two groups _TCC_, _TCD_.]
[Footnote 23: Additional lines to the _Annuntiation and Passion_, 'The greatest and the most conceald impostor', 'Now why should Love a footeboys place despise', 'Believe not him whom love hath made so wise', 'Pure link of bodies where no lust controules', 'Whoso terms love a fire', _Upon his scornefull Mistresse_ ('Cruel, since that thou dost not fear the curse'), _The Hower Glass_ ('Doe but consider this small Dust'), 'If I freely may discover', _Song_ ('Now you have kill'd me with your scorn'), 'Absence, heare thou my protestation', _Song_ ('Love bred of glances'), 'Love if a god thou art', 'Greate Lord of Love how busy still thou art', 'To sue for all thy Love and thy whole hart'.]
[Footnote 24: 'Believe not him whom love hath made so wise', _On the death of Mris Boulstred_ ('Stay view this stone'), _Against Absence_ ('Absence, heare thou my protestation'), 'Thou send'st me prose and rhyme', _Tempore Hen: 3_ ('The state of Fraunce, as now it stands'), _A fragment_ ('Now why shuld love a Footboyes place despise'), _To J. D. from Mr. H. W._ ('Worthie Sir, Tis not a coate of gray,' see II. p. 141), 'Love bred of glances twixt amorous eyes', _To a Watch restored to its mystres_ ('Goe and count her better houres'), 'Deare Love continue nyce and chast', 'Cruell, since thou doest not feare the curse', _On the blessed virgin Marie_ ('In that, ô Queene of Queenes').]
[Footnote 25: Of 128 items in the volume 99 are by Donne, and I have excluded some that might be claimed for him. The poems certainly not by Donne are 'Wrong not deare Empresse of my heart', 'Good folkes for gold or hire', 'Love bred of glances twixt amorous eyes', 'Worthy Sir, Tis not a coat of gray' (here marked 'J. D'.), 'Censure not sharply then' (marked 'B. J.'), 'Whosoever seeks my love to know', 'Thou sendst me prose and rimes' (see II. p. 166), 'An English lad long wooed a lasse of Wales', 'Marcella now grown old hath broke her glasse', 'Pretus of late had office borne in London', _To his mistresse_ ('O love whose power and might'), _Her answer_ ('Your letter I receaved'), _The Mar: B. to the Lady Fe. Her._ ('Victorious beauty though your eyes')--a poem generally attributed to the Earl of Pembroke, _A poem_ ('Absence heare my protestation'), 'True love findes witt but hee whom witt doth move', Earle of Pembroke 'If her disdain', Ben Ruddier 'Till love breeds love', 'Good madam Fowler doe not truble mee', 'Oh faithlesse world; and the most faithlesse part, A womans hart', 'As unthrifts greeve in straw for their pawn'd beds' (marked 'J. D.'), 'Why shuld not pilgrimes to thy body come' (marked 'F. B.'), _On Mrs. Bulstreed_, 'Mee thinkes death like one laughing lies', 'When this fly liv'd shee us'd to play' (marked 'Cary'), _The Epitaph_ ('Underneath this sable hearse'), a couple of long heroical epistles (with notes appended) entitled _Sir Philip Sidney to the Lady Penelope Rich_ and _The Lady Penelope Rich to Sir Philipe Sidney_. The latter epistle after some lines gives way quite abruptly to a different poem, a fragment of an elegy, which I have printed in Appendix C, p. 463.]
[Footnote 26: The exceptions are one poor epigram:
Oh silly John surprised with joy For Joy hath made thee silly Joy to enjoy thy sweetest Jone Jone whiter than the Lillie;
and two elegies, generally assigned to F. Beaumont, 'I may forget to eate' and 'As unthrifts greive in straw'.]
[Footnote 27: The note may point to some connexion of the MS. with the Harington family. The MS. contains an unusually large number of poems addressed to the Countess of Bedford, and ascribes, quite probably, the Elegy 'Death be not proud' to the Countess herself.]
[Footnote 28: The poems not by Donne are _A Satire: To Sr Nicholas Smith_, 1602 ('Sleep next society'); Sir Thomas Overbury's 'Each woman is a Breefe of Womankind' and his epitaph 'The spann of my daies measurd, here I rest'; a poem headed _Bash_, beginning 'I know not how it comes to pass'; _Verses upon Bishop Fletcher who married a woman of France_ ('If any aske what Tarquin ment to marrie'); _Fletcher Bishop of London_ ('It was a question in Harroldrie'); 'Mistres Aturney scorning long to brooke'; 'Wonder of Beautie, Goddesse of my sence'; 'Faire eyes doe not thinke scorne to read of Love'; two sonnets apparently by Sir Thomas Roe; six consecutive poems by Sir John Roe (see pp. 401-6, 408-10); 'Absence heare thou,'; _To the Countess of Rutland_ ('Oh may my verses pleasing be'); _To Sicknesse_ ('Whie disease dost thou molest'); 'A Taylor thought a man of upright dealing'; 'Unto that sparkling wit, that spirit of fier'; 'There hath beene one that strove gainst natures power.']
[Footnote 29: _Satyra Sexta_ ('Sleepe next Society'), _Elegia Undecima_ ('True Love findes wit'), _Elegia Vicesima_ ('Behold a wonder': see Grosart ii. 249), _Elegia Vicesima Secunda_ ('As unthrifts mourne'), _Elegia vicesima septima_ ('Deare Tom: Tell her'), _To Mr. Ben: Jonson_ 9º _Novembris 1603_ ('If great men wronge me'), _To Mr. Ben: Jonson_ ('The state and mens affairs'), 'Deare Love, continue nice and chaste', 'Wherefore peepst thou envious Daye', 'Great and good, if she deride me', _To the Blessed Virgin Marie_ ('In that ô Queene of Queenes'), 'What if I come to my Mistresse bed', 'Thou sentst to me a heart as sound', 'Believe your glasse', _A Paradox of a Painted Face_ ('Not kisse! By Jove I will').]
[Footnote 30: The poems not by Donne are not numerous, but they are assigned to him without hesitation. They are 'As unthrifts grieve in straw', 'Thou sentst me Prose', 'Dear Love continue', 'Madam that flea', _The Houre Glass_ ('Doe but consider this small dust'), _A Paradox of a Painted Face_ ('Not kiss, by Jove'), 'If I freely may discover', 'Absence heare thou', 'Love bred of glances'.]
[Footnote 31: Note the readings I. 58 'The Infanta of London', IV. 38 'He speaks no language'.]
[Footnote 32: The other poems here ascribed to J. D. are _To my Lo: of Denbrook_ (_sic._, i.e. Pembroke), 'Fye, Fye, you sonnes of Pallas', _A letter written by Sr H. G. and J. D. alternis vicibus_ ('Since every tree'), 'Why shuld not Pillgryms to thy bodie come', 'O frutefull Garden and yet never till'd', _Of a Lady in the Black Masque_. See Appendix C, pp. 433-7.]
[Footnote 33: 'The Heavens rejoice in motion', 'Tell her if she to hired servants show', 'True love finds wit', 'Deare Love continue nice and chaste', 'Shall I goe force an Elegie?', 'Men write that Love and Reason disagree', 'Come Fates: I feare you not', 'If her disdaine'. The authorship of these is discussed later.
A note on the first page in a modern hand says, 'The pieces which I have extracted for the "Specimens" are, Page 91, 211, 265.' What 'Specimens' are referred to I do not know: the pieces are 'You nimble dreams', signed H. (i.e. John Hoskins); 'Upon his mistresses inconstancy' ('Thou art prettie but inconstant'); and _Cupid and the Clowne_. The manuscript was purchased at Bishop Heber's sale in 1836.]
[Footnote 34: I refer to it occasionally as _TCD_ (_II_), and (once it has been made plain that this is the collection referred to throughout) as simply _TCD_.]
[Footnote 35: Since Mr. Pearsall-Smith transcribed these poems, which I subsequently collated, the house at Burley-on-the-Hill has been burned down and the manuscript volume has perished.]
[Footnote 36: _The Complete Poems of John Donne, D.D., Dean of St. Paul's. For the First Time Fully Collected and Collated With The Original and Early Editions And MSS. And Enlarged With Hitherto Unprinted And Inedited Poems From MSS. &c.... By The Rev. Alexander B. Grosart, &c. The Fuller Worthies' Library_, 1872-3. Dr. Grosart's favourite manuscript was the Stephens (_S_). When that failed him he used Addl. MS. 18643 (_A18_), whose relation to the manuscripts in Trinity College, Dublin and Cambridge (_TCD_, _TCC_) he did not suspect, though he collated these. Some poems he printed from the Hazlewood-Kingsburgh MS. or the Farmer-Chetham MS. The first two are not good texts of Donne's poems, the last two are miscellaneous collections. The three first _Satyres_ Dr. Grosart printed from Harleian MS. 5110 (_H51_); and he used other sources for the poems he ascribed to Donne. It cannot be said that he always recorded accurately the readings of the manuscript from which he printed. I have made no effort to record all the differences between Grosart's text and my own.
The description of the editions which Grosart gives at ii, p. liii is amazingly inaccurate, considering that he claimed to have collated 'all the early and later printed editions'. He describes _1639_, _1649_, _1650_, and _1654_ as identical with one another, and declares that the younger Donne is responsible only for _1669_, which appeared after his death.]
[Footnote 37: _The Poems of John Donne From The Text of The Edition of 1633 Revised By James Russell Lowell With The Various Readings of The Other Editions Of The Seventeenth Century, And With A Preface, An Introduction, And Notes By Charles Eliot Norton. New York._ 1895. In preparing the text from Lowell's copy of _1633_, emended in pencil by him, Professor Norton was assisted by Mrs. Burnett, the daughter of Mr. Lowell. As I could not apportion the responsibility for the text I have spoken throughout my textual notes and remarks of 'the Grolier Club editor' (_Grolier_ for short). I have accepted Professor Norton as the sole author of the commentary. For instances where the punctuation has been altered, and the meaning, in my opinion, obscured, I may refer to the textual notes on _The Legacie_ (p. 20), _The Dreame_ (p. 37), _A nocturnall upon S. Lucies day_ (p. 45). But I have cited and discussed most of the cases in which I disagree with the Grolier Club editors. It is for readers to judge whether at times they may not be right, and I have gone astray. The Grolier Club edition only came into my hands when I had completed my first collation of the printed texts. Had I known it sooner, or had the edition been more accessible, I should probably not have ventured on the arduous task of editing Donne. It is based on the best text, and the editors have been happier than most in their interpretation and punctuation of the more difficult passages.
Professor Norton made no use of the manuscripts in preparing the text, but he added in an appendix an account of the manuscript which, following him, I have called _N_, and he gave a list of variants which seemed to him possible emendations. Later, in the _Child Memorial Volume_ of _Studies and Notes in Philology and Literature_ (1896), he gave a somewhat fuller description of _N_ and descriptions of _S_ (the Stephens MS.) and _Cy_ (the Carnaby MS.). Of the readings which Professor Norton noted, several have passed into my edition on the authority of a wider collation of the manuscripts.]
[Footnote 38: _Poems of John Donne Edited By E. K. Chambers. With An Introduction By George Saintsbury. London and New York. 1896._ Of the editions Mr. Chambers says: 'Nor can it be said that any one edition always gives the best text; even for a single poem, sometimes one, sometimes another is to be preferred, though, as a rule, the edition of _1633_ is the most reliable, and the readings of _1669_ are in many cases a return to it' (vol. i, p. xliv). A considerable portion of Mr. Chambers' edition would seem to have been 'set up' from a copy of the 1639 edition, the earlier and later readings being then either incorporated or recorded. The result is that the _1633_ or _1633-35_ readings have been more than once overlooked. This applies especially to the _Epicedes_ and the _Divine Poems_.
As with the Grolier Club edition, so with Mr. Chambers' edition, I have recorded and discussed the chief differences between my text and his. I have worked with his edition constantly beside me. I used it for my collations on account of its convenient numbering of the lines. To Mr. Chambers' commentary also I owe my first introduction to the wide field of the manuscripts. His knowledge of seventeenth-century literature and history, which even in 1896 was extensive, has directed me in taking up most of the questions of canon and authorship which I have investigated. It is easy to record one's points of disagreement with a predecessor; it is more difficult to estimate accurately how much one owes to his labours.
Mr. Chambers, too, has 'modernized the spelling and corrected the exceptionally chaotic punctuation of the old editions'. Of the latter changes he has, with one or two exceptions, preserved no record, so that when, as is sometimes the case, he has misunderstood the poet, it is impossible to get back to the original text of which the stops as well as the words are a part.]
[Footnote 39: It is very unlikely that Donne had in his possession when he died manuscript copies of his early poems. (1) Walton makes no mention of them when enumerating the works which Donne left behind in manuscript, including 'six score sermons all written with his own hand; also an exact and laborious treatise concerning self-murder, called _Biathanatos'_, as well as elaborate notes on authors and events. (2) In 1614, when Donne thought of publishing his poems, he found it necessary to beg for copies from his friends: 'By this occasion I am made a Rhapsoder of mine own rags, and that cost me more diligence to seek them, then it did to make them. This made me aske to borrow that old book of you.' _To Sir H. G., Vigilia St. Tho. 1614._ (3) Jonson and Walton both tell us that Donne, after taking Orders, would have been glad to destroy his early poems. The sincerity of this wish has been doubted because of what he says in a letter regarding _Biathanatos_: 'I only forbid it the press and the fire.' But _Biathanatos_ is a very different matter from the poems. It is a grave and devout, if daring, treatise in casuistry. No one can enter into Donne's mind from 1617 onwards, as ascetic devotion became a more and more sincere and consuming passion, and believe that he kept copies of the early poems or paradoxes, prepared for the press like his sermons or devotions.]
[Footnote 40: _Contributions To The Textual Criticism of The Divina Commedia, &c. By the Rev. Edward Moore, D.D., &c. Cambridge, 1889._ The tests which Dr. Moore lays down for the judgement, on internal grounds, of a reading are--I state them shortly in my own words--(1) That is the best reading which best explains the erroneous readings. I have sometimes recorded a quite impossible reading of a manuscript because it clearly came from one rather than another of two rivals, and thus lends support to that reading despite its own aberration. (2) Generally speaking, 'Difficilior lectio potior,' the more difficult reading is the more likely to be the original. This applies forcibly in the case of a subtle and difficult author like Donne. The majority of the changes made in the later editions arise from the tendency to make Donne's thought more commonplace. Even in _1633_ errors have crept in. The obsolete words 'lation' (p. 94, l. 47), 'crosse' (p. 43, l. 14) have been altered; the old-fashioned and metaphorically used idiom 'in Nature's gifts' has confused the editor's punctuation; the subtle thought of the epistles has puzzled and misled. (3) 'Three minor considerations may be added which are often very important, when applicable, though they are from the nature of the case less frequently available.' _Moore_. These are (_a_) the consistency of the reading with sentiments expressed by the author elsewhere. I have used the _Sermons_ and other prose works to illustrate and check Donne's thought and vocabulary throughout. (_b_) The relation of the reading to the probable source of the poet's thought. A Scholastic doctrine often lurks behind Donne's wit, ignorance of which has led to corruption of the text. See _The Dreame_, p. 37, ll. 7, 16; _To Sr Henry Wotton_, p. 180, ll. 17-18. (_c_) The relation of a reading to historical fact. In the letter _To Sr Henry Wotton_, p. 187, the editors, forgetting the facts, have confused Cadiz with Calais, and the Azores with St. Michael's Mount.]
[Footnote 41: It is worth while to compare the kind of mistakes in which a manuscript abounds with those which occur in a printed edition. The tendency of the copyist was to write on without paying much attention to the sense, dropping words and lines, sometimes two consecutive half-lines or whole stanzas, ignoring or confounding punctuation, mistaking words, &c. He was, if a professional copyist or secretary, not very apt to attempt emendation. The kind of errors he made were easily detected when the proof was read over, or when the manuscript was revised with a view to printing. Words or half-lines could be restored, &c. But in such revision a new and dangerous source of error comes into play, the tendency of the editor to emend.]
[Footnote 42: Take a few instances where the latest editor, very naturally and explicably, securing at places a reading more obvious and euphonious, has departed from _1633_ and followed _1635_ or _1669_. I shall take them somewhat at random and include a few that may seem still open to discussion. In _The Undertaking_ (p. 10, l. 18), for 'Vertue attir'd in woman see', _1633_, Mr. Chambers reads, with _1635-69_, 'Vertue in woman see.' So:
Loves Vsury, p. 13, l. 5:
let my body raigne _1633_ let my body range _1635-69_, _Chambers_
Aire and Angels, p. 22, l. 19:
Ev'ry thy hair _1633_ Thy every hair _1650-69_, _Chambers_
The Curse, p. 41, ll. 3, 10:
His only, and only his purse _1633-54_ Him, only for his purse _1669_, _Chambers_
who hath made him such _1633_ who hath made them such _1669_, _Chambers_
A Valediction, p. 50, l. 16:
Those things which elemented it _1633_ The thing which elemented it _1669_, _Chambers_
The Relique, p. 62, l. 13:
mis-devotion _1633-54_ mass-devotion _1669_, _Chambers_
Elegie II, p. 80, l. 6:
is rough _1633_, _1669_ is tough _1635-54_, _Chambers_
Elegie VI, p. 88, ll. 24, 26:
and then chide _1633_ and there chide _1635-69_, _Chambers_
her upmost brow _1633_ her utmost brow _1635-69_, _Chambers (an oversight)_.
Epithalamions, p. 129, l. 60:
store, _1633_ starres, _1635-69_, _Chambers_
Ibid., p. 133, l. 55:
I am not then from Court _1633_ And am I then from Court? _1635-69_, _Chambers_
Satyres, p. 169, ll. 37-41:
The Iron Age _that_ was, when justice was sold, now Injustice is sold deerer farre; allow All demands, fees, and duties; gamsters, anon The mony which you sweat, and sweare for, is gon Into other hands: _1633_
The iron Age _that_ was, when justice was sold (now Injustice is sold dearer) did allow All claim'd fees and duties. Gamesters, anon The mony which you sweat and swear for is gon Into other hands. _1635-54_, _Chambers_ (_no italics_; 'that' _a relative pronoun, I take it_)
The Calme, p. 179, l. 30:
our brimstone Bath _1633_ a brimstone bath _1635-69_, _Chambers_
To Sr Henry Wotton, p. 180, l. 17:
dung, and garlike _1633_ dung, or garlike _1635-69_, _Chambers_
Ibid., p. 181, ll. 25, 26:
The Country is a desert, where no good, Gain'd, as habits, not borne, is understood. _1633_
The Country is a desert, where the good, Gain'd inhabits not, borne, is not understood. _1635-54_, _Chambers._
In all these passages, and I could cite others, it seems to me (I have stated my reasons fully in the notes) that if the sense of the passage be carefully considered, or Donne's use of words (e.g. 'mis-devotion'), or the tenor of his thought, the reading of _1633_ is either clearly correct or has much to be said for it. Now in all these cases the reading has the support of all the manuscripts, or of the most and the best.]
[Footnote 43: e.g. 'their nothing' p. 31, l. 53; 'reclaim'd' p. 56, l. 25; 'sport' p. 56, l. 27.]
[Footnote 44: The _1633_ text of these letters, which is generally that of _A18_, _N_, _TC_, is better than I was at one time disposed to think, though there are some indubitable errors and perhaps some original variants. The crucial reading is at p. 197, l. 58, where _1633_ and _A18_, _N_, _TC_ read 'not naturally free', while _1635-69_ and _O'F_ read 'borne naturally free', at first sight an easier and more natural text, and adopted by both Chambers and Grosart. But consideration of the passage, and of what Donne says elsewhere, shows that the _1633_ reading is certainly right.]
[Footnote 45: The _1650_ printer delighted in colons, which he generally substituted for semicolons indiscriminately.]
CANON.
The authenticity of all the poems ascribed to Donne in the old editions is a question which has never been systematically and fully considered by his editors and critics. A number of poems not included in these editions have been attributed to him by Simeon (1856), Grosart (1873), and others on very insufficient grounds, whether of external evidence or internal probability. Of the poems published in _1633_, one, Basse's _An Epitaph upon Shakespeare_, was withdrawn at once; another, the metrical _Psalme 137_, has been discredited and Chambers drops it.[1] Of those which were added in _1635_, one _To Ben Ionson. 6 Ian. 1603_, has been dropped by Grosart, the Grolier Club edition, and Chambers on the strength of a statement made to Drummond by Ben Jonson.[2] But the editors have accepted Jonson's statement without apparently giving any thought to the question whether, if this particular poem is by Roe, the same must not be true of its companion pieces, _To Ben. Ionson. 9 Novembris, 1603_. and _To Sir Tho. Roe. 1603_. They are inserted together in _1635_, and are strikingly similar in heading, in style, and in verse. Nor has any critic, so far as I know, taken up the larger question raised by rejecting one of the poems ascribed to Donne in _1635_, namely, are not all the poems then added made thereby to some extent suspect, and if so can we distinguish those which are from those which are not genuine? I propose then to discuss, in the light afforded by a wider and more connected survey of the seventeenth-century manuscript collections, the authenticity of the poems ascribed to Donne in the old editions, and to ask what, if any, poems may be added to those there published.
For this discussion an invaluable starting-point is afforded by the edition of 1633, the manuscript group _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, and the manuscript group _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_. Taken together, and used to check one another, these three collections provide us with a _corpus_ of indubitable poems which may be used as a test by which to try other claimants. Of course, it must be clearly understood that the only proof which can be offered that Donne is the author of many poems is, that they are ascribed to him in edition after edition and manuscript after manuscript, and that they bear a strong family resemblance. There is no edition issued by himself or in his lifetime.[3]
Bearing this in mind we find that in the edition of 1633 there are only two poems--Basse's _Epitaph on Shakespeare_ and the _Psalme 137_, both already mentioned--for the genuineness of which there is not strong evidence, internal and external. But these two poems are the _only_ ones not contained in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ or in _A18_, _N_, _TC_. In _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, on the other hand, there are no poems which are not, on the same evidence, genuine. There are, however, some which are not in _1633_, seven in all. But of these, five are the _Elegies_ which, we have seen above, the editor of _1633_ was prohibited from printing. The others are the _Lecture upon the Shadow_ (why omitted in _1633_ I cannot say) and the lines 'My fortune and my choice'. There are poems in _1633_ which are not in_ D_, _H49_, _Lec_. These, with the exception of poems previously printed, as the _Anniversaries_ and the _Elegie on Prince Henry_, are all in _A18_, _N_, _TC_. This last collection does contain some twelve poems not by Donne, but of these the majority are found only in _N_ and _TCD_, and they make no pretence to be Donne's. Three are initialled 'J. R.' (in _TCD_), and two of these, with some poems by Overbury and Beaumont, are not part of the Donne collection but are added at the end. Another poem is initialled 'R. Cor.' The only poems which are included among Donne's poems as though by him are _The Paradox_ ('Whoso terms Love a fire') and the Letter or Elegy, 'Madam soe may my verses pleasing be.' Of these, the first is in all four manuscripts, the second only in _N_ and _TCD_. Neither is in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, or _1633_. The last is by Beaumont, and follows immediately a letter by Donne to the same lady, the Countess of Bedford. Doubtless the two poems have come from some collection in which they were transcribed together, ultimately from a commonplace-book of the Countess herself. The former _may_ be by Donne, but has probably adhered for a like reason to his paradox, 'No lover saith' (p. 302), which immediately precedes it.
We have thus three collections, each of which has kept its canon pure or very nearly so, and in which any mistake by one is checked by the absence of the poem in the other two. It cannot be by accident that these collections are so free from the unauthentic poems which other manuscripts associate with Donne's. Those who prepared them must have known what they were about. Marriot must have had some help in securing a text on the whole so accurate as that of _1633_, and in avoiding spurious poems on the whole so well. When that guidance was withdrawn he was only too willing to go a-gathering what would swell the compass of his volume. If then a poem does not occur in any of these collections it is not necessarily unauthentic, but as no such poem has anything like the wide support of the manuscripts that these have, it should present its credentials, and approve its authenticity on internal grounds if external are not available.
We start then with a strong presumption, coming as close to demonstration as the circumstances of the case will permit, in favour of the absolute genuineness of all the poems in _1633_ (a glance down the list headed 'Source' in the 'Contents' will show what these are) except the two mentioned, and of all the poems added in _1635_, or later editions, which are also in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ and _A18_, _N_, _TC_.[4] These last (to which I prefix the date of first publication) are--
_1635._ A Lecture upon the Shadow. _1635._ Elegie XI. The Bracelet. _1635._ Elegie XVI. On his Mistris. _1669._ Elegie XVIII. Love's Progresse. _1669._ Elegie XIX. Going to Bed. _1802._[5] Elegie XX. Love's Warr.
(These are the five _Elegies_ suppressed in _1633_--at such long intervals did they find their way into print.)
_1635._ On himselfe.
We may add to these, without lengthy investigation, the four _Holy Sonnets_ added in _1635_:--
I. 'Thou hast made me.' III. 'O might those sighs and tears.' V. 'I am a little world.' VIII. 'If faithfull soules.'
For these (though in none of the three collections) we have, besides internal probability, the evidence of _W_, clearly an unexceptionable manuscript witness. Walton, too, vouches for the authenticity of the _Hymne to God my God, in my sicknesse_, which indeed no one but Donne could have written.
This leaves for investigation, of poems inserted in _1635_, _1649_, _1650_, or _1669_, the following:--
1. Song. 'Soules joy, now I am gone.'
2. _Farewell to love._
3. Song. 'Deare Love, continue nice and chaste.'
4. Sonnet. _The Token._
5. 'He that cannot chuse but love.'
6. Elegie (XIII in _1635_). 'Come, Fates; I feare you not.'
7. Elegie XII (XIIII in _1635_). _His parting from her._
'Since she must goe, and I must mourne.'
8. Elegie XIII (XV in _1635_). _Julia._
'Harke newes, ô envy.'
9. Elegie XIV (XVI in _1635_). _A Tale of a Citizen and his Wife._ 'I sing no harme.'
10. Elegie XVII. _Variety._ 'The heavens rejoice.'
11. Satyre (VI in _1635_, VII in _1669_).
'Men write that love and reason disagree.'
12. Satyre (VI in _1669_).
'Sleep, next society and true friendship.'
13. To the Countesse of Huntington.
'That unripe side of earth, that heavy clime.'
14. A Dialogue between Sr Henry Wotton and Mr. Donne.
'If her disdayne least change in you can move.'
15. To Ben Iohnson, 6. Jan. 1603.
'The state and mens affaires.'
16. To Ben Iohnson, 9. Novembris, 1603.
'If great men wrong me.'
17. To Sir Tho. Roe. 1603.
Deare Thom: 'Tell her, if she to hired servants shew.'
18. Elegie on Mistresse Boulstred.
'Death be not proud.'
19. On the blessed Virgin Mary.
'In that, ô Queene of Queenes.'
20. Upon the translation of the Psalmes by Sir Philip Sydney and the Countesse of Pembroke his Sister.
'Eternall God, (for whom who ever dare).'
21. Ode.
'Vengeance will sit.'
22. To Mr. Tilman after he had taken Orders.
'Thou, whose diviner soule hath caus'd thee now.'
23. On the Sacrament.
'He was the Word that spake it.'
Of these twenty-three poems there is none which does not seem to me fairly open to question, though of some I think Donne is certainly the author.
Seven of the twenty-three (3, 6, 11, 12, 15, 16, 17) I have gathered together in my Appendix A, with two ('Shall I goe force' and 'True love finds witt', the first of which[6] was printed in _Le Prince d'Amour_, 1660, and reprinted by Simeon, 1856, and Grosart, 1872), as the work not of Donne but of Sir John Roe. The reasons which have led me to do so are not perhaps singly conclusive, but taken together they form a converging and fairly convincing demonstration. The argument starts from Ben Jonson's statement to Drummond of Hawthornden regarding the Epistle at p. 408 (15 above): 'That Sir John Roe loved him; and that when they two were ushered by my Lord Suffolk from a Mask, Roe writt a moral Epistle to him, which began. That next to playes the Court and the State were the best. God threatneth Kings, Kings Lords [as] Lords do us.' (_Drummond's Conversations with Jonson_), ed. Laing.
Now this statement of Jonson's is confirmed by some at any rate of the manuscripts which contain the poem (see textual notes) since these append the initials 'J. R.' But all the manuscripts which contain the one poem contain also the next, 'If great men wrong me,' and though none have added the initials 'J. R.', _B_, in which it has been separated from 'The state and mens affairs' by two other poems, appends 'doubtfull author' (the whole collection being professedly one of Donne's poems). The third poem, _To Sr Tho. Roe, 1603_ (p. 410), is in the same way found in all the manuscripts (except two, which are one, _H40_ and _RP31_) which contain the epistles to Jonson, generally in their immediate proximity, and in _B_ initialled 'J. R.' In the others the poem is unsigned, and in _L74_ a much later hand has added 'J. D.'
Of the other poems, the first--the poem which was in _1669_ printed as Donne's seventh _Satyre_, was dropped in _1719_ but restored by Chalmers, Grosart, and Chambers--is said in _B_ to be 'By Sir John Roe', and it is initialled 'J. R.' in _TCD_. Even an undiscriminating manuscript like _O'F_ adds the note 'Quere, if Donnes or Sr Th: Rowes', the more famous Sir Thomas Roe being substituted for his (in 1632) forgotten relative. Of the remaining five poems only two, 'Dear Love, continue nice and chaste' (p. 412) and 'Shall I goe force an Elegie?' (p. 410) are actually initialled in any of the manuscripts in which I have found them.
But the presence or absence of a name or initials is not a conclusive argument. It depends on the character of the manuscript. That 'Sleep next Society' is initialled 'J. R.' in so carefully prepared a collection of Donne's poems as _TCD_ is valuable evidence, and the initials in a collection so well vouched for as _HN_, Drummond's copy of a collection of poems in the possession of Donne, can only be set aside by a scepticism which makes all historical questions insoluble. But no reliance can be placed upon the unsupported statement of any other of the manuscripts in which some or all of these poems occur, any more than on that of the 1635 and later editions. The best of them (_H40_, _RP31_) are often silent, and the others are too often mistaken to be implicitly trusted. If we are to get the truth from them it must be by cross-examination.
For the second proof on which my ascription of the poems to Roe is based is the singular regularity with which they adhere to one another. If a manuscript has one it generally has the rest in close proximity. Thus _B_, after giving thirty-six poems by Donne, of which only one is wrongly ascribed, continues with a number that are clearly by other authors as well as Donne, and of ten sequent poems five are 'Sleep next Society,' 'The State and mens affairs,' 'True love finds witt,' 'If great men wrong mee,' 'Dear Thom: Tell her if she.' A fragment of 'Men say that love and reason disagree' comes rather later. _H40_ and _RP31_ give in immediate sequence 'The State and mens affairs,' 'If great men wrong me,' 'True Love finds witt,' 'Shall I goe force an elegie,' 'Come Fates; I fear you not.' _L74_, a collection not only of poems by Donne but of the work of other wits of the day, transcribes in immediate sequence 'Deare Love continue,' 'The State and mens affairs,' 'If great men wrong mee,' 'Shall I goe force an elegie,' 'Tell her if shee,' 'True love finds witt,' 'Come Fates, I fear you not.' Lastly _A10_, a quite miscellaneous collection, gives in immediate or very close sequence '[Dear Thom:] Tell her if she,' 'True love finds witt,' 'Dear Love continue nice and chaste,' 'Shall I goe force an elegie,' 'Men write that love and reason disagree.' 'Come Fates; I fear you not' follows after a considerable interval.
It cannot be by an entire accident that these poems thus recur in manuscripts which have so far as we can see no common origin.[7] And as one is ascribed to Roe on indisputable (and) three on very strong evidence, it is a fair inference, if borne out by a general resemblance of thought, and style, and verse, that they are all by Roe.
To my mind they have a strong family resemblance, and very little resemblance to Donne's work. They are witty, but not with the subtle, brilliant, metaphysical wit of Donne; they are obscure at times, but not as Donne's poetry is, by too swift and subtle transitions, and ingeniously applied erudition; there are in them none of Donne's peculiar scholastic doctrines of angelic knowledge, of the microcosm, of soul and body, or of his chemical and medical allusions; they are coarse and licentious, but not as Donne's poems are, with a kind of witty depravity, Italian in origin, and reminding one of Ovid and Aretino, but like Jonson's poetry with the coarseness of the tavern and the camp. On both Jonson's and Roe's work rests the trail of what was probably the most licentious and depraving school in Europe, the professional armies serving in the Low Countries.
For a brief account of Roe's life will explain some features of his poetry, especially the vivid picture of life in London in the Satire, 'Sleep next Society,' which is strikingly different in tone, and in the aspects of that life which are presented, from anything in Donne's _Satyres_. Roe has been hitherto a mere name appearing in the notes to Jonson's and to Donne's poems. No critic has taken the trouble to identify him. Gifford suggested or stated that he was the son of Sir Thomas Roe, who as Mayor of London was knighted in 1569. Mr. Chambers accepts this and when referring to Jonson, _Epigram 98_, on Roe the ambassador, he adds, 'there are others in the same collection to his uncles Sir John Roe and William Roe.' Who this uncle was they do not tell us, but Hunter in the _Chorus Vatum_ notes that, if Gifford's conjecture be sound, then he must be John Roe of Clapham in Bedfordshire, the eldest son of the Lord Mayor.
It is a quaint picture we thus get of the famous ambassador's uncle (he was older than 'Dear Thom's' father)--a kind of Sir Toby Belch, taking the pleasures of the town with his nephew, and writing a satire which might make a young man blush to read. But in fact John Roe of Clapham was never Sir John, and he was dead twelve years before 1603, when these poems were written.[8] Sir John Roe the poet was the cousin, not the uncle, of the ambassador. He was the eldest son of William Rowe (or Roe) of Higham Hill, near Walthamstow, in the county of Essex.[9] William Roe was the third son of the first Lord Mayor of the name Roe.[10] He had two sons, John and William, the latter of whom is probably the person addressed in Jonson's _Epigrammes_, cxxviii. John was born, according to a statement in Morant's _History of Essex_ (1768), on the fifth of May, 1581. This harmonizes with the fact that when the elder William Roe died in 1596 John was still a minor and thereby a cause of anxiety to his father, who in his will, proved in 1596, begs his wife and executors to 'be suiters for his wardeshipp, that his utter spoyle (as much as in them is) maie be prevented'. This probably refers to the chance of a courtier being made ward and despoiling the lad. The following year he matriculated at Queen's College, Oxford.[11] How long he stayed there is not known, probably not long. The career he chose was that of a soldier, and his first service was in Ireland. If he went there with Essex in 1599 he is perhaps one of that general's many knights. But he may have gone thither later, for he evidently found a patron in Mountjoy. In 1605 that nobleman, then Earl of Devonshire, wrote to Sir Ralph Winwood, Ambassador to the United Provinces, first to recommend Roe to him as one wishing to follow the wars and therein to serve the States; and then to thank him for his readiness to befriend Sir John Roe. He adds that he will be ever ready to serve the States to requite any favour Roe shall receive.[12] By 1608 he was dead, for a list of captains discharged in Ireland since 1603 gives the following: 'Born in England and dead in 1608--Sir John Roe.'[13]
Such in brief outline is the life of the man who in 1603, possibly between his Irish and Low Country campaigns, appears in London as one, with his more famous cousin Thomas, of the band of wits and poets whose leader was Jonson, whose most brilliant star was Donne. Jonson's epigrams and conversations enable us to fill in some of the colours wanting in the above outline. The most interesting of these shows Roe to have been in Russia as well as Ireland and the Low Countries, and tells us that he was, like 'Natta the new knight' in his _Satyre_, a duellist:
Xxxii. On Sir Iohn Roe.
XXXII.
ON SIR IOHN ROE.
What two brave perills of the private sword Could not effect, not all the furies doe, That selfe-devided _Belgia_ did afford; What not the envie of the seas reach'd too, The cold of _Mosco_, and fat _Irish_ ayre, His often change of clime (though not of mind) What could not worke; at home in his repaire Was his blest fate, but our hard lot to find. Which shewes, where ever death doth please t' appeare, Seas, serenes, swords, shot, sicknesse, all are there.
In his conversations with Drummond Jonson as usual gave more intimate and less complimentary details: 'Sir John Roe was an infinite spender, and used to say, when he had no more to spend he could die. He died in his (i.e. Jonson's) arms of the pest, and he furnished his charges 20lb., which was given him back,' doubtless by his brother William. Morant states that 'Sir John the eldest son, having no issue, sold this Manor (i.e. Higham-hill) to his father-in-law Sir Reginald Argall, of whom it was purchased by the second son--Sir William Rowe'.
Such a career is much more likely than Donne's to have produced the satire 'Sleep, next Society', with its lurid picture of cashiered captains, taverns, stews, duellists, hard drinkers, and parasites. It is much more like a scene out of _Bartholomew Fair_ than any of Donne's five _Satyres_. Nor was Donne likely at any time to have written of James I as Roe does. He moved in higher circles, and was more politic. But Roe had ability. 'Deare Love, continue nice and chaste' is not quite in the taste of to-day, but it is a good example of the paradoxical, metaphysical lyric; and there are both feeling and wit in 'Come, Fates; I feare you not', unlike as it is to Donne's subtle, erudite, intenser strain.
Returning to the list of poems open to question on pp. cxxviii-ix we have sixteen left to consider. Of some of these there is very little to say.
Nos. 1 and 14 are most probably by the Earl of Pembroke, and the Earl of Pembroke collaborating with Sir Benjamin Rudyard. Both were wits and poets of Donne's circle. The first song,
'Soules joy, now I am gone'
is ascribed to Donne only in _1635-69_, and is there inaccurately printed. It is assigned to Pembroke in the younger Donne's edition of Pembroke and Ruddier's _Poems_ (1660), a bad witness, but also by Lansdowne MS. 777, which Mr. Chambers justly calls 'a very good authority'.[14] The latter, however, believes the poem to be Donne's because the central idea--the inseparableness of souls--is his, and so is the contemptuous tone of
Fooles have no meanes to meet, But by their feet.
But both the contemptuous tone and the Platonic thought were growing common. We get it again in Lovelace's
If to be absent were to be Away from thee.
The thought is Donne's, but not the airy note, the easy style, or the tripping prosody. Donne never writes of absence in this cheerful, confident strain. He consoles himself at times with the doctrine of inseparable souls, but the note of pain is never absent. He cannot cheat his passionate heart and senses with metaphysical subtleties.
The song _Farewell to love_, the second in the list of poems added in _1635_, is found only in _O'F_ and _S96_. There is therefore no weighty external evidence for assigning it to Donne, but no one can read it without feeling that it is his. The cynical yet passionate strain of wit, the condensed style, and the metaphysical turn given to the argument, are all in his manner. As printed in _1635_ the point of the third stanza is obscured. As I have ventured to amend it, an Aristotelian doctrine is referred to in a way that only Donne would have done in quite such a setting.
The three _Elegies_, XII, XIII, and XIV (7, 8, 9 in the list), must also be assigned to Donne, unless some more suitable candidate can be advanced on really convincing grounds. The first of the three, _His parting from her_, is so fine a poem that it is difficult to think any unknown poet could have written it. In sincerity and poetic quality it is one of the finest of the _Elegies_,[15] and in this sincerer note, the absence of witty paradox, it differs from poems like _The Bracelet_ and _The Perfume_ and resembles the fine elegy called _His Picture_ and two other pieces that stand somewhat apart from the general tenor of the _Elegies_, namely, the famous elegy _On his Mistris_, in which he dissuades her from travelling with him as a page:
By our first strange and fatal interview,
and that rather enigmatical poem _The Expostulation_, which found its way into Jonson's _Underwoods_:
To make the doubt clear that no woman's true, Was it my fate to prove it strong in you?
All of these poems bear the imprint of some actual experience, and to this cause we may perhaps trace the comparative rareness with which _His parting from her_ is found in manuscripts, and that it finally appeared in a mutilated form. The poet may have given copies only to a few friends and desired that it should not be circulated. In the Second Collection of poems in _TCD_ it is signed at the close, 'Sir Franc: Wryothlesse.' Who is intended by this I do not know. The ascriptions in this collection are many of them purely fanciful. Still, that the poem is Donne's rests on internal evidence alone.
Of the other two elegies, _Julia_, which is found in only two manuscripts, _B_ and _O'F_, is quite the kind of thing Donne might have amused himself by writing in the scurrilous style of Horace's invectives against Canidia, frequently imitated by Mantuan and other Humanists. The chief difficulty with regard to the second, _A Tale of a Citizen and his Wife_, is to find Donne writing in this vein at so late a period as 1609 or 1610, the date implied in several of the allusions. He was already the author of religious poems, including probably _La Corona_. In 1610 he wrote his _Litanie_, and, as Professor Norton points out, in the same letter in which he tells of the writing of the latter he refers to some poem of a lighter nature, the name of which is lost through a mutilation of the letter, and says, 'Even at this time when (I humbly thank God) I ask and have his comfort of sadder meditations I do not condemn in myself that I have given my wit such evaporations as those, if they be free from profaneness, or obscene provocations.' Whether this would cover the elegy in question is a point on which perhaps our age and Donne's would not decide alike. Donne's nature was a complex one. Jack Donne and the grave and reverend divine existed side by side for not a little time, and even in the sermons Donne's wit is once or twice rather coarser than our generation would relish in the pulpit. But once more we must add that it is possible Donne has in this case been made responsible for what is another's. Every one wrote this occasional poetry, and sometimes wrote it well.
There is no more difficult poem to understand or to assign to or from Donne than the long letter headed _To the Countesse of Huntington_, 13 on the list, which, for the time being, I have placed in the Appendix B. On internal grounds there is more to be said for ascribing it to Donne than any other single poem in this collection. Nevertheless I have resolved to let it stand, that it may challenge the attention it deserves.[16] The reasons which led me to doubt Donne's authorship are these:
(1) The poem was not included in the 1633 edition, nor is it found in either of the groups _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ and _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_. It was added in _1635_ with four other spurious poems, the dialogue ascribed to Donne and Wotton but assigned by the great majority of manuscripts to the Earl of Pembroke and Sir Benjamin Rudyard, the two epistles to Ben Jonson, and the Elegy addressed to Sir Thomas Roe, which we have assigned, for reasons given above, to Sir John Roe. The poem is found in only two manuscript collections, viz. _P_ and the second, miscellaneous collection of seventeenth-century poems in _TCD_. In both of these it is headed _Sr Walter Ashton_ (or _Aston_) _to the Countesse of Huntingtone_, and no reference whatsoever is made to Donne. I do not attach much importance to this title. Imaginary headings were quite common in the case of poems circulating in manuscript. Poems are inscribed as having been written by the Earl of Essex or Sir Walter Raleigh the night before he died, or as found in the pocket of Chidiock Tichbourne. Editors have occasionally taken these too seriously. Drayton's _Heroicall Epistles_ made it a fashion to write such letters in the case of any notorious love affair or intrigue. The manuscript _P_ contains a long imaginary letter from Sir Philip Sidney to Lady Mary Rich and a fragment of her reply. In the same manuscript the poem, probably by the Earl of Pembroke, 'Victorious beauty though your eyes,' is headed _The Mar: B to the Lady Fe: Her._, i.e. the Marquis of Buckingham to--I am not sure what lady is intended. The only thing which the title given to the letter in question suggests is that it was not an actual letter to the Countess but an imaginary one.
(2) Of Donne's relations with Elizabeth Stanley, who in 1603 became the Countess of Huntingdon, his biographers have not been able to tell us very much. He must have met her at the house of Sir Thomas Egerton when her mother, the dowager Countess of Derby, married that statesman in 1600. Donne says:
I was your Prophet in your yonger dayes, And now your Chaplaine, God in you to praise.
(p. 203, ll. 69-70.)
Donne's friend, Sir Henry Goodyere, seems to have had relations with her either directly or through her first cousin, the Countess of Bedford, for Donne writes to him from Mitcham, 'I remember that about this time you purpose a journey to fetch, or meet the Lady _Huntington_.' This fact lends support to the view of Mr. Chambers and Mr. Gosse that she is 'the Countesse' referred to in the following extract from a letter to Goodyere, which has an important bearing on the poem under consideration. Very unfortunately it is not dated, and Mr. Chambers and Mr. Gosse differ widely as to the year in which it may have been written. The latter places it in April, 1615, when Donne was on the eve of taking Orders, and was approaching his noble patronesses for help in clearing himself of debt. But Mr. Chambers points to the closing reference to 'a Christning at _Peckam_', and dates the letter 1605-6, when Donne was at Peckham after leaving Pyrford and before settling at Mitcham. I am not sure that this is conclusive, for in Donne's unsettled life before 1615 Mrs. Donne might at any time have gone for her lying-in or for a christening festival to the house of her sister Jane, Lady Grimes, at Peckham. But the tone of the letter, melancholy and reflective, is that of the letters to Goodyere written at Mitcham, and the general theme of the letter, a comparison of the different Churches, is that of other letters of the same period. The one in question (_Letters_ 1651, p. 100; Gosse, _Life_, ii. 77) seems to be almost a continuation of another (_Letters_, 1651, p. 26; Gosse, _Life_, i. 225). Whatever be its date, this is what Donne says: 'For the other part of your Letter, spent in the praise of the Countesse, I am always very apt to beleeve it of her, and can never beleeve it so well, and so reasonably, as now, when it is averred by you; but for the expressing it to her, in that sort as you seeme to counsaile, I have these two reasons to decline it. That that knowledge which she hath of me, was in the beginning of a graver course then of a Poet, into which (that I may also keep my dignity) I would not seeme to relapse. The Spanish proverb informes me, that he is a fool which cannot make one Sonnet, and he is mad which makes two. The other strong reason is my integrity to the other Countesse' (i.e. probably the Countess of Bedford. The words which follow seem to imply a more recent acquaintance than is compatible with so late a date as 1615), 'of whose worthinesse though I swallowed your words, yet I have had since an explicit faith, and now a knowledge: and for her delight (since she descends to them) I had reserved not only all the verses which I should make, but all the thoughts of womens worthinesse. But because I hope she will not disdain, that I should write well of her Picture, I have obeyed you thus far as to write; but intreat you by your friendship, that by this occasion of versifying, I be not traduced, nor esteemed light in that Tribe, and that house where I have lived. If those reasons which moved you to bid me write be not constant in you still, or if you meant not that I should write verses; or if these verses be too bad, or too good, over or under her understanding, and not fit; I pray receive them as a companion and supplement of this Letter to you,' &c. If this was written in 1615 it is incompatible with the fact (supposing the poem under consideration to be by Donne) that he had already written to the Countess of Huntingdon a letter in a very thinly disguised tone of amatory compliment. If, however, it was written, as is probable, earlier, the reference may be to this very poem. Perhaps Goodyere thought it 'over or under' the Countess's understanding and did not present it.
(3) Certainly, looking at the poem itself, one has difficulty in declaring it to be, or not to be, Donne's work. Its metaphysical wit and strain of high-flown, rarefied compliment suggest that only he could have written it; in parts, on the other hand, the tone does not seem to me to be his. It is certainly very different from that of the other letters to noble ladies. It carries one back to the date of the _Elegies_. If Donne's, it is a further striking proof how much of the tone of a lover even a married poet could assume in addressing a noble patroness. Would Donne at any time of his life write to the Countess of Huntingdon in the vein of p. 418, ll. 21-36, or the next paragraph, ll. 37-76? One could imagine the Earl of Pembroke, or some one on a level of equality socially with the Countess, writing so; not a dependent addressing a patroness. The only points of style and verse which might serve as clues are (1) the peculiar use of 'young', e.g. l. 84 'youngest flatteries', l. 13 'younger formes'. With which compare in the _Letter_ to Wotton, here added, at p. 188:
Ere sicknesses attack, yong death is best.
(2) A recurring pattern of line to which Sir Walter Raleigh drew my attention:
35. Who first looked sad, griev'd, pin'd, and shew'd his pain. 61. Love is wise here, keeps home, gives reason sway. 88. You are the straight line, thing prais'd, attribute. 113. Such may have eye and hand, may sigh, may speak.
I have not found this pattern elsewhere, and indeed the versification throughout seems to me unlike that of Donne. Donne's decasyllabic couplets have two quite distinctive patterns. The one is that of the _Satyres_. In these the logical or rhetorical scheme runs right across the metrical scheme--that is, the sense overflows from line to line, and the pauses come regularly inside the line. A good example is the paragraph beginning at p. 156, l. 65.
Graccus loves all as one, &c.
In the _Elegies_ and in the _Letters_ the structure is not so irregular and unmusical, but is periodic or paragraphic, i.e. the lines do not fall into couplets but into larger groups knit together by a single sentence or some closely connected sentences, the full meaning or emphasis being well sustained to the close. Good examples are _Elegie I._ ll. 1 to 16, _Elegie IV._ ll. 13 to 26, _Elegie V._ l. 5 to the end, _Elegie VIII._ ll. 1 to 34. Excellent examples are also the letter _To the Countesse of Salisbury_ and the _Hymn to the Saints and the Marquesse Hamylton_. Each of these is composed of three or four paragraphs at the most. Now in the poem under consideration there are two, or three at the most, paragraphs which suggest Donne's manner, viz. ll. 1 to 10, ll. 11 to 16, and ll. 37 to 46. But the rest of the poem is almost monotonously regular in its couplet structure. To my mind the poem is not unlike what Rudyard might have written. Indeed a fine piece of verse by Rudyard, belonging to the dialogue between him and the Earl of Pembroke on Love and Reason, is attributed to Donne in several manuscripts. The question is an open one, but had I realized in time the weakness of the positive external evidence I should not have moved the poem. I have been able to improve the text materially.
With regard to the _Elegie on Mistris Boulstred_ (18 on the list) I cannot expect readers to accept at once the conjecture I have ventured to put forward regarding the authorship, for I have changed my own mind regarding it. Two Elegies, both perhaps on Mris. Boulstred, Donne certainly did write, viz.
Death I recant, and say, unsaid by mee What ere hath slip'd, that might diminish thee;
and another, entitled _Death_, beginning
Language thou art too narrow, and too weake To ease us now; great sorrow cannot speake.
Both of these are attributed to Donne by quite a number of manuscripts and are very characteristic of his poetry in this kind, highly charged with ingenious wit and extravagant eulogy. It is worth noting that in the Hawthornden MS. the second bears no title (it is signed 'J. D.'), and that it is not included in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_. It is certainly Donne's; it is not quite certain that it was written on Mris. Boulstred. Indeed, as I have pointed out elsewhere, the reference to Judith in a verse letter which seems to have been sent to Lady Bedford with the poem, and the tenor of the poem, suggest that Lady Markham is the subject of the elegy. Jonson, in speaking of Mris. Boulstred, says, 'whose Epitaph Done made,' which points to a single poem; but he may have been speaking loosely, or be loosely reported.
In contrast to these two elegies that beginning 'Death be not proud' is found in only five manuscripts, _B_, _H40_, _O'F_, _P_, _RP31_. Of these _H40_ and _RP31_ are really one, and in them the poem is not ascribed to Donne. In two others, _O'F_ and _P_, the poem is given in a very interesting and suggestive manner, viz. as a continuation of 'Death I recant'. What this suggests is the fairly obvious fact that the second poem is to some extent a reply to the first. 'Death I recant' is answered by 'Death be not proud'. If _O'F_ and _P_ are right in their arrangement, then Donne answers himself. Beginning in one mood, he closes in another; from a mood which is almost rebellious he passes to one of Christian resignation. This was the view I put forward in a note to the Cambridge _History of Literature_ (iv. 216). I had hardly, however, sent off my proofs before I felt that there was more than one objection to this view. There is in the first place nothing to show that 'Death I recant' is not a poem complete in itself; there is no preparation for the recantation. In the second place, 'Death be not proud' is as a poem slighter in texture, vaguer in thought, in feeling more sentimental and pious, than Donne's own _Epicedes_. Whoever wrote it had a warmer feeling for Mris. Boulstred than underlies Donne's rather frigid hyperboles. This suggested to me that the poem was indeed an answer to 'Death I recant', but by another person, another member of Lady Bedford's entourage. In this mood I came on the ascription in _H40_, viz. 'By C. L. of B.' This indicated no one whom I knew; but in _RP31_ it appeared as 'By L. C. of B.,' i.e. Lucy, Countess of Bedford. We know that the Countess did write verses, for Donne refers to them. In a letter which Mr. Gosse dates 1609 (Gosse's _Life_, &c., i. 217; _Letters_, 1651, p. 67) he speaks of some verses written to himself: 'They must needs be an excellent exercise of your wit, which speak so well of so ill.' That the Countess of Bedford could have written 'Death be not proud', we cannot prove in the absence of other examples of her work; that if she could she did, is very likely. She had probably asked Donne for some verses on the death of her friend. He replied with 'Death I recant'. The tone, which if not pagan is certainly not Christian, while it is untouched by any real feeling for the subject of the elegy, displeased her, and she replied in lines at once more ardent and more resigned. At any rate, whether by Lady Bedford or not, the poem is not like Donne's work, and the external evidence is against its being his. _B_ attributes it to 'F. B.', i.e. Francis Beaumont. It is right, on the other hand, to point out that Donne opens one of the _Holy Sonnets_ with the exclamation used here:
Death be not proud!
I have left the question of authorship an open one. Personally I cannot bring myself to think that it is Donne's.
The sonnet _On the Blessed Virgin Mary_ (19 on the list), 'In that O Queene of Queenes, thy birth was free,' is included among Donne's poems in _1635_ and in _B_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_. There is little doubt that it is not Donne's but Henry Constable's. It is found in a series of Spiritual Sonnets by H. C., in Harl. MS. 7553, f. 41, which were first published by T. Park in _Heliconia_, ii. 1815, and unless all of these are to be given to Donne this cannot. It is not in his style, and Donne more than once denies the Immaculate Conception in the full Catholic sense of the doctrine. Nothing could more expressly contradict this sonnet than the lines in the _Second Anniversarie_:
Where thou shalt see the blessed Mother-maid Joy in not being that, which men have said. Where she is exalted more for being good, Then for her interest of Mother-hood.
Of the next three poems (20, 21, 22 on the list), the second, the _Ode_ beginning 'Vengeance will sit above our faults', seems to me very doubtful, although on second thoughts I have re-transferred it from the Appendix to the place among the _Divine Poems_ which it occupies in _1635_. Against its authenticity are the following considerations: (1) It is not at all in the style of Donne's other specifically religious poems. The elevated, stoical tone is more like Jonson's occasional religious pieces than Donne's personal, tormented, Scholastic _Divine Poems_. (2) Of the manuscripts in which it appears, _B_, _Cy_, _H40_, _RP31_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, the best, _RP31_, assigns it, not to Donne, but to 'Sir Edward Herbert', i.e. Lord Herbert of Cherbury.[17] Mr. Chambers, indeed, inadvertently stated that in this manuscript 'it is said to have been written to George Herbert'. The name 'Sr Edw. Herbert' is written beside the poem, and that in such cases is meant to indicate the author of the poem. It seems to me quite possible that it was written by Lord Herbert, but until more evidence be forthcoming I have let it stand, because (1) the letters 'I. D.' printed after the poem show that the poem must have been so initialled in the manuscript from which it was printed, and (2) because, though not in the style of Donne's later religious poems, it is somewhat in the style of the philosophical, stoical letter which Donne addressed to Sir Edward Herbert at the siege of Juliers in 1610. The poem was possibly composed at the same time. (3) The thought of the last verse, our ignorance of ourselves, recurs in Donne's poems and prose. Compare _Negative Love_ (p. 66):
If any who deciphers best, What we know not, our selves,
and the passage quoted in the note to this poem.
The poem _Upon the translation of the Psalmes by Sir Philip Sydney, and the Countesse of Pembroke his Sister_, if by Donne, was probably written late in his life and never widely circulated. It occurred to me that the author might be John Davies of Hereford, who was a dependent of the Countess and her two sons, and who made a calligraphic copy of the _Psalms_ of Sidney and his sister, from which they were printed by Singer in 1823. But Professor Saintsbury considers, I think justly, that the 'wit' of the opening lines,
Eternall God (for whom who ever dare Seeke new expressions, doe the Circle square, And thrust into strait corners of poore wit Thee who art cornerlesse and infinite),
is above Davies' level, and indeed the whole poem is. The lines _To Mr. Tilman after he had taken orders_ (22 on the list) were also probably privately communicated to the person to whom they were addressed. The best argument for their genuineness is that Walton seems to quote from them when he describes Donne's preaching.
For they doe As Angels out of clouds, from Pulpits speake,
must have suggested 'always preaching to himself, like an angel from a cloud, but in none'. This does not, however, carry us very far. Walton had seen the editions of 1635 and 1639 before he wrote these lines in 1640.
The verse _On the Sacrament_ (23 on the list) is probably assigned to Donne by a pure conjecture. It is very frequently attributed to Queen Elizabeth.
Of the two poems added in _1649_ the lines _Upon Mr. Thomas Coryats Crudities_ are of course Donne's. They appeared with his name in his lifetime, and Donne is one of the friends mentioned by Coryat in his letters from India. _The Token_ (4 on the list) may or may not be Donne's. It is found in several, but no very good, manuscripts. Its wit is quite in Donne's style, though not absolutely beyond the compass of another. The poems which the younger Donne added in _1650_ are in much the same position. 'He that cannot chose but love' (5 on the list) is a trifle, whoever wrote it. 'The heavens rejoice in motion' (10 on the list) is in a much stronger strain of paradox, and if not Donne's is by an ambitious and witty disciple. If genuine, it is strange that it did not find its way into more collections. It is found in _A10_, where a few of Donne's poems are given with others by Roe, Hoskins, and other wits of his circle. It is also, however, given in _JC_, a manuscript containing in its first part few poems that are not demonstrably genuine. As things stand, the balance of evidence is in favour of Donne's authorship.
Besides the _Elegies XVIII_ and _XIX_, which are Donne's, as we have seen, and the _Satyre_ 'Sleep next Society', which is not Donne's, the edition of 1669 prefixed to the song _Breake of Day_ a fresh stanza:
Stay, O sweet, and do not rise.
It appears in the same position in _S96_, but is given as a separate poem in _A25_, _C_, _O'F_, and _P_. It certainly has no connexion with Donne's poem, for the metre is entirely different and the strain of the poetry less metaphysical.
The separate stanza was a favourite one in Song-Books of the seventeenth century. It was printed apparently for the first time in 1612, in _The First Set of Madrigals and Motets of five Parts: apt for Viols and Voices. Newly composed by Orlando Gibbons_. Here it begins
Ah, deare hart why doe you rise?
In the same year it was printed in _A Pilgrimes Solace. Wherein is contained Musicall Harmonie of 3, 4 and 5 parts, to be sung and plaid with the Lute and Viols. By John Dowland._ The stanza begins
Sweet stay awhile, why will you rise?
Mr. Chambers conjectures that the affixing of Dowland's initials to the verse in some collection led to Donne being credited with it, which is quite likely; but we are not sure that Dowland wrote it, and the common theme appears to have drawn the poems together. In _The Academy of Complements, Wherein Ladies, Gentlewomen, Schollers, and Strangers may accomodate their Courtly practice with gentile Ceremonies, Complemental amorous high expressions, and Formes of speaking or writing of Letters most in fashion_ (1650) the verse is connected with a variation of the first stanza of Donne's poem so as to make a consistent song:
Lie still, my dear, why dost thou 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. 'Tis time, 'tis day, what if it be? Wilt thou therefore arise from me? Did we lie down because of night, And shall we rise for fear of light? No, since in darkness we came hither, In spight of light we'll lye together. Oh! let me dye on thy sweet breast Far sweeter than the Phœnix nest.
It was probably some such combination as this which suggested to the editor of _1669_ to prefix the stanza to Donne's poem. The poem in _The Academy of Compliments_ was repeated in _Wits Interpreter, the English Parnassus, a sure guide to those Admirable Accomplishments that compleat our English Gentry in the most acceptable Qualifications of Discourse or Writing_ (1655). But the first stanza is given again in this collection as a separate poem.
The translation of the _Psalme 137_, which was inserted in _1633_ and never withdrawn (as the _Epitaph on Shakespeare_ was) is pretty certainly not by Donne. The only manuscript which ascribes it to him is _A25_ followed by _C_. On the other hand it is assigned to Francis Davison, editor of the _Poetical Rhapsody_, in _RP61_ (Bodleian Library). In one manuscript, Addl. MS. 27407, the poem is accompanied with a letter, unsigned and undirected, which speaks of this as one out of several translations made by the author. The handwriting and style of the letter are not Donne's, but the letter explains why this one Psalm is found floating around by itself. It was, the translator says, a freer paraphrase than the others. Apparently it proved a favourite.
When one turns from the poems attributed to Donne in the old editions to those which some of the more recent editors have added, one launches into a sea which I have no intention of attempting to navigate in its entirety. Both Sir John Simeon and Dr. Grosart were disposed to cry 'Eureka' too readily, and assigned to Donne a number of poems culled from various manuscripts for the genuineness of which there is no evidence external or internal. I shall confine my remarks to the few poems I have myself incorporated for the first time in an edition of Donne's poems; to the Song 'Absence hear my protestation', which it is now the fashion to ascribe to Donne absolutely, letting evidence 'go hang'; and to the four poems which Mr. Chambers printed from _A25_. I have added some more in my Appendix C, because they are interesting [Greek: adespota] illustrative of the influence in seventeenth-century poetry of Donne's realistic passion and his paradoxical wit.
Of the poems which appear here for the first time in a collected edition, it is not necessary to say much of those which are taken from _W_, the Westmoreland MS. now in the possession of Mr. Gosse, who with the greatest and most spontaneous kindness has permitted me to print them all. These include two Epigrams, four additional Letters, and three Holy Sonnets. The Epigrams, the Holy Sonnets, and two of the Letters have been already printed by Mr. Gosse in his _Life of John Donne_, 1899. There can be no doubt of their genuineness. They enlarge a series of Letters and a series of Sonnets which appear in _1633_ and in all the best manuscript collections. In their arrangement I have followed _W_ in preference to _1633_, which is based on _A18_, _N_, _TC_. Of the letter taken from the Burley MS. there may be greater doubt in some minds. To me it seems unquestionably Donne's (aut Donne aut Diabolus), an addition to the series of letters which he wrote to Sir Henry Wotton between the return of the Islands Expedition and Essex's return from Ireland. The Burley MS. is a commonplace-book of Wotton's and includes poems which we know as Donne's, e.g. 'Come, Madam, come'; some of his Paradoxes with a covering letter; other letters which from their substance and style seem to be Donne's; and a number of poems, including this which alone of all the doubtful poems in the manuscript is initialled 'J. D.' The manuscript contains work by Donne. Does this come under that head? Only internal evidence can decide. Of the other poems in the manuscript, most of which I print in Appendix C, none are certainly Donne's.
'Absence heare my protestation' was printed in Donne's lifetime in Davison's _A Poetical Rhapsody_ (1602, 1608, 1621), but with no reference to Donne's authorship, although his name was yearly growing a more popular hostel for wandering, unclaimed poems.[18] It was not printed in any edition of his poems from _1633_ to _1719_. It is not found in either of the most trustworthy manuscript collections, _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, or _A18_, _N_, _TC_. It _is_ found in _B_, _Cy_, _L74_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_, but none of these can be counted an authority. In 1711 it was for the first time ascribed to Donne in _The Grove_, a miscellaneous collection of poems, on the authority of 'an old Manuscript of Sir John Cotton's of Stratton in Huntington-Shire'. On the other hand, in one well authenticated manuscript, _HN_, it is transcribed by William Drummond of Hawthornden from what he describes as a collection of poems 'belonging to John Don' (not '_by_ Donne'), and, with another poem, is initialled 'J. H.' That other poem called
_His Melancholy._
Love is a foolish melancholy, &c.,
is by a Manchester manuscript (Farmer-Chetham MS., ed. Grosart, _Chetham Society Publications_, lxxxix, xc) assigned to 'Mr. Hoskins', and in another manuscript (_A10_) it is signed 'H' with the left leg of H so written as to suggest JH run together. Clearly at any rate the _onus probandi_ lies with those who say the poem is by Donne. Internally it has never seemed to me so since I came to know Donne well. The metaphysical, subtle strain is like Donne, as it is in _Soules Joy_, but here as there (though there is more feeling in _Absence_, the closing line has a very Donne-like note of sudden anguish, 'and so miss her') the tone is airier, the prosody more tripping. The stressed syllables are less weighted emotionally and vocally. Compare
Sweetest love, I do not goe, For wearinesse of thee Nor in hope the world can show A fitter Love for me;
or
Draw not up seas to drowne me in thy spheare, Weepe me not dead, in thine armes, but forbeare To teach the sea, what it may doe too soone;
with the more tripping measure, in which one touches the stressed syllables as with tiptoe, of
By absence this good means I gaine, That I can catch her Where none can watch her, In some close corner of my braine.
There are more of Hoskins' poems extant, but the manuscript volume of poems which he left behind ('bigger than those of Dr. Donne') was lost in 1653.
Four poems were first printed as Donne's by Mr. Chambers (op. cit., Appendix B). They are all found in Addl. MS. 25707 (_A25_), and, so far as I know, there only. I have placed them first in Appendix C, as the only pieces in that Appendix which are at all likely to be by Donne. _A25_ is a manuscript written in a number of different hands, some six within the portion that includes poems by Donne. The relative age of these it would be impossible to assign with any confidence. What looks the oldest (I may call it A) is used only for three poems, viz. Donne's _Elegye_: 'What [_sic_] that in Color it was like thy haire,' his _Obsequies Upon the Lord Harrington yt last died_, and the _Elegie of Loves progresse_. It is in Elizabethan secretary's hand, and seems to me identical with the writing in which the same poems are copied in C, the Cambridge University Library MS. A second hand, B, inserts the larger number of the poems unquestionably by Donne in close succession, but a third hand, C, transcribes several by Donne along with poems by other wits, as Francis Beaumont. A fourth hand, D, seems to be the latest because it is the handwriting in which the Index was made out, and the poems inserted in this hand are inserted in odd spaces left by the other writers. Now of the poems in question, one, _A letter written by S^{r} H: G: and J. D. alternis vicibus_, is copied by D, and the same hand adds immediately _An Elegie on the Death of my never enough Lamented master King Charles the First_, by Henry Skipwith. The poem attributed to Donne was therefore not entered here till after 1649. But of course it may have come from an older source, and it has quite the appearance of being genuine. Whoever made the collection would seem to have had access to some of Goodyere's work, for this poem is almost immediately preceded by an _Epithalamion of the Princess Mariage_, by S^{r} H. G., and a little earlier the _Good Friday_ poem by Donne is headed _Mr J. Dun goeing from Sir H. G. on good friday sent him back this Meditacon on the waye_. That reads like a note by Goodyere himself. If this be what happened, the copyist may have ascribed to Donne some of Goodyere's own verses. Certainly there is nothing in the other three poems, 'O Fruitful garden,' 'Fie, fie, you sons of Pallas,' 'Why chose she black' (all in the handwriting C) which would warrant our ascribing them to Donne. Later in the collection a coarse poem, 'Why should not Pilgrims to thy body come,' in a fifth hand, is signed J. D., but _P_ assigns it to F. B., and it is more in Beaumont's style. Poems by and on Beaumont occupy a considerable space in _A25_. He is a quite possible candidate for the authorship of some of the poems assigned to Donne in the hand C.
Mr. Hazlitt attributes to Donne (_General Index to Hazlitt's Handbook, &c._, p. 228) a Funeral Elegie on the death of Philip Stanhope, who died at Christ Church in 1625. I have not been able to find the volume in which it appears; but, as it is said to be by John Donne _Alumnus_, the author must be the younger Donne.
[Footnote 1: Mr. Chambers has reprinted a good many of these, but only in an Appendix and under the title of _Doubtful Poems_. He has added a few more from _A25_, from _Coryats Crudities_, and from some manuscripts in the Bodleian Library. If printed at all it is a pity that these poems were not reproduced more correctly. Textually the appendices are much the worst part of Mr. Chambers' edition. In most cases he has, I presume, taken the poems over as they stand from Simeon and Grosart.]
[Footnote 2: All three editors have also dropped the song 'Deare Love continue nice and chaste', David Laing having pointed out (_Archaeologia Scotica_, iv. 73-6) that this poem occurs in the Hawthornden MSS, with the signature 'J. R.' Chambers also rejects the sonnet _On the Blessed Virgin Mary_, probably by Henry Constable, and all three editors exclude the lines _On the Sacrament_.]
[Footnote 3: I have given with each poem a list of the editions and manuscripts (known to me) in which it is contained. A glance at these will show the weight of the external evidence. Of internal evidence every man must be judge for himself.]
[Footnote 4: To these must of course be added poems already published in Donne's name. See II. lvi.]
[Footnote 5: In F. G. Waldron's _A Collection of Miscellaneous Poetry_. 1802.]
[Footnote 6: Chambers includes it in his Appendix A, _Doubtful Poems_, but seems to lean to the view that it is by Roe. The second is printed as Donne's by Grosart and as presumably Donne's by Chambers.]
[Footnote 7: In _O'F_ and _S_, where they also occur, they are more dispersed; but these manuscripts have, like _1635_, adopted a classification of the poems they contain which involves their distribution as songs, elegies, letters and satires. _A10_ is the most significant witness. This manuscript contains very few poems by Donne. Why should it select just this suspicious group?]
[Footnote 8: Among the marriage licences granted by the Bishop of London in 1601 (_Harleian Society Publications_) is the following: 'Henry Sackford the younger, of the Charter House, Gent; 27, father dead, and Sarah Rowe of St Johns in St John's Street, co. Middlesex, Maiden, dau. of John Rowe of Clapham, Beds, Esq. decd (i.e. deceas'd) about 9 years since,' &c.]
[Footnote 9: See the genealogies given in the _Harleian Society Publications_, vol. xiii, 1878, from the _Visitation of Essex_ 1612 (pp. 282-3) and the _Visitation of Essex_ 1634 (p. 479).]
[Footnote 10: The oldest was the John Rowe of Clapham, Beds. The second, Henry, was also Mayor of London and was knighted in 1603. The fourth, Robert, was the father of the ambassador, and died while his son was a child. There were two daughters--Mary, who married Thomas Randall, and Elizabeth, who married William Garret of Dorney, co. Bucks. The son of the latter couple was Donne's intimate friend George Gerrard or Garrard.]
[Footnote 11: Row, John, of Essex. arm. matric. 14 Oct., 1597, aged 16. (Joseph Foster, _Alumni Oxonienses_, iii, 1284). The Provost of Queen's has kindly informed me that in the College books his name is entered simply as 'Rowe' and as having entered 'Ter. Mich. 1597'. He tells me further that in Andrew Clark's edition of the University Matriculation Registers it is stated that the date of his matriculation was between Oct. 14 and Dec. 2, 1597. There can be no doubt, I think, that this is our Roe. There are not likely to have been two in the County of Essex with the right to be called 'armiger'. Had his father still lived he would have been entered as 'fil. gen.' or 'fil. arm.']
[Footnote 12: _Hist. MSS. Com._: _Buccleugh MSS._ (Montague House), vol. i, pp. 56, 58. The letters are dated May 13, Nov. 7.]
[Footnote 13: _Calendar of State Papers._ Ireland, 1606-8, p. 538. I owe this and the last reference to Mr. Murray L. R. Beavan, University Assistant in History, Aberdeen University.]
[Footnote 14: Other poems by Pembroke are found in the manuscript collections of Donne's poems. A scholarly edition of the poems of Pembroke and Rudyard would be a boon. Many ascribed to them by the younger Donne in his edition of 1660 could be removed and others added from manuscript sources.]
[Footnote 15: It is one of the worst printed in _1635_ and _1669_ (where it first appeared in full), and has admitted of many emendations from the manuscripts. Grosart has already introduced some from the Hazlewood-Kingsborough MS., but he left some gross errors. In the lines,
That I may grow enamoured on your mind, When my own thoughts I there reflected find,
all the three modern editions are content still to read,
When my own thoughts I there neglected find
--a strange reason for being enamoured. Some difficult and perhaps corrupt lines still remain.]
[Footnote 16: In forming this Appendix it was not my intention to remove these poems dogmatically from under the aegis of Donne's name. I wished rather to separate them from those which are indubitably his and facilitate comparison. Further evidence may show that I have erred as to one or other. This letter is the only one about which I feel any doubt myself. I have taken as much trouble with their text as with the rest of the poems.]
[Footnote 17: _H40_ has no ascription. In the poem just discussed the ascription made correctly, at least intelligibly, in _RP31_, was transposed in _H40_. This must be the later collection. See II. p. cxiv.]
[Footnote 18: _Absence_ is printed, again unsigned, in _Wit Restored in severall Select Poems not formerly published_. (1658.)]
* * * * *
Commentary.
COMMENTARY.
[Sidenote: _Metaphysical Poetry._]
Donne is a 'metaphysical' poet. The term was perhaps first applied by Dryden, from whom Johnson borrowed it: 'He' (Donne) 'affects the metaphysics, not only in his satires, but in his amorous verses, where nature only should reign; and perplexes the minds of the fair sex with the speculations of philosophy, where he should engage their hearts, and entertain them with the softness of love.' _Essay on Satire_. 'The metaphysical poets were men of learning, and to show their learning was their whole endeavour.' Johnson, _Life of Cowley_. The parade of learning, and a philosophical or abstract treatment of love had been a strain in mediaeval poetry from the outset, manifesting itself most fully in the Tuscan poets of the 'dolce stil nuovo', but never altogether absent from mediaeval love-poetry. The Italian poet Testi (1593-1646), describing his choice of classical in preference to Italian models (he is thinking specially of Marino), says: 'poichè lasciando quei concetti metafisici ed ideali di cui sono piene le poesie italiane, mi sono provato di spiegare cose più domestiche, e di maneggiarle con effetti più famigliari a imitazione d'Ovidio, di Tibullo, di Properzio, e degli altri migliori.' Donne's love-poetry is often classical in spirit; his conceits are the 'concetti metafisici' of mediaeval poetry given a character due to his own individuality and the scientific interests of his age.
A metaphysical poet in the full sense of the word is a poet who finds his inspiration in learning; not in the world as his own and common sense reveal it, but in the world as science and philosophy report of it. The two greatest metaphysical poets of Europe are Lucretius and Dante. What the philosophy of Epicurus was to Lucretius, that of Thomas Aquinas was to Dante. Their poetry is the product of their learning, transfigured by the imagination, and it is not to be understood without some study of their thought and knowledge.
Donne is not a metaphysical poet of the compass of Lucretius and Dante. He sets forth in his poetry no ordered system of the universe. The ordered system which Dante had set forth was breaking in pieces while Donne lived, under the criticism of Copernicus, Galileo, and others, and no poet was so conscious as Donne of the effect on the imagination of that disintegration. In the two _Anniversaries_ mystical religion is made an escape from scientific scepticism. Moreover, Donne's use of metaphysics is often frivolous and flippant, at best simply poetical. But he is a learned poet, and he is a philosophical poet, and without some attention to the philosophy and science underlying his conceits and his graver thought it is impossible to understand or appreciate either aright. Failure to do so has led occasionally to the corruption of his text.
[Sidenote: _Donne's Learning._]
Walton tells us that Donne's learning, in his eleventh year when he went to Oxford, 'made one then give this censure of him, "That this age had brought forth another Picus Mirandula; of whom story says that he was rather born than made wise by study."' 'In the most unsettled days of his youth', the same authority reports, 'his bed was not able to detain him beyond the hour of four in the morning; and it was no common business that drew him out of his chamber till past ten; all which time was employed in study; though he took great liberty after it.' 'He left the resultances of 1,400 authors, most of them abridged and analysed with his own hand.' The lists of authors prefixed to his prose treatises and the allusions and definite references in the sermons corroborate Walton's statement regarding the range of Donne's theological and controversial reading.
[Sidenote: _Classical Literature._]
Confining attention here to Donne's poetry, and the spontaneous evidence of learning which it affords, one would gather that his reading was less literary and poetic in character than was Milton's during the years spent at Horton. It is clear that he knew the classical poets, but there are few specific allusions. Ovid, Horace, and Juvenal one can trace, not any other with certainty, nor in his sermons do references to Virgil, Horace, or other poets abound.
[Sidenote: _Italian._]
Like Milton, Donne had doubtless read the Italian romances. One reference to Angelica and an incident in the _Orlando Furioso_ occur in the _Satyres_, and from the same source as well as from an unpublished letter we learn that he had read Dante. Aretino is the only other Italian to whom he makes explicit reference.
[Sidenote: _French._]
One of Régnier's satires opens in a manner resembling the fourth of Donne's, and in a letter written from France apparently in 1612 he refers to 'a book of French Satires', which Mr. Gosse conjectures to be Régnier's. The resemblance may be accidental, for Donne's _Satyres_ were written before the publication of Régnier's (1608, 1613), and Donne makes no explicit mention of him or any other French poet. We learn, however, from his letters that he had read Montaigne and Rabelais; and it is improbable that he did not share the general interest of his contemporaries in the poetry of the _Pléiade_. The one poet to whom recent criticism has pointed as the inspiration of Donne's metaphysical verse is the Protestant poet Du Bartas. Mr. Alfred Horatio Upham (_The French Influence in English Literature._ New York, 1908), and following him Sir Sidney Lee (_The French Renaissance in England._ Oxford, 1910), have insisted strongly on the importance of this influence. The latter goes so far as to say that 'Donne clothed elegies, eclogues, divine poems, epicedes, obsequies, satires, in a garb barely distinguishable from the style of Du Bartas and Sylvester', and that the metaphysical style in English poetry is a heritage from Du Bartas.
I confess this seems to me a somewhat exaggerated statement. When I turn from Donne's passionate and subtle songs and elegies to Sylvester's hum-drum and yet 'conceited' work, I find their styles eminently distinguishable. Mr. Upham indeed allows that Donne's genius makes 'vital and impressive' what in the original is 'vapid and commonplace'. He pleads for no more than an 'element of French suggestion'.
Of the most characteristic features of Du Bartas's rhetoric, his affected antitheses, his studied alliterative effects, and especially his double-epithets 'aime-carnage', 'charme-souci', 'blesse-honneur', Sylvester's 'forbidden-Bit-lost-glory', 'the Act-simply-pure', &c., Mr. Upham admits that Donne makes sparing use. Donne uses a fair number of compounds but the majority of these are nouns and verbs. Of the epithets only one or two are of the sentence-compressing character which the French poet cultivated. The most like is 'full-on-both-side-written rolls'. The real link between Du Bartas and Donne is that they are metaphysical poets. Following Lucretius, whom he often translates, the Frenchman set himself to give a scientific account of the creation of the universe as outlined in _Genesis_. He describes with the utmost minuteness of detail, and necessarily uses similes better fitted to elucidate and illustrate than to give poetic pleasure, drawn from the most everyday sources as well as arts and sciences. It was part of the programme of the _Pléiade_ thus to annex the vocabulary of learning and the crafts. Now Donne may have read Du Bartas in the original, or he may have seen some parts of Sylvester's translation (it did not appear till 1598), as it was in preparation, though to a Catholic, as Donne was, the poem would not have the attraction it had for Protestant poets in England, Holland, and Germany. The bent of his own mind was to metaphysics, to erudition, and also to figures realistic and surprising rather than beautiful. It would be rash to deny that he may have found in Du Bartas a style which he preferred to the Italianate picturesqueness of sonneteers and idyllists, and been encouraged to follow his bent. That he borrowed his style from Du Bartas is _non proven_: and there are in his work strains of feeling, thought, and learning which cannot be traced to the French poet. Two poets more essentially unlike it would be difficult to imagine. There are very few passages where one can trace or conjecture echoes or borrowings (see note, II. p. 193). I agree indeed with Mr. Upham that the poems which most strongly suggest that Donne had been reading Du Bartas are the First and Second _Anniversaries_, which Sir Sidney Lee inadvertently calls early poems. Here at least he is often dealing with the same themes. One can illustrate his thought from Du Bartas. Perhaps it was the latter's poem which suggested the use of marginal notes, giving the argument of the poem.
[Sidenote: _Spanish._]
We know from Donne's explicit statement that his library was full both of Spanish poets and Spanish theologians, and there has been some talk of Spanish influence in his poetry. But no one has adduced evidence. Gongora is out of the question, for Gongora did not begin to cultivate the extravagant conceits of his later poetry till he came under the influence of Carillo's posthumous poems in 1611 (Fitzmaurice Kelly: _Spanish Literature_, 283-5); nor is there much resemblance between his high-flown Marinism and Donne's metaphysical subtleties. It is possible that Spanish mysticism and religious eloquence have left traces in Donne's _Divine Poems_ and sermons. The subject awaits investigation.
[Sidenote: _Scholastic Philosophy._]
A commentator on Donne is, therefore, not called on to trace literary echoes in his poetry as Bishop Newton and others have done in Milton's poems. It is reading of another kind, though a kind also traceable in Milton, that he has to note. Donne was steeped in Scholastic Philosophy and Theology. Often under his most playful conceits lurk Scholastic definitions and distinctions. The question of the influence of Plato on the poets of the Renaissance has been discussed of recent years, but generally without a sufficient preliminary inquiry as to the Scholastic inheritance of these poets. Doctrines that derive ultimately, it may be, from Plato and Aristotle were familiar to Donne and others in the first place from Aquinas and the theology of the Schools, and, as Professor Picavet has insisted (_Esquisse d'une histoire générale et comparée des philosophies médiévales._ Paris, 1907), they entered the Scholastic Philosophy through Plotinus and were modified in the passage.[1] The present editor is in no way a specialist in Scholasticism, and such notes and extracts as are given here concern passages where some inquiry was necessary to fix the text and to elucidate the meaning. They are intended simply to do this as far as possible, and to suggest the direction which further investigation must follow. An expert will doubtless note many allusions that have escaped notice. Whenever possible I have endeavoured to start from Donne's own sermons and prose works.
[Footnote 1: The influence of Scholastic Philosophy and Theology in English poetry deserves attention. When Milton states that
They also serve who only stand and wait,
he has probably in mind the opinion of Dionysius the Areopagite (adopted by Aquinas), that the four highest orders of angels (Dominations, Thrones, Cherubs, and Seraphim) never leave God's presence to bear messages.]
[Sidenote: _The Fathers, &c._]
Donne is as familiar with the Fathers as with the Schoolmen, especially Tertullian and Augustine, and of them too he makes use in poems neither serious nor edifying. His work with Morton had familiarized him with the whole range of Catholic controversy from Bellarmine to Spanish and German Jesuit pamphleteers and casuists. _The Progresse of the Soule_ reveals his acquaintance with Jewish apocryphal legends.
[Sidenote: _Law._]
But Donne's studies were not confined to Divinity. When a Law-student he was 'diverted by the worst voluptuousness, which is an hydroptic immoderate desire of humane learning and languages'; but his legal studies have left their mark in his _Songs and Sonets_. Of Medicine he had made an extensive study, and the poems abound in allusions to both the orthodox Galenist doctrines and the new Paracelsian medicine with its chemical drugs and homoeopathic cures.[2] In Physics he knows, like Milton, the older doctrines, the elements, their concentric arrangement, the origin of winds and meteors, &c., and at the same time is acutely interested in the speculations of the newer science, of Copernicus and Galileo, and the disintegrating effect of their doctrines on the traditional views.
[Footnote 2: In the _Letters to Severall Persons of Honour, &c._ (1651, 1654), pp. 14-15, Donne gives a short sketch of the history of medical doctrines from Hippocrates through Galen to Paracelsus, but declares that the new principles are attributed to the latter 'too much to his honour'.]
[Sidenote: _Travels._]
A special feature of Donne's imagery is the use of images drawn from the voyages and discoveries of the age. Sir Walter Raleigh has not included Donne among the poets whom he discusses in considering the influence of the Voyages on Poetry and Imagination (_The English Voyages of the Sixteenth Century._ Glasgow, 1906, iii), but perhaps none took a more curious interest. His mistress is 'my America, my Newfoundland', his East and West Indies; he sees, at least in imagination,
a Tenarif, or higher Hill Rise so high like a Rocke, that one might thinke The floating Moone would shipwracke there, and sinke;
he sails to heaven, the Pacific Ocean, the Fortunate Islands, by the North-West Passage, or through the Straits of Magellan.
In attempting to illustrate these and other aspects of Donne's erudition as displayed in his poetry it has been my endeavour not so much to trace them to their remote sources as to discover the form in which he was familiar with a doctrine or a theory. Next to his own works, therefore, I have had recourse to contemporary or but slightly later works, as Burton's _Anatomy of Melancholy_ and Browne's _Pseudodoxia Epidemica_. I have made constant use of the _Summa Theologiae_ of St. Thomas Aquinas, using the edition in Migne's _Patrologiae Cursus Completus_ (1845). By Professor Picavet my attention was called to Bouillet's translation of Plotinus's _Enneads_ with ample notes on the analogies to and developments of Neo-Platonic thought in the Schoolmen. I have also used Zeller's _Philosophie der Griechen_, on Plotinus, and Harnack's _History of Dogma_. Throughout, my effort has been rather to justify, elucidate, and suggest, than to accumulate parallels.
*** In the following notes the _LXXX Sermons &c._ (1640), _Fifty Sermons &c._ (1649), and _XXVI Sermons &c._ (1669/70) are referred to thus:--80. 19. 189, i.e. the _LXXX Sermons_, the nineteenth sermon, page 189. References to page and line simply of the poems are to the first volume of this edition. References to the second are given thus, II. p. 249.
THE PRINTER TO &c.
See _Text and Canon of Donne's Poems_, p. lix.
PAGE =1=, ll. 17-18. _it would have come to us from beyond the Seas_: e.g. from Holland.
ll. 19-20. _My charge and pains in procuring of it_: A significant statement as to the source of the edition.
PAGE =3=. _Hexastichon Bibliopolae._
l. 1. _his last preach'd, and printed Booke_, i.e. _Deaths Duell or a Consolation to the Soule against the dying Life and living Death of the body. Delivered in a sermon at Whitehall, before the Kings Majesty in the beginning of Lent 1630, &c. ... Being his last Sermon and called by his Majesties household the Doctors owne Funerall Sermon. 1632, 1633._
This has for frontispiece a bust of Donne in his shroud, engraved by Martin Dr[oeshout] from the drawing from which Nicholas Stone cut the figure on Donne's tomb (Gosse's _Life, &c._ ii. 288). Walton's account of the manner in which this picture was prepared is well known. See II. p. 249.
PAGE =4=. _William, Lord Craven, &c._ This is the younger Donne's dedication. See _Text and Canon, &c._, p. lxx.
William Craven (1606-1697) entered the service of Maurice, Prince of Nassau in 1623. He served later, 1631, under Gustavus Adolphus; and became a devoted adherent of Elizabeth of Bohemia and the cause of the Palatine house. He lost his estates in the Rebellion, but after the Restoration was created successively Baron Craven of Hampsted-Marsham, Viscount Craven of Uffington, and Earl of Craven. He was an early member of the Royal Society.
Of the younger John Donne, D.C.L., whose life was dissolute and poetry indecent, perhaps the most pleasing relic is the following poem addressed to his father. It is found in _O'F_ and has been printed by Mr. Warwick Bond:
A Letter.
A LETTER.
No want of duty did my mind possesse, I through a dearth of words could not expresse That w^{ch} I feare I doe too soone pursue W^{ch} is to pay my duty due to you. For, through the weaknesse of my witt, this way I shall diminish what I hope to pay. And this consider, T'was the sonne of May And not Apollo that did rule the day. Had it bin hee then somthing would have rose; In gratefull verse or else in thankfull prose I would have told you (father) by my hand That I yo^r sonne am prouder of yo^r band Then others of theyr freedome, And to pay Thinke it good service to kneele downe and pray.
Yo^r obedient sonne
Jo. Donne.
JO. DONNE.
PAGES =5, 6=. The three poems by Jonson were printed in the sheets hastily added by the younger Donne in 1650 to the edition of Donne's poems prepared for the press in 1649. See _Text and Canon, &c._ They were taken from Jonson's _Epigrams_ (1616), where they are Nos. xxiii., xciv., and xcvi. Of Donne as a poet Jonson uttered three memorable criticisms in his _Conversations with Drummond_ (ed. Laing, Shakespeare Society, 1842):
'He esteemeth John Done the first poet in the world for some things.'
'That Done for not keeping of accent deserved hanging.'
'That Done himself, for not being understood, would perish.'
SONGS AND SONETS.
Of all Donne's poems these are the most difficult to date with any definiteness. Jonson, Drummond notes, 'affirmeth Done to have written all his best pieces ere he was twenty-five years old,' that would be before 1598, the year in which Donne became secretary to Sir Thomas Egerton. This harmonizes fairly well with such indications of date as are discoverable in the _Elegies_, poems similar in theme and tone to the _Songs and Sonets_. Mr. Chambers pushes the more daring and cynical of these poems in both these groups further back. He says, 'All Donne's Love-poems ... seem to me to fall into two divisions. There is one, marked by cynicism, ethical laxity and a somewhat deliberate profession of inconstancy. This I believe to be his earliest style, and ascribe the poems marked by it to the period before 1596. About that date he became acquainted with Anne More, whom he evidently loved devotedly and sincerely ever after. And therefore from 1596 onwards I place the second division, with its emphasis of the spiritual, and deep insight into the real things of love.' This is a little too early. Anne More was only twelve years old in 1596, and it is unlikely that she and Donne were known to each other before 1598. Their affection probably ripened later. It almost seems from Donne's letters to his friends as though about 1599 he was proffering at least courtly adoration to some other lady.
Moreover, it is to conceive somewhat inadequately of Donne's complex nature to make too sharp a temporal division between his gayer, more cynical effusions and his graver, even religious pieces. The truth about Donne is well stated by Professor Norton: 'Donne's "better angel" and his "worser spirit" seem to have kept up a continual contest, now the one, now the other, gaining the mastery in his
Poor soul, the centre of his sinful earth.'
The 'evaporations' which he allowed his wit from time to time till he took orders showed always a certain 'ethical laxity' and 'cynicism' of outlook on men and women. The _Elegie XIV_ (if it be Donne's, and Mr. Chambers does not question its authenticity), the lines _Upon Mr. Thomas Coryats Crudities_, the two frankly pagan _Epithalamia_ on the Princess Elizabeth and the Countess of Somerset, to say nothing of _Ignatius his Conclave_, were all written long after his marriage and when he was already the author of moral epistles and 'divine poems'. Even Professor Norton's statement exaggerates the 'contest' a little. These things were evaporations of wit, and even a serious man in the seventeenth century allowed to his wit satyric gambols which disconcert our staider and more fastidious taste. I am quite at one with Mr. Chambers in accepting his marriage as a turning-point in the history of Donne's life and mind. But it would be rash to affirm that _none_ of his wittier lyrics were written after this date.
Donne's 'songs and sonets' seem to me to fall into three rather than two classes, though there is a good deal of overlapping. Donne's wit is always touched with passion; his passion is always witty. In the first class I would place those which are frankly 'evaporations' of more or less cynical wit, the poems in which he parades his own inconstancy or enlarges on the weaknesses of women, poems such as 'Goe and catche', _Womans constancy_, _The Indifferent_, _Loves Vsury_, _The Legacie_, _Communitie_, _Confined Love_, _Loves Alchymie_, _The Flea_, _The Message_, _Witchcraft by a picture_, _The Apparition_, _Loves Deitie_, _Loves diet_, _The Will_, _A Jeat Ring sent_, _Negative love_, _Farewell to love_. In another group the wit in Donne, whether gaily or passionately cynical, is subordinate to the lover, pure and simple, singing, at times with amazing simplicity and intensity of feeling, the joys of love and the sorrow of parting. Such are _The good-morrow_, _The Sunne Rising_, _The Canonization_, _Lovers infiniteness_, 'Sweetest love, I do not goe,' _A Feaver_, _Aire and Angells_ (touched with cynical humour at the close), _Breake of day_, _The Anniversarie_, _A Valediction: of the booke_, _Loves growth_, _The Dreame_, _A Valediction: of weeping_, _The Baite_, _A Valediction: forbidding mourning_, _The Extasie_, _The Prohibition_, _The Expiration_, _Lecture upon the Shadow_. It would, of course, be rash to say that all such poems were addressed to his wife. Some, like _The Baite_, are purely literary in origin; others present the obverse side of the passion portrayed in the first group, its happier moments. But one must believe that those in which ardour is combined with elevation and delicacy of feeling were addressed to Anne More before and after their marriage.
In the third and smallest group, which includes, however, such fine examples of his subtler moods as _The Funerall_, _The Blossome_, _The Primrose_, Donne adopts the tone (as sincerely as was generally the case) of the Petrarchian lover whose mistress's coldness has slain him or provokes his passionate protestations. Some of these must, I think, have been written after Donne's marriage. The titles one or two bear connect them with Mrs. Herbert and the Countess of Bedford. The two most enigmatical poems in the _Songs and Sonets_ are _Twicknam Garden_ and _A nocturnall upon S. Lucies day_. Yet the very names 'Twicknam Garden' and 'S. Lucies day' suggest a reference to the Countess of Bedford. It is possible that the last was written when Lady Bedford was ill in December, 1612? 'My Lady Bedford last night about one of the clock was suddenly, and has continued ever since, speechless, and is past all hopes though yet alive,' writes the Earl of Dorset on November 23, 1612. It is probable that on December 13 she was still in a critical condition, supposing the illness to have been that common complaint of an age of bad drains, namely typhoid fever, and Donne may have written in anticipation of her death. But the suggestion is hazardous. The third verse speaks a stronger language than that of Petrarchian adoration. Still it is difficult for us to estimate aright all that was allowed to a 'servant' under the accepted convention. It is noteworthy that the poem is not included in any known MS. collection made before 1630. The Countess died in 1627.
PAGE =7=. THE GOOD-MORROW.
The MSS. point to two distinct recensions of this poem. The one which is given in the group of MSS. _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, and in _1633_, reads, 3. countrey pleasures childishly 4. snorted 14. one world 17. better. The other, which is the most common in the MSS., reads, 3. childish pleasures seelily 4. slumbred 14. our world 17. fitter. The edition of 1635 shows a contamination of the two due to the fact that the printer 'set up' from _1633_, and he or the editor corrected from a MS. collection, probably _A18_, _N_, _TC_. In _TCD_ the second recension is given in the collection of Donne's poems in the first part of the MS.; in the second part, a miscellaneous collection of poems, the poem is given again, but according to the other version. It does not seem to me possible to decide absolutely the relative authority of the two versions, but to my mind that of 1633 and _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ seems the more racy and characteristic. It probably represents the first version of the poem, whether Donne or another be responsible for the alterations. The only point of importance to be decided is whether 'better' or 'fitter' expresses more exactly what the poet meant to say. The 1635 editor preferred 'fitter', thinking probably that the idea of exact correspondence is emphasized, 'where find two hemispheres that fit one another more exactly?' But this is not, I think, what Donne meant. The mutual fittingness of the lovers is implied already in the idea that each is a whole world to the other. Gazing in each other's eyes each beholds a hemisphere of this world. The whole cannot, of course, be reflected. And where could either find a _better_ hemisphere, one in which there is as here neither 'sharpe North' nor 'declining West', neither coldness nor alteration.
l. 13. _Let Maps to other._ The edition may have dropped the 's', which occurs in most of the MSS., but the plural without 's' is common even till a later period: 'These, as his other, were naughty things.' Bunyan, _The Life and Death of Mr. Badman_, p. 106 (Cambridge English Classics). 'And other of such vinegar aspect That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile.' Shakespeare, _Merchant of Venice_, I. i. 54.
ll. 20-1. _If our two loves be one, &c._ If our two loves are _one_, dissolution is impossible; and the same is true if, though _two_, they are always alike. What is simple--as God or the soul--cannot be dissolved; nor compounds, e.g. the Heavenly bodies, between whose elements there is no contrariety. 'Impossibile autem est quod forma separetur a se ipsa. Unde impossibile est, quod forma subsistens desinat esse. Dato etiam, quod anima esset ex materia et forma composita, ut quidam dicunt, adhuc oporteret ponere eam incorruptibilem. Non enim invenitur corruptio nisi ubi invenitur contrarietas; generationes enim et corruptiones ex contrariis et in contraria sunt' &c., Aquinas, _Summa_ I. Quaest. lxxv, Art. 6. The body, being composed of contrary elements, has not this essential immortality: 'In Heaven we doe not say, that our bodies shall devest their mortality, so, as that naturally they could not dye; for they shall have a composition still; and every compounded thing may perish; but they shall be so assured, and with such a preservation, as they shall alwaies know they shall never dye.' _Sermons_ 80. 19. 189.
PAGE =8=. SONG.
The first two stanzas of this song are printed in the 1653 edition of the Poems of Francis Beaumont, with the title _A Raritie_. It is set to music in Eg. MS. 2013, f. 58. Mr. Chambers points out that Habington's poem, _Against them who lay Unchastity to the Sex of Women_ (_Castara_, ed. Elton, p. 231), evidently refers to this poem:
They meet but with unwholesome springs And summers which infectious are: They hear but when the meremaid sings, And only see the falling starre: Who ever dare Affirme no woman chaste and faire.
Goe cure your feavers; and you'le say The Dog-dayes scorch not all the yeare: In copper mines no longer stay, But travel to the west, and there The right ones see, And grant all gold's not alchimie.
A poem modelled on Donne's appears in Harleian MS. 6057, and in _The Treasury of Music. By Mr. Lawes and others._ (1669)
Goe catch a star that's falling from the sky, Cause an immortal creature for to die; Stop with thy hand the current of the seas, Post ore the earth to the Antipodes; Cause times return and call back yesterday, Cloake January with the month of May; Weigh out an ounce of flame, blow back the winde: And then find faith within a womans minde.
John Dunne.
JOHN DUNNE.
l. 2. _Get with child a mandrake root._ 'Many Mola's and false conceptions there are of _Mandrakes_, the first from great Antiquity, conceiveth the Root thereof resembleth the shape of Man.... Now whatever encourageth the first invention, there have not been wanting many ways of its promotion. The first a Catachrestical and far derived similitude it holds with Man; that is, in a bifurcation or division of the Root into two parts, which some are content to call Thighs.' Sir Thomas Browne's _Vulgar Errors_ (1686), ii. 6, p. 72. Compare also _The Progresse of the Soule_, st. xv, p. 300.
PAGE =10=. THE UNDERTAKING.
l. 2. _the Worthies._ The nine worthies usually named are Joshua, David, Judas Maccabaeus, Hector, Alexander, Julius Caesar, Arthur, Charlemagne, and Godfrey of Bouillon, but they varied. Guy of Warwick is mentioned by Gerard Legh, _Accedens of Armorye_. Nash mentions Solomon and Gideon; and Shakespeare introduces Hercules and Pompey in _Love's Labour's Lost_. _All the Worthies_ therefore covers a wide field. The Worthies figured largely in decorative designs and pageants. On a target taken at the siege of Ostend 'was enammeled in gold the seven [_sic_] Worthies, worth seven or eight hundred guilders'. Vere's _Commentaries_ (1657), p. 174.
l. 6. _The skill of specular stone._ Compare _To the Countesse of Bedford_, p. 219, ll. 28-30:
You teach (though wee learne not) a thing unknowne To our late times, the use of specular stone, Through which all things within without were shown.
Grosart (ii. 48-9) and Professor Norton (Grolier, i. 217) take 'specular' as meaning simply 'translucent', and the latter quotes Holinshed's _Chronicle_, ii. ch. 10: 'I find obscure mention of the specular stone also to have been found and applied to this use' (i.e. glazing windows) 'in England, but in such doubtful sort as I dare not affirm for certain.' This is the 'pierre spéculaire' or 'pierre à miroir' which Cotgrave describes as 'A light, white, and transparent stone, easily cleft into thinne flakes, and used by th' Arabians (among whom it growes) instead of glasse; anight it represents the Moon, and even increases or decreases, as the Moon doth'. But surely Donne refers to crystal-gazing. Paracelsus has a paragraph in the _Coelum Philosophorum_:
'How to conjure the Crystal so that all Things may be seen in it.
'To conjure is nothing else than to observe anything rightly, to know and to understand what it is. The crystal is a figure of the air. Whatever appears in the air, movable or immovable, the same appears also in the speculum or crystal as a wave. For the air, the water, and the crystal, so far as vision is concerned, are one, like a mirror in which an inverted copy of an object is seen.' The old name for crystal-gazers was 'specularii'. Mr. Chambers suggests very probably that there is a reference to Dr. Dee's magic mirrors or 'show stone', but one would like to explain the reference to the cutting of the stone on the one hand, and its being no longer to be found on the other.
l. 16. _Loves but their oldest clothes._ The 'her' of _B_ is a tempting reading in view of the 'woman' which follows, but 'their' is the common version and the poet's mind passes rapidly to and fro between the abstract and its concrete embodiments. The proleptic use of the pronoun is striking in either case.
Compare _To Mrs. M. H._, p. 217, ll. 31-2.
l. 18. _Vertue attir'd in woman see._ The reading of the 1633 edition, which is that of the best manuscripts, has more of Donne's characteristic hyperbole than the metrically more regular 'Vertue in woman see'. 'If you can see the Idea of Vertue attired in the visible form of woman and love that.'
PAGE =11=. THE SUNNE RISING.
Compare Ovid, _Amores_, I. 13.
Iam super oceanum venit a seniore marito, Flava pruinoso quae vehit axe diem. Quo properas, Aurora? . . . Quo properas, ingrata viris, ingrata puellis? . . . Tu pueros somno fraudas, tradisque magistris, Ut subeant tenerae verbera saeva manus.
A comparison of Ovid's simple and natural images and reflections with Donne's passionate but ingenious hyperboles will show exactly what Testi meant by his contrast of the homely imagery of classical and the metaphysical manner of Italian love poetry.
l. 17. _both th' India's of spice and Myne._ A distinction that Donne is never tired of. 'The use of the word mine specifically for mines of gold, silver, or precious stone is, I believe, peculiar to Donne.' Coleridge, quoted by Norton. The O.E.D. does not contradict this, for the word had a wider connotation. Compare _Loves exchange_, p. 35, ll. 34-35:
and make more Mynes in the earth, then Quarries were before.
And _The Progresse of the Soule_, p. 295, l. 17:
thy Western land of Myne.
And for the two Indias: 'As hee that hath a plentifull fortune in Europe, cares not much though there be no land of perfumes in the East, nor of gold, in the West-Indies.' _Sermons_ 50. 15. 123. And 'Sir. Your way into Spain was eastward, and that is the way to the land of perfumes and spices; their way hither is westward, and that is the way to the land of gold and of mines,' &c. _To Sir Robert Ker._ Gosse's _Life, &c._, ii. 191.
l. 24. _All wealth alchimie_: i.e. imposture or 'glittering dross' (O.E.D.). 'Though the show of it were glorious, the substance of it was dross, and nothing but alchymy and cozenage.' Harrington, _Orlando Furioso_ (1591). See also poem cited II. p. 11.
PAGE =12=. THE INDIFFERENT.
l. 7. _dry corke._ Cork was a favourite metaphor for what was dry and withered. To our taste it is hardly congruous with love or tragic poetry, perhaps because of its associations. 'Bind fast his corky arms,' says Cornwall, speaking of Gloucester (_King Lear_, III. vii. 31), but Shakespeare seems to have taken the epithet from Harsnett's _Declaration of Egregious Popishe Impostures, &c._ (1603): 'It would pose all the cunning exorcists ... to teach an old corkie woman to writhe, tumble, curvet,' c. 5, p. 23.
PAGE =13=. LOVES USURY.
l. 5. _My body raigne._ Grosart and Chambers substitute 'range', from _1635-69_. Perhaps they are right; but I feel doubtful. All the best MSS. read 'raigne.' Donne contrasts the reign of love and the reign of lust on the body, and frankly declares for the latter. A lover might range, 'I can love both fair and brown,' but no lover could
mistake by the way The maid, and tell the lady of that delay.
Adonis, with graver rhetoric, states the other side of Donne's paradoxical thesis:
Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, But Lust's effect is tempest after sun; Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain, Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done; Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies; Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies. Shakespeare, _Venus and Adonis_, v. cxxxiv.
ll. 13-16. Chambers and Grosart have adopted, with some modification of punctuation, the reading of the 1633-54 editions, and the lines are frequently quoted as printed by Chambers:
Only let me love none; no, not the sport From country-grass to confitures of court, Or city's quelque-choses; let not report My mind transport.
I confess I find it difficult to attach any exact meaning to them. Are there any instances of 'sport' thus used apparently for 'sportive lady'? The difficulty seems to me to have arisen from the accidental dropping in the 1633 edition of the semicolon after 'sport', which the 1669 editor rightly restored. What Donne means by 'the sport' is clear enough from other passages, e.g. 'the short scorn of a bridegroom's play' (_Loves Alchimie_), 'as she would man should despise the sport' (_Farewell to Love_). The prayer that report _may_ ('let', not 'let not') carry his roving fancy from one to another, is in keeping with the whole tenor of the poem. The Grolier Club edition has the punctuation I have given, which I had adopted before I saw that edition. I find it difficult to attach any meaning to 'let not report'.
PAGE =14=. THE CANONIZATION.
l. 7. _Or the Kings reall, or his stamped face Contemplate._ Donne's conceits reappear in his sermons in a different setting. 'Beloved in Christ Jesus, the heart of your gracious God is set upon you; and we his servants have told you so, and brought you thus neare him, into his Court, into his house, into the Church, but yet we cannot get you to see his face, to come to that tendernesse of conscience as to remember and consider that all your most secret actions are done in his sight and his presence; Caesars face, and Caesars inscription you can see: The face of the Prince in his coyne you can rise before the Sun to see, and sit up till mid-night to see; but if you do not see the face of God upon every piece of that mony too, all that mony is counterfeit; If Christ have not brought that fish to the hook, that brings the mony in the mouth (as he did to _Peter_) that mony is ill fished for.' _Sermons_ 80. 12. 122.
l. 15. 'Man' is the reading of every MS. except _Lec_, which here as in several other little details appears to resemble _1633_ more closely than either of the other MSS., _D_, _H49_. It is quite possible that 'man' is correct--a vivid and concrete touch, but in view of the 'men' which follows 'more' is preferable. The two words are frequently interchanged in the MSS.
ll. 24-5. The punctuation of these lines is that of _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, though I adopted it independently as required by the sense. The editions put a full stop after each line. Chambers alters the first (l. 24) to a semicolon and connects
So, to one neutral thing both sexes fit.
with the two preceding lines. To me it seems the line _must_ go with what follows, and that 'so' (which should have no comma) is not an illative conjunction but a subordinate conjunction of effect. 'Both sexes fit _so_ entirely into one neutral thing that we die and rise the same,' &c. The Grolier Club editor, like Chambers, connects the line with what has gone before, but drops the comma after 'so', making it an adverb of degree.
ll. 37-45. _And thus invoke us, &c._ Grosart and Chambers have disguised and altered the sense of this stanza. Grosart, indeed, by printing 'Who did the whole world's extract', has made it completely unintelligible. Chambers's version gives a meaning, but a wrong one. He prints the last six lines thus:
Who did the whole worlds 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.
These harsh constructions are not Donne's. The object of 'drove' is not the 'world's soul', but 'Countries, towns, courts'; and 'beg' is not in the indicative but the imperative mood. For clearness' sake I have bracketed ll. 42-3 and printed 'love!' otherwise leaving the punctuation unchanged.
Donne as usual is pedantically accurate in the details of his metaphor. The canonized lovers are invoked as saints, i.e. _their prayers are requested_. They are asked to beg from above a pattern of their love for those below. Of prayers to saints Donne speaks in one of his _Letters_, p. 181: 'I see not how I can admit that circuit of sending them' (i.e. letters) 'to you to be sent hither; that seems a kinde of praying to Saints, to whom God must tell first, that such a man prays to them to pray to him.'
l. 40. The 'contract' of the printed editions is doubtless correct, despite the preference of the MSS. for 'extract'. This goes in several MSS. with other errors which show confusion. _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ read 'and drawe', a bad rhyme; and _A18_, _N_, _TCC_ (the verse is lost in _TCD_) drop 'soule', reading 'the world extract'. The reading 'extract' is due to what Dr. Moore calls 'the extraordinary short-sightedness of the copyists in respect of a construction. Their vision seems often to be bounded by a single line.' To 'extract the soul' of things is a not uncommon phrase with Donne. Here it does not suit the thought which is coming so well as 'contract': 'As the spirit and soule of the whole booke of Psalmes is contracted into this psalme, so is the spirit and soule of this whole psalme contracted into this verse.' _Sermons_ 80. 66. 663. (Psal. lxiii. 7. _Because thou hast beene my helpe, Therefore in the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice._)
l. 45. _A patterne of your love._ The 'of our love' of 1633 _might_ mean 'for our love', but it is clear from the manner in which this stanza is given in _D_ that the copyist has misunderstood the construction--'our love' follows from the assumption that 'Countries, Townes, Courts' is the subject to 'Beg'. The colon and the capital letter would not make such a view impossible, as they might be given a merely emphasizing value; or if regarded as imperative the 'Beg' might be taken as in the third person: 'Countries, Townes, Courts--let them beg,' &c. Compare:
The God of Souldiers: With the consent of supreame Jove, informe Thy thoughts with Noblenesse. Shakespeare, _Cor._ V. iii. 70-2 (Simpson, _Shakespearian Punctuation_, p. 98).
But clearly here 'Beg' is in the second person plural, predicate to 'You whom reverend love', and 'your love' is the right reading.
PAGE =16=. THE TRIPLE FOOLE.
He is trebly a fool because (1) he loves, (2) he expresses his love in verse, (3) he thereby enables some one to set the verse to music and by singing it to re-awaken the passion which composition had lulled to sleep.
PAGE =17=. LOVERS INFINITENESS.
This song, which is one of the obviously authentic lyrics which is not included in the _A18_, _N_, _TC_ collection, would seem to have undergone some revision after its first issue. The version given in _A25_, from which _Cy_ is copied, would seem to be the original, at least the readings of ll. 25-6 and ll. 29-30 do not look like corruptions. The reading 'beget' at l. 25 gives a better rhyme to 'yet' than 'admit'. In l. 29 _A25_ has obviously interchanged 'thine' and 'mine'. The slightly different version of _JC_ gives the correct order. The generally careful _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ group has an unusually faulty text of this poem. Among other mistakes it reads (with _S96_) 'Thee' for 'them' in l. 32.
'Lovers Infiniteness' is a strange title. It is not found in any of the MSS., and possibly should be 'Loves Infiniteness'. Yet the 'Lovers' suits the closing thought:
so we shall Be one, and one anothers All.
For a poem in obvious imitation of this, see _Appendix C_, p. 439.
ll. 1-11. The rhetoric and rhythm of Donne's elaborate stanzas depends a good deal on their right punctuation. Mine is an attempt to correct that of _1633_ without modernizing. The full stop after 'fall' is obviously an error, and so is, I think, the comma after 'spent'. The first six lines state in a rapid succession of clauses all that the poet has done to gain his lady's love. A new thought begins with 'Yet no more', &c.
l. 9. _generall_ is the reading of two MSS. which are practically one. I have recorded it because (1) ll. 29-30 (see textual note) would seem to suggest that their version of the poem is an early one (revised by Donne), and this may be an early reading; (2) because in l. 20 this epithet is used as though repeated, 'thy gift being generall.' It would be not unlike Donne to quibble with the word, making it mean first a gift made generally to all, and secondly a gift general in its content, not limited or defined in any way. The whole poem is a piece of legal quibbling not unlike Shakespeare's 87th Sonnet:
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing, And like enough thou know'st thy estimate: The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; My bonds in thee are all determinate, &c.
PAGE =18=. SONG.
_Sweetest love, &c._ Of the music to this and 'Send home my long stray'd eyes' I can discover no trace. _The Baite_ was doubtless sung to the same air as Marlowe's 'Come live with me'. See II. p. 57.
ll. 6-8. I have retained the text of _1633_, which has the support of all the MSS. That of _1635-54_ is an attempt to accommodate the lines, by a little padding, to the rhythm of the corresponding lines in the other stanzas.
PAGE =20=. THE LEGACIE.
ll. 9-16. I HEARD ME SAY, _&c._ The construction of this verse has proved rather a difficulty to editors. I give it as printed by Chambers and by the Grolier Club editor. Chambers's modernized version runs:
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 ripp'd and search'd where hearts should lie, It killed me again, that I who still was true In life, in my last will should cozen you.
The Grolier Club version has no inverted commas, and runs:
I heard me say, Tell her anon, That myself, that's 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 me and searched where hearts did lie, It killed me again that I, who still was true In life, in my last will should cozen you.
In my own version the only departure which I have made from the punctuation of the 1633 version is the substitution of a semicolon for a comma after 'lye' (l. 14). If inverted commas are to be used at all it seems to me they would need to be extended to 'gone' (l. 12) or to 'lie' (l. 14). As Donne is addressing the lady throughout it is difficult to distinguish what he says to her now from what he said on the occasion imagined.
But the point in which both Chambers and the Grolier Club editor seem to me in error is in connecting l. 14, _When I had ripp'd, &c._, with what follows instead of with the immediately preceding line. There is no justification for changing the comma after 'none' either to a semicolon or a full stop. The meaning of ll. 13-14 is, 'But alas! when I had ripp'd me and search'd where hearts did (i.e. used to) lie, I could there find none.' It is so that the Dutch translator understands the lines:
Maer, oh, ick vond er geen, al scheurd ick mijn geraemt, En socht door d'oude plaets die 't Hert is toegeraemt.
The last two lines are a comment on the whole incident, the making of the will and the poet's inability to implement it.
l. 20. _It was intire to none_: i.e. 'It was tied to no one lover.' The word 'entire' in this sense is still found on public-house signs, and misled the American Pinkerton in Stevenson's _The Wrecker_. Compare: 'But this evening I will spie upon the B[ishop] and give you an account to-morrow morning of his disposition; when, if he cannot be intire to you, since you are gone so farre downwards in your favours to me, be pleased to pursue your humiliation so farre as to chuse your day, and either to suffer the solitude of this place, or to change it, by such company, as shall waite upon you.' _Letters_, p. 315 (To ... Sir Robert Karre). This seems to mean, 'if the Bishop cannot fulfill, be faithful to, his engagement to you, come and dine here.'
ll. 21-24. These lines are also printed or punctuated in a misleading fashion by Chambers and the Grolier Club editor. The former, following _1669_, but altering the punctuation, prints:
As good as could be made by art It seemed, and therefore for our loss be sad. I meant to send that heart instead of mine, But O! no man could hold it, for 'twas thine.
The 'for our loss be sad' comes in very strangely before the end, nor is the force of 'and therefore' very clear.
The Grolier Club editor, following the words of _1633_, but altering the punctuation, reads:
As good as could be made by art It seemed, and therefore for our losses sad; I meant to send this heart instead of mine But oh! no man could hold it, for twas thine.
Apparently the heart was sad for our losses because it was no better than might be made by art. The confusion arises from deserting the punctuation of _1633_. 'For our losses sad' is an adjectival qualification of 'I'. 'I, sad to have lost my heart, which by legacy was yours, resolved as a _pis aller_ to send this, which seemed as good as could be made by art. But to send it was impossible, for no man could hold it. It was thine.'
Huyghens translates:
Soo meenden ick 't verlies dat ick vergelden most Te boeten met dit Hert, en doen 't u toebehooren: Maer, oh, 't en kost niet zijn, 't was uw al lang te voren.
But this does not appear to be quite accurate. Huyghens appears to think that Donne could not give his heart to the lady, because it was hers already. What he really says is, that no one could keep this heart of hers, which had taken the place of his own in his bosom, because, being hers, it was too volatile.
PAGE =21=. A FEAVER.
ll. 13-14. _O wrangling schooles, that search what fire Shall burne this world._
'I cannot but marvel from what _Sibyl_ or Oracle they' (the Ancients) 'stole the prophecy of the world's destruction by fire, or whence Lucan learned to say,
Communis mundo superest rogus, ossibus astra Misturus.
There yet remaines to th'World one common fire Wherein our Bones with Stars shall make one pyre.
I believe the World grows near its end, yet is neither old nor decayed, nor will ever perish upon the ruines of its own Principles. As the work of Creation was above nature, so is its adversary annihilation; without which the World hath not its end, but its mutation. Now what force should be able to consume it thus far, without the breath of God, which is the truest consuming flame, my Philosophy cannot inform me.' Browne's _Religio Medici_, sect. 45.
PAGE =22=. AIRE AND ANGELS.
l. 19. _Ev'ry thy haire._ This, the reading of _1633-39_ and the MSS., is, I think, preferable to the amended 'Thy every hair', &c., of the 1650-69 editions (which Chambers adopts, ascribing it to _1669_ alone), though the difference is slight. 'Every thy hair' has the force of 'Thy every hair' with the additional suggestion of 'even thy least hair' derived from the construction with a superlative adjective. 'Every the least remembrance.' J. King, _Sermons_ 28. 'Every, the most complex, web of thought may be reduced to simple syllogisms.' Sir W. Hamilton. See note to _The Funerall_, l. 3.
ll. 23-4. _Then as an Angell face and wings Of aire, not pure as it, yet pure doth weare._
St. Thomas (_Summa Theol._ I. li. 2) discusses the nature of the body assumed by Angels when they appear to men, seeing that naturally they are incorporeal. There being four elements, this body must consist of one of these, but 'Angeli non assumunt corpora de terrâ vel aquâ: quia non subito disparerent. Neque iterum de igne: quia comburerent ea quae contingerent. Neque iterum ex aere: quia aer infigurabilis est et incolorabilis'. To this Aquinas replies, 'Quod licet aer in sua raritate manens non retineat figuram neque colorem: quando tamen condensatur, et figurari et colorari potest: sicut patet in nubibus. Et sic Angeli assumunt corpora ex aere, condensando ipsum virtute divina, quantum necesse est ad corporis assumendi formationem.'
Tasso, familiar like Donne with Catholic doctrine, thus clothes his angels:
Così parlògli, e Gabriel s' accinse Veloce ad eseguir l' imposte cose. _La sua forma invisibil d'aria cinse, Ed al senso mortal la sottopose_: Umane membra, aspetto uman si finse, Ma di celeste maestà il compose. Tra giovane e fanciullo età confine Prese, ed ornò di raggi il biondo crine. _Gerus. Lib._ I. 13.
Fairfax translates the relevant lines:
In form of airy members fair imbared, His spirits pure were subject to our sight.
Milton's language is vague and inconsistent, but his angels are indubitably corporeal. When Satan is wounded,
the ethereal substance closed, Not long divisible; and from the gash A stream of nectarous humour issuing flowed Sanguine, such as celestial Spirits may bleed. . . . . . . . . . . Yet soon he healed; for Spirits that live throughout Vital in every part, (not as frail man In entrails, heart or head, liver or reins,) Cannot but by annihilating die; Nor in their liquid texture mortal wound Receive, _no more than can the fluid air_. All heart they live, all head, all eye, all ear, All intellect, all sense; _and as they please, They limb themselves, and colour, shape, or size Assume, as likes them best, condense or rare_.
The lines italicized indicate that Milton is familiar with the doctrine of the schools, and is giving it a turn of his own. Milton's angels, apparently, do not _assume_ a body of air but, remaining in their own ethereal substance, assume what form and colour they choose. Raphael, thus having passed through the air like a bird,
to his proper shape returns A Seraph winged, &c.
Nash says, speaking of Satan, 'Lucifer (before his fall) an Archangel, was a cleere body, compact of the purest and brightest of the ayre, but after his fall hee was vayled with a grosser substance, and tooke a new forme of darke and thicke ayre, which he still reteyneth.' _Pierce Penniless_ (Grosart), ii. 102. The popular mind had difficulty in appreciating the scholastic doctrine of the purely spiritual nature of angels who do not possess but only assume bodies; who do not occupy any point in space but are _virtually_ present as operating at that point. 'Per applicationem igitur virtutis angelicae ad aliquem locum qualitercumque dicitur Angelus esse in loco corporeo.' The popular mind gave them thin bodies and wondered how many could stand on a needle.
The Scholastic doctrine of Angelic bodies was an inheritance from the Neo-Platonic doctrine of the bodies of demons, the beings intermediary between gods and men. According to Plotinus these could assume a body of air or of fire, but the generally entertained view of the school was, that their bodies were of air. Apuleius was the author of a definition of demons which was transmitted through the Middle Ages: 'Daemones sunt genere animalia, ingenio rationalia, animo passiva, corpore aeria, tempore aeterna.' See also Dante, _Purgatorio_, xv. The aerial or aetherial body is a tenet of mysticism. It has been defended by such different thinkers as Leibnitz and Charles Bonnet. See Bouillet's note to Plotinus's _Enneads_, I. 454.
PAGE =23=. BREAKE OF DAY.
This poem is obviously addressed by a woman to her lover, not _vice versa_, though the fact has eluded some of the copyists, who have tried to change the pronouns. It is strange to find the subtle and erudite Donne in his quest of realism falling into line with the popular song-writer. Mr. Chambers has pointed out in his learned and delightful essay on the mediaeval lyric (_Early English Lyrics_, 1907) that the popular as opposed to the courtly love-song was frequently put into the mouth of the woman. One has only to turn to Burns and the Scotch lyrists to find the same thing true. This song, indeed, is clearly descended from the popular _aube_, or lyric dialogue of lovers parting at daybreak. The dialogue suggestion is heightened by the punctuation of l. 3 in some MSS.
Why should we rise? Because 'tis light?
ll. 13-18. _Must businesse thee from hence remove, &c._ 'It is a good definition of ill-love, that St. Chrysostom gives, that it is _Animae vacantis passio_, a passion of an empty soul, of an idle mind. For fill a man with business, and he hath no room for such love.' _Sermons_ 26. 384.
PAGE =24=. THE ANNIVERSARIE.
l. 3. _The Sun itselfe, which makes times, as they passe_: i.e. which makes times and seasons as they pass.
Before the Sunne, the which fram'd daies, was fram'd. _The Second Anniversary_, l. 23.
The construction is somewhat of an anacoluthon, the sun alone being given the predicate, 'Is elder by a year,' which has to be supplied with all the other subjects in the first two lines. Chambers, inadvertently or from some copy of _1633_, reads 'time', and this makes 'they' refer back to 'Kings, favourites', &c. This does not improve the construction.
l. 22. _But wee no more, then all the rest._ The 'wee' of every MS. which I have consulted seems to me certainly the correct reading. The 'now' of all the printed editions is due to the editor of _1633_ imagining that he got thereby the right antithesis to 'then'. But he was too hasty, for the antithesis is between 'then' when we are in heaven, and now while we are 'here upon earth'. In heaven indeed we shall be 'throughly blest', but _all_ in heaven are equally happy, whereas here on earth,
we'are kings and none but we Can be such kings, nor of such subjects be.
The 'none but we' is the extreme antithesis to 'But we no more than all the rest'.
The Scholastic Philosophy held, not indeed that all in heaven are equally blest, but that all are equally content. Basing themselves on the verse, 'In domo Patris mei mansiones multae sunt,' John xiv. 2, they argued that the blessed have in varying degree according to their merit, the essential happiness of Heaven which is the vision of God:
Only who have enjoy'd The sight of God, in fulnesse, can think it; For it is both the object and the wit. This is essential joy, where neither hee Can suffer diminution, nor wee; 'Tis such a full, and such a filling good; Had th'Angells once look'd on him they had stood. _The Second Anniversary_, ll. 140-6 (p. 264).
But though not all equally dowered with the virtue and the wisdom to understand God, all are content, for each is full to his measure, and each is happy in the happiness of the other: 'Solet etiam quaeri an in gaudio dispares sint, sicut in claritate cognitionis differunt. De hoc August. ait in lib. de Civ. Dei: Multae mansiones in una domo erunt, scilicet, variae praemiorum dignitates: sed ubi Deus erit omnia in omnibus, erit etiam in dispari claritate par gaudium; ut quod habebunt singuli, commune sit omnibus, quia etiam gloria capitis omnium erit per vinculum charitatis. Ex his datur intelligi quod par gaudium omnes habebunt, etsi disparem cognitionis claritatem, quia per charitatem quae in singulis erit perfecta, tantum quisque gaudebit de bono alterius, quantum gauderet si in se ipso haberet. Sed si par erit cunctorum gaudium, videtur quod par sit omnium beatitudo; quod constat omnino non esse. Ad quod dici potest quod beatitudo par esset si ita esset par gaudium, ut etiam par esset cognitio; sed quia hoc non erit, non faciet paritas gaudii paritatem beatitudinis. Potest etiam sic accipi par gaudium, ut non referatur paritas ad intensionem affectionis gaudentium, sed ad universitatem rerum de quibus laetabitur: quia de omni re unde gaudebit unus, gaudebunt omnes.' Petri Lombardi ... _Sententiarum_ Lib. IV, Distinct. xlix. 4. Compare Aquinas, _Summa, Supplement._ Quaest. xciii.
All in heaven are perfectly happy in the place assigned to them, is Piccardo's answer to Dante (_Paradiso_, iii. 70-88): 'So that our being thus, from threshold unto threshold throughout the realm, is a joy to all the realm, as to the King, who draweth our wills to what he willeth: and his will is our peace.'
ll. 23-4. The variants in these lines show that _1633_ has in this poem followed not _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ but _A18_, _N_, _TC_.
PAGE =25=. A VALEDICTION: OF MY NAME IN THE WINDOW.
I have adopted from the title of this poem in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ the correct manner of entitling all these poems. In the printed editions the titles run straight on, _A Valediction of my name, in the window_. This has led in the case of the next of these poems, _A Valediction of the booke_, to the mistake expressed in the title of _1633_, _Valediction to his Booke_, and repeated by Grosart, that the latter was a dedication, 'formed the concluding poem of the missing edition of his poems.' This is a complete mistake. _Valediction_ is the general title of a poem bidding farewell. _Of the Booke_, _Of teares_, &c., indicate the particular themes. This is clearly brought out in _O'F_, where they are brought together and numbered. _Valediction 2. of Teares_, &c.
PAGE =26=, l. 28. _The Rafters of my body, bone._ Compare: 'First, _Ossa_, bones, We know in the naturall and ordinary acceptation, what they are; They are these Beames, and Timbers, and Rafters of these Tabernacles, these Temples of the Holy Ghost, these bodies of ours.' _Sermons_ 80. 51. 516.
PAGE =27=, ll. 31-2. _Till my returne, repaire And recompact my scattered body so._
This verse is rightly printed in the 1633 edition. In that of 1635 it went wrong; and the errors were transmitted through all the subsequent editions, and have been retained by Grosart and Chambers, but corrected in the Grolier Club edition. The full stop after 'so' was changed to a comma on the natural but mistaken assumption that 'so' pointed forward to the immediately following 'as'. In fact, 'so' refers _back_ to the preceding verse. Donne has described how from his anatomy or skeleton, i.e. his name scratched in the glass, the lady may repair and recompact his whole frame, and he opens the new verse by bidding her do so. Compare: 'In this chapter ... we have Job's Anatomy, Jobs Sceleton, the ruins to which he was reduced.... Job felt the hand of destruction upon him, and he felt the hand of preservation too; and it was all one hand: This is God's Method ... even God's demolitions are super-edifications, his Anatomies, his dissections are so many recompactings, so many resurrections; God winds us off the Skein, that he may weave us up into the whole peece, and he cuts us out of the whole peece into peeces, that he may make us up into a whole garment.' _Sermons_ 80. 43. 127-9. Again, 'It is a divorce and no super-induction, it is a separating, and no redintegration.' _Sermons_ 80. 55. 552. With the third line, 'As all the virtuous powers,' Donne begins a new comparison which is completed in the next stanza. Therefore the sixth stanza closes rightly in the 1633 text with a colon. The full stop of the later editions, which Chambers adopts, is obviously wrong. Grosart has a semicolon, but as he retains the comma at 'so' and puts a semicolon at the end of the previous stanza, the sense becomes very obscure.
PAGE =28=. TWICKNAM GARDEN.
l. 1. _surrounded with tears_: i.e. overflowed with tears, the root idea of 'surrounded'. The Dutch poet translates:
Van suchten hytgedort, van tranen overvloeyt.
Compare: 'The traditional doctrines in the Roman Church, which are so many, as that they overflow even the water of life, the Scriptures themselves, and suppresse and surround them.' _Sermons_ 80. 59. 599.
With this whole poem compare: 'Sir, Because I am in a place and season where I see every thing bud forth, I must do so too, and vent some of my meditations to you.... The pleasantnesse of the season displeases me. Everything refreshes, and I wither, and I grow older and not better, my strength diminishes and my load growes, and being to pass more and more stormes, I finde that I have not onely cast out all my ballast, which nature and time gives, Reason and discretion, and so am as empty and light as Vanity can make me, but I have overfraught myself with vice, and so am ridd(l)ingly subject to two contrary wracks, Sinking and Oversetting,' &c. _Letters_ (1651), pp. 78-9 (_To Sir Henry Goodyere_).
l. 15. _Indure, nor yet leave loving._ This is at first sight a strange reading, and I was disposed to think that _1635-69_, which has the support of several MSS. (none of very high textual authority), must be right. It is strange to hear the Petrarchian lover (Donne is probably addressing the Countess of Bedford) speak of 'leaving loving' as though it were in his power. The reading 'nor leave this garden' suits what follows: 'Not to be mocked by the garden and yet to linger here in the vicinity of her I love let me become,' &c.
It is remarkable that _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, and _H40_ omit this half line. If the same omission was in the MS. from which _1633_ printed, the present reading might be an editor's emendation. But it is older than that, for it was the reading of the MS. from which the Dutch poet Huyghens translated, and he has tried by his rhymes to produce the effect of the alliteration:
Maer, om my noch te decken Voor sulcken ongeval, en niet te min de Min Te voeren in mijn zin, Komt Min, en laet my hier yet ongevoelicks wezen.
Donne means, I suppose, 'Not to be mocked by the garden, and yet to be ever the faithful lover.' Compare _Loves Deitie_, l. 24. 'Love might make me leave loving.' The remainder of the verse may have been suggested by Jonson's
Slow, slow, fresh Fount, keep time with my salt Tears.
_Cynthias Revels_ (1600).
l. 17. I have ventured to adopt 'groane' for 'grow' ('grone' and 'growe' are almost indistinguishable) from _A18_, _N_, _TC_; _D_, _H49_, _Lec_; and _H40_. It is surely much more in Donne's style than the colourless and pointless 'growe'. It is, too, in closer touch with the next line. If 'growing' is all we are to have predicated of the mandrake, then it should be sufficient for the fountain to 'stand', or 'flow'. The chief difficulty in accepting the MS. reading is that the mandrake is most often said to shriek, sometimes to howl, not to groan:
I prethee yet remember Millions are now in graves, which at last day Like mandrakes shall rise shreeking. Webster, _The White Devil_, V. vi. 64.
On the other hand the lover most often groans:
Thy face hath not the power to make love grone. Shakespeare, _Sonnets_, 131. 6.
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groane. Shakespeare, _Sonnets_, 133. 1.
_Ros._ I would be glad to see it. (_i.e._ _his heart_)
_Bir._ I would you heard it groan. _Love's Labour's Lost._
In a metaphor where two objects are identified such a transference of attributes is quite permissible. Moreover, although 'shriek' is the more common word, 'groan' is used of the mandrake:
Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan, I would invent as bitter searching terms, &c. _2 Hen. VI_, III. ii. 310.
In the _Elegie upon ... Prince Henry_ (p. 269, ll. 53-4) Donne writes:
though such a life wee have As but so many mandrakes on his grave.
i.e. a life of groans.
PAGE =29=. A VALEDICTION: OF THE BOOKE.
l. 3. _Esloygne._ Chambers alters to 'eloign', but Donne's is a good English form.
From worldly care himself he did esloyne. Spenser, _F. Q._ I. iv. 20.
The two forms seem to have run parallel from the outset, but that with 's' disappears after the seventeenth century.
PAGE =30=, l. 7. _Her who from Pindar could allure._ Corinna, who five times defeated Pindar at Thebes. Aelian, _Var. Hist._ xiii. 25, referred to by Professor Norton. He quotes also from Pausanias, ix. 22.
l. 8. _And her, through whose help Lucan is not lame._ His wife, Polla Argentaria, who 'assisted her husband in correcting the three first books of his _Pharsalia_'. Lemprière. The source of this tradition I cannot discover. The only reference indicated by Schanz is to Apollinaris Sidonius (Epist. 2, 10, 6, p. 46), who includes her among a list of women who aided and inspired their husbands: 'saepe versum ... complevit ... Argentaria cum Lucano.'
l. 9. _And her, whose booke (they say) Homer did finde, and name._ I owe my understanding of this line to Professor Norton, who refers to the _Myriobiblon_ or _Bibliotheca_ of Photius, of which the first edition was published at Augsburg in 1601. There Photius, in an abstract of a work by Ptolemy Hephaestion of Alexandria, states that Musaeus' daughter Helena wrote on the war of Troy, and that from her work Homer took the subject of his poem. But another account refers to Phantasia of Memphis, the daughter of Nicarchus, whose work Homer got from a sacred scribe named Pharis at Memphis. This last source is mentioned by Lemprière, who knows nothing of the other. Probably, therefore, it is the better known tradition.
ll. 21-2. I have interchanged the old semicolon at the end of l. 21 and the comma at the end of l. 22. I take the first three lines of the stanza to form an absolute clause: 'This book once written, in cipher or new-made idiom, we are thereby (in these letters) the only instruments for Loves clergy--their Missal and Breviary.' I presume this is how it is understood by Chambers and the Grolier Club editor, who place a semicolon at the end of each line. It seems to me that with so heavy a pause after l. 21 a full stop would be better at the end of l. 22.
l. 25. _Vandals and Goths inundate us._ This, the reading of quite a number of independent MSS., seems to me greatly preferable to that of the printed texts:
Vandals and the Goths invade us.
The agreement of the printed texts does not carry much weight, for any examination of the variants in this poem will reveal that they are errors due to misunderstanding, e.g. l. 20, 'tome,' 'to me,' 'tomb' show that each edition has been printed from the last, preserving, or conjecturally amending, its blunders. If therefore the 1633 editor mistook 'inũdate' for 'invade', that is sufficient. Besides the metrical harshness of the line there seems to be no reason why the epithet 'ravenous' should be applied to the Vandals and not extended to the Goths. The metaphor of inundation is used by Donne in the sermons: 'The Torrents, and Inundations, which invasive Armies pour upon Nations, we are fain to call by the name of Law, _The Law of Armes_.' _Sermons_ 26. 3. 36. Milton too uses it:
A multitude like which the populous North Poured never from her frozen loins, to pass Rhene or the Danaw, where her barbarous sons Came like a deluge on the South, and spread Beneath Gibraltar to the Libyan sands. _Paradise Lost_, i. 351-4.
Probably both Donne and Milton had in mind Isaiah's description of the Assyrian invasion, where in the Vulgate the word is that used here: 'Propter hoc ecce Dominus adducet super eos aquas fluminis fortes et multas, regem Assyriorum, et omnem gloriam eius; et ascendet super omnes rivos eius, et fluet super universas ripas eius; et ibit per Iudam, _inundans_, et transiens usque ad collum veniet.' Isaiah viii. 7-8.
Donne uses the word exactly as here in the _Essays in Divinity_: 'To which foreign sojourning ... many have assimilated and compared the Roman Church's straying into France and being impounded in Avignon seventy years; and so long also lasted the inundation of the Goths in Italy.' Ed. Jessop (1855), p. 155.
PAGE =31=, ll. 37-54. These verses are somewhat difficult but very characteristic. 'In these our letters, wherein is contained the whole mystery of love, Lawyers will find by what titles we hold our mistresses, what dues we are bound to pay as to feudal superiors. They will find also how, claiming prerogative or privilege they devour or confiscate the estates for which we have paid due service, by transferring what we owe to love, to womankind. The service which we pay expecting love in return, they claim as due to their womanhood, and deserving of no recompense, no return of love. Even when going beyond the strict fee they demand subsidies they will forsake a lover who thinks he has thereby secured them, and will plead "honour" or "conscience".'
'Statesmen will learn here the secret of their art. Love and statesmanship both alike depend upon what we might call the art of "bluffing". Neither will bear too curious examination. The statesman and the lover must impose for the moment, disguising weakness or inspiring fear in those who descry it.'
l. 53. _In this thy booke, such will their nothing see._ After some hesitation I have adopted the 1635-54 reading in preference to that of 1633 and 1669, 'there something.' I do so because (1) the MSS. support it. Their uncertainty as to 'their' and 'there' is of no importance; (2) 'there' is a weak repetition of 'in this thy book', an emphatic enough indication of place; (3) 'their nothing' is both the more difficult reading and the more characteristic of Donne. The art of a statesman is a 'nothing'. He uses the word in the same way of his own Paradoxes and Problems when sending some of them to Sir Henry Wotton, and with the same emphatic stress on the first syllable: 'having this advantage to escape from being called ill things that they are nothings' (An unpublished letter, quoted in the _Cambridge History of Literature_, vol. iv, p. 218). The word was pronounced with a fully rounded 'no'. Compare _Negative Love_, l. 16.
With the sentiment compare: 'And as our Alchymists can finde their whole art and worke of Alchymy, not only in Virgil and Ovid, but in Moses and Solomon; so these men can find such a transmutation into golde, such a foundation of profit, in extorting a sense for Purgatory, or other profitable Doctrines, out of any Scripture.' _Sermons_ 80. 78. 791.
'Un personnage de grande dignité, me voulant approuver par authorité cette queste de la pierre philosophale où il est tout plongé, m'allegua dernièrement cinq ou six passages de la Bible, sur lesquels il disoit s'estre premièrement fondé pour la descharge de sa conscience (car il est de profession ecclesiastique); et, à la verité, l'invention n'en estoit pas seulement plaisante, mais encore bien proprement accommodée à la défence de cette belle science.' Montaigne, _Apologie de Raimond Sebond_ (_Les Essais_, ii. 12).
PAGE =32=, ll. 59-61. _To take a latitude, &c._ The latitude of a spot may always be found by measuring the distance from the zenith of a star whose altitude, i.e. distance from the equator, is known. The words 'At their brightest' are only used to point the antithesis with the 'dark eclipses' used to measure longitude.
ll. 61-3. _but to conclude Of longitudes, what other way have wee, But to marke when, and where the dark eclipses bee_.
This method of estimating longitude was, it is said, first discovered by noting that an eclipse which took place during the battle of Arbela was observed at Alexandria an hour later. If the time at which an instantaneous phenomenon such as an eclipse of the moon begins at Greenwich (or whatever be the first meridian) is known, and the time of its beginning at whatever place a ship is be then noted, the difference gives the longitude. The eclipses of the moons in Saturn have been used for the purpose. The method is not, however, a practically useful one. Owing to the penumbra it is difficult to observe the exact moment at which an eclipse of the moon begins. In certain positions of Saturn her satellites are not visible. Another method used was to note the lunar distances of certain stars, but the most common and practical method is by the use of well adjusted and carefully corrected chronometers giving Greenwich time.
The comparison in the last five lines rests on a purely verbal basis. 'Longitude' means literally 'length', 'latitude', 'breadth'. Therefore longitude is compared with the duration of love, 'how long this love will be.' There is no real appropriateness.
PAGE =33=. LOVES GROWTH.
ll. 7-8. _But if this medicine, &c._ 'The quintessence then is a certain matter extracted from all things which Nature has produced, and from everything which has life corporeally in itself, a matter most subtly purged of all impurities and mortality, and separated from all the elements. From this it is evident that the quintessence is, so to say, a nature, a force, a virtue, and a medicine, once shut up within things but now free from any domicile and from all outward incorporation. The same is also the colour, the life, the properties of things.... Now the fact _that this quintessence cures all diseases_ does not arise from temperature, but from an innate property, namely its great cleanliness and purity, by which, after a wonderful manner, it alters the body into its own purity, and entirely changes it.... When therefore the quintessence is separated from that which is not the quintessence, as the soul from its body, and itself is taken into the body, what infirmity is able to withstand this so noble, pure, and powerful nature, or to take away our life save death, which being predestined separates our soul and body, as we teach in our treatise on Life and Death. But by whatsoever method it takes place, the quintessence should not be extracted by the mixture or the addition of incongruous matters; but the element of the quintessence must be extracted from a separated body, and in like manner by that separated body which is extracted.' Paracelsus, _The Fourth Book of the Archidoxies. Concerning the Quintessence_.
The O.E.D. quotes the first sentence of this passage to illustrate its first sense of the word--'the "fifth essence" of ancient and mediaeval philosophy, supposed to be the substance of which the heavenly bodies were composed, and to be actually latent in all things, the extraction of it ... being one of the great objects of Alchemy.' But Paracelsus expressly denies 'that the quintessence exists as a fifth element beyond the other four'; and as he goes on to discuss the different quintessences of different things (each thing having in its constitution the four elements, though one may be predominant) it would seem that he is using the word rather in the second sense given in the O.E.D.--'The most essential part of any substance, extracted by natural or artificial processes.' Probably the two meanings ran into each other. There was a real and an ideal quintessence of things. A specific sense given to the word in older Chemistry is a definite alcoholic tincture obtained by digestion at a gentle heat. This is probably the 'soule of simples' (p. 186, l. 26), unless that also is the quintessence in Paracelsus's full sense of the word.
ll. 17-20. _As, in the firmament, Starres by the Sunne are not inlarg'd, but showne. Gentle love deeds, as blossomes on a bough, From loves awakened root do bud out now_.
_P_ reads here:
As in the firmament Starres by the sunne are not enlarg'd but showne Greater; Loves deeds, &c.
This certainly makes the verse clearer. As it stands l. 18 is rather an enigma. The stars are not revealed by the sun, but hidden. Grosart's note is equally enigmatical: 'a curious phrase meaning that the stars that show in daylight are not enlarged, but showne to be brighter than their invisible neighbours, and to be comparatively brighter than they appear to be when all are seen together in the darkness of the night.' _P_ is so carelessly written that an occasional good reading may be an old one because there is no evidence of any editing. The copyist seems to have written on without paying any attention to the sense of what he set down. Still, 'Gentle' is the reading of all the other MSS. and editions, and I do not think it is necessary or desirable to change it. But _P_'s emendation shows what Donne meant. By 'showne' he does not mean 'revealed'--an adjectival predicate 'larger' or 'greater' must be supplied from the verb 'enlarg'd'. 'The stars at sunrise are not really made larger, but they are made to seem larger.' It is a characteristically elliptical and careless wording of a characteristically acute and vivid image. Mr. Wells has used the same phenomenon with effect:
'He peered upwards. "Look!" he said.
"What?" I asked.
"In the sky. Already. On the blackness--a little touch of blue. See! _The stars seem larger._ And the little ones and all those dim nebulosities we saw in empty space--they are hidden."
Swiftly, steadily the day approached us.' _The first Men in the Moon._ (Chap. vii. Sunrise on the Moon.)
A similar phenomenon is noted by Donne: 'A Torch in a misty night, seemeth greater then in a clear.' _Sermons_ 50. 36. 326.
PAGE =34=. LOVES EXCHANGE.
l. 11. _A non obstante_: a privilege, a waiving of any law in favour of an individual: 'Who shall give any other interpretation, any modification, any _Non obstante_ upon his law in my behalf, when he comes to judge me according to that law which himself hath made.' _Sermons_ 50. 12. 97. 'A _Non obstante_ and priviledge to doe a sinne before hand.' Ibid. 50. 35. 313.
l. 14. _minion_: i.e. 'one specially favoured or beloved; a dearest friend' &c. O.E.D. Not used in a contemptuous sense. '_John_ the Minion of _Christ_ upon earth, and survivor of the Apostles, (whose books rather seem fallen from Heaven, and writ with the hand which ingraved the stone Tables, then a mans work)' &c. _Sermons_ 50. 33. 309.
ll. 29 f. Dryden borrows:
Great God of Love, why hast thou made A Face that can all Hearts command, That all Religions can invade, And change the Laws of ev'ry Land? _A Song to a fair Young Lady Going out of Town in the Spring._
PAGE =36=. CONFINED LOVE.
Compare with this the poem _Loves Freedome_ in Beaumont's _Poems_ (1652), sig. E. 6:
Why should man be only ty'd To a foolish Female thing, When all Creatures else beside, Birds and Beasts, change every Spring? Who would then to one be bound, When so many may be found?
The third verse runs:
Would you think him wise that now Still one sort of meat doth eat, When both Sea and Land allow Sundry sorts of other meat? Who would then, &c.
Poems on such themes were doubtless exercises of wit at which more than one author tried his hand in rivalry with his fellows.
l. 16. _And not to seeke new lands, or not to deale withall._ I have, after some consideration, adhered to the _1633_ reading. Chambers has adopted that of the later editions, taking the line to mean that a man builds ships in order to seek new lands and to deal or trade with all lands. But ships cannot trade with inland countries. The form 'withal' is the regular one for 'with' when it follows the noun it governs. 'We build ships not to let them lie in harbours but to seek new lands with, and to trade with.' The MS. evidence is not of much assistance, because it is not clear in all cases what 'w^{th} all' stands for. The words were sometimes separated even when the simple preposition was intended. 'People, such as I have dealt with all in their marchaundyse.' Berners' _Froissart_, I. cclxvii. 395 (O.E.D.). But _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ read 'w^{th} All', supporting Chambers.
For the sentiment compare:
A stately builded ship well rig'd and tall The Ocean maketh more majesticall: Why vowest thou to live in Sestos here, Who on Loves seas more glorious would appeare. Marlowe, _Hero and Leander_: _First Sestiad_ 219-222.
For 'deale withall' compare:
For ye have much adoe to deale withal. Spenser's _Faerie Queene_, VI. i. 10.
PAGE =37=. THE DREAME.
ll. 1-10. _Deare love, for nothing lesse then thee Would I have broke this happy dreame, It was a theame For reason, much too strong for phantasie, Therefore thou wak'dst me wisely; yet My Dreame thou brok'st not, but continued'st it, Thou art so truth, that thoughts of thee suffice, To make dreames truths; and fables histories; Enter these armes, &c._
I have left the punctuation of the first stanza unaltered. The sense is clear and any modernization alters the rhetoric. Chambers places a semicolon after 'dreame' and a full stop after 'phantasie'. The last is certainly wrong, for the statement 'It was a theme', &c. is connected not with what precedes, but with what follows, 'Therefore thou waked'st me wisely.' In like manner Chambers's full stop after 'but continued'st it' breaks the close connexion with the two following lines, which are really an adverbial clause of explanation or reason. 'My dream thou brokest not, but continued'st it,' for 'Thou art so truth', &c. A full stop might more justifiably be placed after 'histories', but the semicolon is more in Donne's manner.
l. 7. _Thou art so truth._ The evidence of the MSS. shows that both 'truth' and 'true' were current versions and explains the alteration of _1635-69_. But 'truth' is both the more difficult reading and the more subtle expression of Donne's thought; 'true' is the obvious emendation of less metaphysical copyists and editors. Donne's 'Love' is not true as opposed to false only; she is 'truth' as opposed to dreams or phantasms or aught that partakes of unreality. She is essentially truth as God is: 'Respondeo dicendum quod ... veritas invenitur in intellectu, secundum quod apprehendit rem ut est; et in re, secundum quod habet esse conformabile intellectui. Hoc autem maxime invenitur in Deo. Nam esse eius non solum est conforme suo intelligere; et suum intelligere est mensura et causa omnis alterius esse, et omnis alterius intellectus; et ipse est suum esse et intelligere. Unde sequitur quod non solum in ipso sit veritas, sed quod ipse sit ipsa summa et prima veritas. _Summa_ I. vi. 5.
To deify the object of your love was a common topic of love-poetry; Donne does so with all the subtleties of scholastic theology at his finger-ends. In this single poem he attributes to the lady addressed two attributes of Deity, (1) the identity of being and essence, (2) the power of reading the thoughts directly.
The Dutch poet keeps this point:
de Waerheyt is so ghy, en Ghy zijt de Waerheyt so.
ll. 11-12. _As lightning, or a Tapers light Thine eyes, and not thy noise wak'd mee._
'A sodain light brought into a room doth awaken some men; but yet a noise does it better.' _Sermons_ 50. 38. 344.
'A candle wakes some men as well as a noise.' _Sermons_ 80. 61. 617.
ll. 15-16. _But when I saw thou sawest my heart, And knew'st my thoughts, beyond an Angels art._
Modern editors, by removing the comma after 'thoughts', have altered the sense of these lines. It is not that she could read his thoughts better than an angel, but that she could read them at all, a power which is not granted to Angels.
St. Thomas (_Summa Theol._ Quaest. lvii. Art. 4) discusses 'Utrum angeli cognoscant cogitationes cordium', and concludes, 'Cognoscunt Angeli cordium cogitationes in suis effectibus: ut autem in se ipsis sunt, Deo tantum sunt naturaliter cognitae.' Angels may read our thoughts by subtler signs than our words and acts, or even those changes of countenance and pulsation which we note in each other, 'quanto subtilius huiusmodi immutationes occultas corporales perpendunt.' But to know them as they are in the intellect and will belongs only to God, to whom only the freedom of the human will is subject, and a man's thoughts are subject to his will. 'Manifestum est autem, quod ex sola voluntate dependet, quod aliquis actu aliqua consideret; quia cum aliquis habet habitum scientiae, vel species intelligibiles in eo existentes, utitur eis cum vult. Et ideo dicit Apostolus I Corinth. secundo: quod _quae sunt hominis, nemo novit nisi spiritus hominis qui in ipso est_.'
Donne recurs to this theme very frequently: 'Let the Schoole dispute infinitely (for he that will not content himself with means of salvation till all Schoole points be reconciled, will come too late); let Scotus and his Heard think, That Angels, and separate souls have a naturall power to understand thoughts ... And let Aquinas present his arguments to the contrary, That those spirits have no naturall power to know thoughts; we seek no farther, but that Jesus Christ himself thought it argument enough to convince the Scribes and Pharisees, and prove himself God, by knowing their thoughts. _Eadem Maiestate et potentia_ sayes _S. Hierome_, Since you see I proceed as God, in knowing your thoughts, why beleeve you not that I may forgive his sins as God too?' _Sermons_ 80. 11. 111; and compare also _Sermons_ 80. 9. 92.
This point is also preserved in the Dutch version:
Maer als ick u sagh sien wat om mijn hertje lagh En weten wat ick docht (dat Engel noyt en sagh).
M. Legouis in a recent French version has left it ambiguous:
Mais quand j'ai vu que tu voyais mon coeur Et savais mes pensées au dela du savoir d'un ange.
The MS. reading, 14 'but an Angel', heightens the antithesis.
ll. 27-8. _Perchance as torches which must ready bee Men light and put out._
'If it' (i.e. a torch) 'have _never_ been _lighted_, it does not easily take light, but it must be _bruised_ and _beaten_ first; if it have been lighted and put out, though it cannot take fire _of it self_, yet it does easily conceive fire, if it be presented within any convenient distance.' _Sermons_ 50. 36. 332.
PAGE =38=. A VALEDICTION: OF WEEPING.
ll. 1-9. I have changed the comma at l. 6 to a semicolon, as the first image, that of the coins, closes here. Chambers places a full stop at l. 4 'worth', and apparently connects the next two lines with what follows--wrongly, I think. Finishing the figure of the coins, coined, stamped, and given their value by her, Donne passes on to a couple of new images. 'The tears are fruits of much grief; but they are symbols of more to come. For, as your image perishes in each tear that falls, so shall we perish, be nothing, when between us rolls the "salt, estranging sea".'
It is, I suppose, by an inadvertence that Chambers has left 'divers' unchanged to 'diverse'. I cannot think there is any reference to 'a diver in the pearly seas'. Grolier and the Dutch poet divide as here:
Laet voor uw aengesicht mijn trouwe tranen vallen, Want van dat aengensicht ontfangen sy uw' munt, En rijsen tot de waerd dies' uwe stempel gunt Bevrucht van uw' gedaent: vrucht van veel' ongevallen, Maer teekenen van meer, daer ghy valt met den traen, Die van u swanger was, en beyde wy ontdaen Verdwijnen, soo wy op verscheiden oever staen.
PAGE =39=. LOVES ALCHYMIE.
l. 7. _th'Elixar_: i.e. 'the Elixir Vitae', which heals all disease and indefinitely prolongs life. It is sometimes identified with the philosopher's stone, which transmutes metals to gold. In speaking of quintessences (see note, II. p. 30) Paracelsus declares that there are certain quintessences superior to those of gold, marchasite, precious stones, &c., 'of more importance than that they should be called a quintessence. It should be rather spoken of as a certain secret and mystery ... Among these arcana we here put forward four. Of these arcana the first is the mercury of life, the second is the primal matter, the third is the Philosopher's Stone, and the fourth the tincture. But although these arcana are rather angelical than human to speak of we shall not shrink from them.' From the description he gives they all seem to operate more or less alike, purging metals and other bodies from disease.
ll. 7-10. _And as no chymique yet, &c._ 'My Lord Chancellor gave me so noble and so ready a dispatch, accompanied with so fatherly advice that I am now, like an alchemist, delighted with discoveries by the way, though I attain not mine end.' To ... Sir H. G., Gosse's _Life, &c._, ii. 49.
ll. 23-4. _at their best Sweetnesse and wit, they'are but Mummy, possest._
The punctuation of these lines in _1633-54_ is ambiguous, and Chambers has altered it wrongly to
Sweetness and wit they are, but Mummy possest.
The MSS. generally support the punctuation which I have adopted, which is that of the Grolier Club edition.
PAGE =40=. THE FLEA.
I have restored this poem to the place it occupied in _1633_. In _1635_ it was placed first of all the _Songs and Sonets_. A strange choice to our mind, but apparently the poem was greatly admired as a masterpiece of wit. It is the first of the pieces translated by Huyghens:
De Vloy.
Slaet acht op deze Vloy, en leert wat overleggen, Hoe slechten ding het is dat ghy my kont ontzeggen, &c.,
and was selected for special commendation by some of his correspondents. Coleridge comments upon it in verse:
Be proud as Spaniards. Leap for pride, ye Fleas! In natures _minim_ realm ye're now grandees. Skip-jacks no more, nor civiller skip-johns; Thrice-honored Fleas! I greet you all as _Dons_. In Phoebus' archives registered are ye, And this your patent of nobility.
It will be noticed that there are two versions of Donne's poem.
PAGE =41=. THE CURSE.
l. 3. _His only, and only his purse._ This, the reading of all the editions except the last, and of the MSS., is obviously right. What is to dispose 'some dull heart to love' is his _only_ purse and _his_ alone, no one's but his purse. Chambers adopts the _1669_ conjecture, 'Him only for his purse,' but in that case there is no subject to 'may dispose', or if 'some dull heart' be subject then 'itself' must be supplied--a harsh construction. 'Dispose' is not used intransitively in this sense.
l. 27. _Mynes._ I have adopted the plural from the MSS. It brings it into line with the other objects mentioned.
PAGE =43=. THE MESSAGE.
l. 11. _But if it be taught by thine._ It seems incredible that Donne should have written 'which if it' &c. immediately after the 'which' of the preceding line. I had thought that the _1633_ printer had accidentally repeated from the line above, but the evidence of the MSS. points to the mistake (if it is a mistake) being older than that. 'Which' was in the MS. used by the printer. If 'But' is not Donne's own reading or emendation it ought to be, and I am loath to injure a charming poem by pedantic adherence to authority in so small a point. _De minimis non curat lex_; but art cares very much indeed. _JC_ and _P_ read 'Yet since it hath learn'd by thine'.
ll. 14 f. _And crosse both Word and oath, &c._
The 'crosse' of all the MSS. is pretty certainly what Donne wrote. An editor would change to 'break' hardly the other way. To 'crosse' is, of course, to 'cancel'. Compare Jonson's _Poetaster_, Act II, Scene i:
Faith, sir, your mercer's Book Will tell you with more patience, then I can (For I am crost, and so's not that I thinke.)
and
Examine well thy beauty with my truth, And cross my cares, ere greater sums arise. Daniel, _Delia_, i.
PAGE =44=. A NOCTURNALL, &c.
l. 12. _For I am every dead thing._ I have not thought it right to alter the _1633_ 'every' to the 'very' of _1635-69_. 'Every' has some MS. support, and it is the more difficult reading, though of course 'a very' might easily enough be misread. But I rather think that 'every' expresses what Donne means. He is 'every dead thing' because he is the quintessence of all negations--'absence, darkness, death: things which are not', and more than that, 'the first nothing.'
ll. 14-18. _For his art did expresse ... things which are not._ This is a difficult stanza in a difficult poem. I have after considerable hesitation adopted the punctuation of _1719_, which is followed by all the modern editors. This makes 'dull privations' and 'lean emptinesse' expansions of 'nothingnesse'. This is the simpler construction. I am not sure, however, that the punctuation of the earlier editions and of the MSS. may not be correct. In that case 'From dull privations' goes with 'he ruined me'. Milton speaks of 'ruining from Heaven'. 'From me, who was nothing', says Donne, 'Love extracted the very quintessence of nothingness--made me more nothing than I already was. My state was already one of "dull privation" and "lean emptiness", and Love reduced it still further, making me once more the non-entity I was before I was created.' Only Donne could be guilty of such refined and extravagant subtlety. But probably this is to refine too much. There is no example of 'ruining' as an active verb used in this fashion. A feature of the MS. collection from which this poem was probably printed is the omission of stops at the end of the line. In the next verse Donne pushes the annihilation further. Made nothing by Love, by the death of her he loves he is made the elixir (i.e. the quintessence) not now of ordinary nothing, but of 'the first nothing', the nothing which preceded God's first act of creation. The poem turns upon the thought of degrees in nothingness.
For 'elixir' as identical with 'quintessence' see Oxf. Eng. Dict., _Elixir_, † iii. b, and the quotation there, 'A distill'd quintessence, a pure elixar of mischief, pestilent alike to all.' Milton, _Church Govt._
Of the 'first Nothing' Donne speaks in the _Essays in Divinity_ (Jessop, 1855), pp. 80-1, but in a rather different strain: 'To speak truth freely there was no such Nothing as this' (the nothing which a man might wish to be) 'before the beginning: for he that hath refined all the old definitions hath put this ingredient _Creabile_ (which cannot be absolutely nothing) into his definition of creation; and that Nothing which was, we cannot desire; for man's will is not larger than God's power: and since Nothing was not a pre-existent matter, nor mother of this all, but only a limitation when any thing began to be; how impossible it is to return to that first point of time, since God (if it imply contradiction) cannot reduce yesterday? Of this we will say no more; for this Nothing being no creature; is more incomprehensible than all the rest.'
ll. 31-2. The Grolier Club edition reads:
I should prefer If I were any beast; some end, some means;
which is to me unintelligible. 'If I were a beast, I should prefer some end, some means' refers to the Aristotelian and Schools doctrine of the soul. The soul of man is rational and self-conscious; of beasts perceptive and moving, therefore able to select ends and means; the vegetative soul of plants selects what it can feed on and rejects what it cannot, and so far detests and loves. Even stones, which have no souls, attract and repel. But even of stones Donne says: 'We are not sure that stones have not life; stones may have life; neither (to speak humanely) is it unreasonably thought by them, that thought the whole world to be inanimated by one soule, and to be one intire living creature; and in that respect does S. Augustine prefer a fly before the Sun, because a fly hath life, and the Sun hath not.' _Sermons_ 80. 7. 69-70.
l. 35. _If I an ordinary nothing were._ 'A shadow is nothing, yet, if the rising or falling sun shines out and there be no shadow, I will pronounce there is no body in that place neither. Ceremonies are nothing; but where there are no ceremonies, order, and obedience, and at last (and quickly) religion itself will vanish.' _Sermons_ (quoted in _Selections from Donne_, 1840).
l. 41. _Enjoy your summer all_; This is Grosart's punctuation. The old editions have a comma. Chambers, obviously quite wrongly, retains the comma, and closes the sentence in the next line. The clause 'Since she enjoys her long night's festival' explains 43 'Let me prepare towards her', &c., _not_ 41 'Enjoy your summer all'.
PAGE =47=. THE APPARITION.
ll. 1-13. The Grolier Club editor places a full stop, Chambers a colon, after 'shrinke', for the comma of the old editions. Chambers's division is better than the first, which interrupts the steady run of the thought to the climax,
A verier ghost than I.
The original punctuation preserves the rapid, crowded march of the clauses.
l. 10. This line throws light on the character of the _1669_ text. The correct reading of _1633_ was spoiled in _1635_ by accidentally dropping 'will', and this error continued through _1639-54_. The 1669 editor, detecting the metrical fault, made the line decasyllabic by interpolating 'a' and 'even'.
PAGE =48=. THE BROKEN HEART.
l. 8. _A flaske of powder burne a day._ The 'flash' of later editions is probably a conjectural emendation, for 'flaske' (_1633_ and many MSS.) makes good sense; and the metaphor of a burning flask of powder seems to suit exactly the later lines which describe what happened to the heart which love inflamed
but Love, alas, At one first blow did shiver it as glasse.
Shakespeare uses the same simile in a different connexion:
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both: Like powder in a skilless soldiers flaske, Is set a fire by thine own ignorance, And thou dismembred with thine owne defence. _Romeo and Juliet_, III. iii. 130.
l. 14. _and never chawes_: 'chaw' is the form Donne generally uses: 'Implicite beleevers, ignorant beleevers, the adversary may swallow; but the understanding beleever, he must chaw, and pick bones, before he come to assimilate him, and make him like himself.' _Sermons_ 80. 18. 178.
PAGE =49=. A VALEDICTION: FORBIDDING MOURNING.
This poem is quoted by Walton after his account of the vision which Donne had of his wife in France, in 1612: 'I forbear the readers farther trouble as to the relation and what concerns it, and will conclude mine with commending to his view a copy of verses given by Mr. Donne to his wife at the time that he then parted from her: and I beg leave to tell, that I have heard some critics, learned both in languages and poetry, say, that none of the Greek or Latin poets did ever equal them.' The critics probably included Wotton,--perhaps also Hales, whose criticism of Shakespeare shows the same readiness to find our own poets as good as the Ancients.
The song, 'Sweetest love I do not go,' was probably written at the same time. It is almost identical in tone. They are certainly the tenderest of Donne's love poems, perhaps the only ones to which the epithet 'tender' can be applied. The _Valediction: of weeping_ is more passionate.
An early translation of this poem into Greek verse is found in a volume in the Bodleian Library.
ll. 9-12. _Moving of th'earth, &c._ 'The "trepidation" was the precession of the equinoxes, supposed, according to the Ptolemaic astronomy, to be caused by the movements of the Ninth or Crystalline Sphere.' Chambers.
First you see fixt in this huge mirrour blew, Of trembling lights, a number numberlesse: Fixt they are nam'd, but with a name untrue, For they all moove and in a Daunce expresse That great long yeare, that doth contain no lesse Then threescore hundreds of those yeares in all, Which the sunne makes with his course naturall.
What if to you those sparks disordered seem As if by chaunce they had beene scattered there? The gods a solemne measure doe it deeme, And see a iust proportion every where, And know the points whence first their movings were; To which first points when all returne againe, The axel-tree of Heav'n shall breake in twain. Sir John Davies, _Orchestra_, 35-6.
l. 16. _Those things which elemented it._ Chambers follows _1669_ and reads 'The thing'--wrongly, I think. 'Elemented' is just 'composed', and the things are enumerated later, 20. 'eyes, lips, hands.' Compare:
But neither chance nor compliment Did element our love. Katharine Phillips (Orinda), _To Mrs. M. A. at parting_.
This and the fellow poem _Upon Absence_ may be compared with Donne's poems on the same theme. See Saintsbury's _Caroline Poets_, i, pp. 548, 550.
l. 20. _and hands_: 'and' has the support of _all_ the MSS. The want of it is no great loss, for though without it the line moves a little irregularly, 'and hands' is not a pleasant concatenation.
ll. 25-36. _If they be two, &c._ Donne's famous simile has a close parallel in Omar Khayyam. Whether Donne's 'hydroptic immoderate thirst of humane learning and languages' extended to Persian I do not know. Captain Harris has supplied me with translations and reference:
In these twin compasses, O Love, you see One body with two heads, like you and me, Which wander round one centre, circle wise, But at the last in one same point agree. Whinfield's edition of _Omar Khayyam_ (Kegan Paul, Trübner, 1901, Oriental Series, p. 216).
'Oh my soul, you and I are like a compass. We form but one body having two points. Truly one point moves from the other point, and makes the round of the circle; but the day draws near when the two points must re-unite.' J. H. M^{c}Carthy (D. Nutt, 1898).
PAGE =51=. THE EXTASIE.
This is one of the most important of the lyrics as a statement of Donne's metaphysic of love, of the interconnexion and mutual dependence of body and soul. It is printed in _1633_ from _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ or a MS. resembling it, and from this and the other MSS. I have introduced some alterations in the text: and two rather vital emendations, ll. 55 and 59. _The Extasie_ is probably the source of Lord Herbert of Cherbury's best known poem, _An Ode Upon a Question Moved Whether Love Should Continue For Ever_. Compare with the opening lines of Donne's poem:
They stay'd at last and on the grass Reposed so, as o're his breast She bowed her gracious head to rest, Such a weight as no burden was.
While over eithers compass'd waist Their folded arms were so compos'd As if in straightest bonds inclos'd They suffer'd for joys they did taste
Long their fixt eyes to Heaven bent, Unchanged they did never move, As if so great and pure a love No glass but it could represent.
In a letter to Sir Thomas Lucy, Donne writes: 'Sir I make account that this writing of letters, when it is with any seriousness, is a kind of extasie, and a departing, and secession, and suspension of the soul, which doth then communicate itself to two bodies.' Ecstasy in Neo-Platonic philosophy was the state of mind in which the soul, escaping from the body, attained to the vision of God, the One, the Absolute. Plotinus thus describes it: 'Even the word vision ([Greek: theama]) does not seem appropriate here. It is rather an ecstasy ([Greek: ekstasis]), a simplification, an abandonment of self, a perfect quietude ([Greek: stasis]), a desire of contact, in short a wish to merge oneself in that which one contemplates in the Sanctuary.' _Sixth Ennead_, ix. 11 (from the French translation of Bouillet, 1857-8). Readers will observe how closely Donne's poem agrees with this--the exodus of the souls (ll. 15-16), the perfect quiet (ll. 18-20), the new insight (ll. 29-33), the contact and union of the souls (l. 35). Donne had probably read Ficino's translation of Plotinus (1492), but the doctrine of ecstasy passed into Christian thought, connecting itself especially with the experience of St. Paul (2 Cor. xii. 2). St. Paul's word is [Greek: harpagenta], and Aquinas distinguishes between 'raptus' and 'ecstasis': 'Extasis importat simpliciter excessum a seipso ... raptus super hoc addit violentiam quandam.' Another word for 'ecstasy' was 'enthusiasm'.
l. 9. _So to entergraft our hands._ All the later editions read 'engraft', which makes the line smoother. But to me it seems more probable that Donne wrote 'entergraft' and later editors changed this to 'engraft', than that the opposite should have happened. Moreover, 'entergraft' gives the reciprocal force correctly, which 'engraft' does not. Donne's precision is as marked as his subtlety. 'Entergraft' has the support of all the best MSS.
PAGE =52=, l. 20. _And wee said nothing all the day._ 'En amour un silence vaut mieux qu'un langage. Il est bon d'être interdit; il y a une éloquence de silence qui pénètre plus que la langue ne saurait faire. Qu'un amant persuade bien sa maîtresse quand il est interdit, et que d'ailleurs il a de l'esprit! Quelque vivacité que l'on ait, il est bon dans certaines rencontres qu'elle s'éteigne. Tout cela se passe sans règle et sans réflexion; et quand l'esprit le fait, il n'y pensait pas auparavant. C'est par nécessité que cela arrive.' Pascal, _Discours sur les passions de l'amour_.
l. 32. _Wee see, wee saw not what did move._ Chambers inserts a comma after 'we saw not', perhaps rightly; but the punctuation of the old editions gives a distinct enough sense, viz., 'We see now, that we did not see before the true source of our love. What we thought was due to bodily beauty, we perceive now to have its source in the soul.' Compare, 'But when I wakt, I saw, that I saw not.' _The Storme_, l. 37.
l. 42. _Interinanimates two soules._ The MSS. give the word which the metre requires and which I have no doubt Donne used. The verb _inanimates_ occurs more than once in the sermons. 'One that quickens and inanimates all, and is the soul of the whole world.' _Sermons_ 80. 29. 289. 'That universall power which sustaines, and inanimates the whole world.' Ibid. 80. 31. 305. 'In these bowels, in the womb of this promise we lay foure thousand yeares; The blood with which we were fed then, was the blood of the Sacrifices, and the quickening which we had there, was an inanimation, by the often refreshing of this promise of that Messias in the Prophets.' Ibid. 80. 38. 381. 'Hee shews them Heaven, and God in Heaven, sanctifying all their Crosses in this World, inanimating all their worldly blessings.' Ibid. 80. 44. 436.
PAGE =53=, l. 51. _They'are ours though they'are not wee, Wee are_ The line as given in all the MSS. is metrically, in the rhetorically effective position of the stresses, superior to the shortened form of the editions:
They'are ours, though not wee, wee are
l. 52. _the spheare._ The MSS. all give the singular, the editions the plural. Donne is not incapable of making a singular rhyme with a plural, or at any rate a form with 's' with one without:
Then let us at these mimicke antiques jeast, Whose deepest projects, and egregious gests Are but dull Moralls of a game of Chests. _To S^r Henry Wotton_, p. 188, ll. 22-4.
Still, I think 'spheare' is right. The bodies made one are the Sphere in which the two Intelligences meet and command. This suits all that followes:
Wee owe them thanks, because they thus, &c.
The Dutch translation runs:
Het Hemel-rond zijn sy, Wy haren _Hemel-geest_.
l. 55. _forces, sense_, This reading of all the MSS. is, I think, certainly right; the 'senses force' of the editions being an emendation. (1) It is the more difficult reading. It is inconceivable that an ordinary copyist would alter 'senses force' to 'forces sense', which, unless properly commaed, is apt to be read as 'forces' sense' and make nonsense. (2) It is more characteristic of Donne's thought. He is, with his usual scholastic precision, distinguishing the functions of soul and body. Perception is the function (the [Greek: dynamis], power or force) of soul:
thy faire goodly soul, which doth Give this flesh power to taste joy. _Satyre III._
But the body has its function also, without which the soul could not fulfil its; and that function is 'sense'. It is through this medium that human souls must operate to obtain knowledge of each other. The bodies must yield their forces or faculties ('sense' in all its forms, especially sight and touch--hands and eyes) to us before our souls can become one. The collective term 'sense' recurs:
T'affections, and to faculties, Which sense may reach and apprehend.
ll. 57-8. _On man heavens influence workes not so, But that it first imprints the ayre._
'Aucuns ont escrit que l'air a aussi cette vertu de faire decouler avec le feu elementaire les influences et proprietez secrettes des estoilles et planettes: alleguans que l'efficace des corps celestes ne peut s'estendre aux inferieurs et terrestres, que par les moyens et elemens qui sont entre deux. Mais cela soit au iugement des lecteurs que nous renvoyons aux disputes de ceux qui ont escrit sur la philosophie naturelle. Voyez aussi _Pline au 5 ch. du 2 liu._, _Plutarque au 5 & 2 liu. des opinions des Philosophes_, _Platon en son Timee_, _Aristote_ en ses disputes de physique, specialement au i. liu. de la generation et corruption, et ceux qui ont escrit depuis luy touchant les elemens.' Du Bartas, _La Sepmaine, &c._ (1581), _Indice_. Air.
l. 59. _Soe soule into the soule may flow._ The 'Soe' of the MSS. must, I think, be right rather than the 'For' of _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, and the editions. It corresponds to the 'So' in l. 65, and it expresses the simpler and more intelligible thought. In references to the heavenly bodies and their influence on men one must remember certain aspects of older thought which have become unfamiliar to us. They were bodies of great dignity, 'aeterna corpora,' not composed of any of the four elements, and subject to no change in time but movement, change of position. If not as the older philosophers and some of the Fathers had held, 'animata corpora,' having a soul united to the body, yet each was guided by an Intelligence operating by contact: 'Ad hoc autem quod moveat, non opportet quod uniatur ei ut forma, sed per contactum virtutis, sicut motor unitur mobili.' Aquinas, _Summa_ I. lxx. 3. Such bodies, it was claimed, influence human actions: 'Corpora enim coelestia, cum moveantur a spiritualibus substantiis ... agunt in virtute earum quasi instrumenta. Sed illae substantiae spirituales sunt superiores animabus nostris. Ergo videtur quod possint _imprimere in animas nostras_, et sic causare actus humanos.' Aquinas, however, disputes this, as Plotinus had before him, and distinguishes: As bodies, the stars affect us only indirectly, in so far namely as the mind and will of man are subject to the influence of physical and corporeal disturbances. But man's will remains free. '_Sapiens homo dominatur astris_ in quantum scilicet dominatur suis passionibus.' As Intelligences, the stars do not operate on man thus mediately and controllingly: 'sed in intellectum humanum agunt _immediate illuminando_: voluntatem autem immutare non possunt.' Aquinas, _Summa_ I. cxv. 4.
Now if 'Soe' be the right reading here then Donne is thinking of the heavenly bodies without distinguishing in them between soul or intelligence and body. 'As these high bodies or beings operate on man's soul through the comparatively low intermediary of air, so lovers' souls must interact through the medium of body.'
If 'For' be the right reading, then Donne is giving as an example of soul operating on soul through the medium of body the influence of the heavenly intelligences on our souls. But this is not the orthodox view of their interaction. I feel sure that 'Soe' is the right reading. The thought and construction are simpler, and 'Soe' and 'For' are easily interchanged.
Of noblemen Donne says: 'They are _Intelligences_ that move great _Spheares_.' _Sermon_, Judges xv. 20, p. 20 (1622).
ll. 61-4. _As our blood labours to beget Spirits, as like soules as it can, Because such fingers need to knit That subtile knot, which makes us man._
'Spirit is a most subtile vapour, which is expressed from the Bloud, and the instrument of the soule, to perform all his actions; a common tye or _medium_ betwixt the body and the soule, as some will have it; or as _Paracelsus_, a fourth soule of itselfe. _Melancthon_ holds the fountaine of these spirits to be the _Heart_, begotten there; and afterward convayed to the Braine, they take another nature to them. Of these spirits there be three kindes, according to the three principall parts, _Braine_, _Heart_, _Liver_; _Naturall_, _Vitall_, _Animall_. The _Naturall_ are begotten in the _Liver_, and thence dispersed through the Veines, to performe those naturall actions. The _Vitall Spirits_ are made in the Heart, of the _Naturall_, which by the Arteries are transported to all the other parts: if these _Spirits_ cease, then life ceaseth, as in a _Syncope_ or Swowning. The _Animall spirits_ formed of the _Vitall_, brought up to the Braine, and diffused by the Nerves, to the subordinate Members, give sense and motion to them all.' Burton, _Anatomy of Melancholy_ (1638), p. 15. 'The spirits in a man which are the thin and active part of the blood, and so are of a kind of middle nature, between soul and body, those spirits are able to doe, and they doe the office, to unite and apply the faculties of the soul to the organs of the body, and so there is a man.' _Sermons_ 26. 20. 291.
PAGE =55=. LOVES DIET.
ll. 19-24. This stanza, carefully and correctly printed in the 1633 edition, which I have followed, was mangled in that of 1635, and has remained in this condition, despite conjectural emendations, in subsequent editions, including those of Grosart and Chambers. What Donne says is obvious: 'Whatever Love dictated I wrote, but burned the letters. When she wrote to me, and when (correctly resumed by 'that') that favour made him (i.e. Love) fat, I said,' &c. The 1650-54 'Whate'er might him distaste,' &c. is obviously an attempt to put right what has gone wrong. No reading but that of the 1633 edition gives _any_ sense to 'that favour' and 'convey'd by this'.
ll. 25-7. _reclaim'd ... sport._ In _1633_ 'reclaim'd' became 'redeem'd', probably owing to the frequent misreading of 'cl' as 'd'. The mistake here increases the probability that 'sports' is an error for 'sport' or 'sporte'. It is doubtful if 'sports' was used as now.
PAGE =56=. THE WILL.
ll. 19-27. This verse is omitted in most of the MSS. Probably in James's reign its references to religion were thought too outspoken and flippant. Charles admired in Donne not only the preacher but also the poet, as Huyghens testifies.
The first three lines turn on a contrast that Donne is fond of elaborating between the extreme Protestant doctrine of justification by faith only and the Catholic, especially Jesuit, doctrine of co-operant works. It divided the Jesuits and the Jansenists. The Jansenists had not yet emerged, but their precursors in the quarrel (as readers of _Les Provinciales_ will recall) were the Dominicans, to whom Donne refers: 'So also when in the beginning of S. Augustines time, Grace had been so much advanced that mans Nature was scarce admitted to be so much as any means or instrument (not only no kind of cause) of his own good works: And soon after in S. Augustines time also mans free will (by fierce opposition and arguing against the former error) was too much overvalued, and admitted into too near degrees of fellowship with Grace; those times admitted a doctrine and form of reconciliation, which though for reverence to the time, both the Dominicans and Jesuits at this day in their great quarrell about Grace and Free Will would yet seem to maintaine, yet indifferent and dispassioned men of that Church see there is no possibility in it, and therefore accuse it of absurdity, and almost of heresie.' _Letters_ (1651), pp. 15-16. As an Anglican preacher Donne upheld James's point of view, that the doctrine of grace and free-will was better left undiscussed: 'Resistibility, and Irresistibility of Grace, which is every Artificers wearing now, was a stuff that our Fathers wore not, a language that pure antiquity spake not.... They knew Gods law, and his Chancery: But for Gods prerogative, what he could do of his absolute power, they knew Gods pleasure, _Nolumus disputari_: It should scarce be disputed of in Schools, much less serv'd in every popular pulpit to curious and itching ears; least of all made table-talke, and houshold-discourse.' _Sermons_ 26. 1. 4.
The 'Schismaticks of Amsterdam' were the extreme Puritans. See Jonson's _The Alchemist_ for Tribulation Wholesome and 'We of the separation'.
PAGE =58=. THE FUNERALL.
l. 3. _That subtile wreath of haire, which crowns my arme_; 'And Theagenes presented her with a diamond ring which he used to wear, entreating her, whensoever she did cast her eyes upon it, to conceive that it told her in his behalf, that his heart would prove as hard as that stone in the admittance of any new affection; and that his to her should be as void of end as that circular figure was;' (compare _A Ieat Ring sent_, p. 65) 'and she desired him to wear for her sake a lock of hair which she gave him; the splendour of which can be expressed by no earthly thing, but it seemed as though a stream of the sun's beams had been gathered together and converted into a solid substance. With this precious relique about his arm,' (compare _The Relique_, p. 62) 'whose least hair was sufficient' (compare _Aire and Angels_, p. 22, 'Ev'ry thy hair' and note) 'to bind in bonds of love the greatest heart that ever was informed with life, Theagenes took his journey into Attica.' Kenelm Digby's _Private Memoirs_ (1827), pp. 80-1. When later Theagenes heard that Stelliana (believing Theagenes to be dead) was to wed Mardonius, 'he tore from his arm the bracelet of her hair ... and threw it into the fire that was in his chamber; when that glorious relic burning shewed by the wan and blue colour of the flame that it had sense and took his words unkindly in her behalf.'
Theagenes was Sir Kenelm Digby himself, Stelliana being Lady Venetia Stanley, afterwards his wife. Mardonius was probably Edward, Earl of Dorset, the brother of Donne's friend and patron.
It is probable that this sequence of poems, _The Funerall_, _The Blossome_, _The Primrose_ and _The Relique_, was addressed to Mrs. Herbert in the earlier days of Donne's intimacy with her in Oxford or London.
l. 24. _That since you would save none of me, I bury some of you._ I have hesitated a good deal over this line. The reading of the editions is 'have none of me'; and in the group of MSS. _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, while _H49_ reads 'save', _D_ has corrected 'have' to what _may_ be 'save', and _Lec_ reads 'have'. The reading of the editions is the full form of the construction, which is more common without the 'have'. 'It's four to one she'll none of me,' _Twelfth Night_, I. iii. 113; 'She will none of him,' Ibid. II. ii. 9, are among Schmidt's examples (_Shakespeare Lexicon_), in none of which 'have' occurs. The reading of the MSS., 'save none of me,' is also quite idiomatic, resembling the ' fear none of this' (i.e. 'do not fear this') of _Winter's Tale_, IV. iv. 601; and I have preferred it because: (1) It seems difficult to understand how it could have arisen if 'have none' was the original. (2) It gives a sharper antithesis, 'You would not save me, keep me alive. Therefore I will bury, not you indeed, but a part of you.' (3) To be saved is the lover's usual prayer; and the idea of the poem is that his death is due to the lady's cruelty.
Come not, when I am dead, To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave, To trample round my fallen head, And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save. There let the wind sweep and the plover cry; But thou go by.
Compare also the Letter _To M^{rs} M. H._ (pp. 216-8), where the same idea recurs:
When thou art there, if any, whom we know, Were sav'd before, and did that heaven partake, &c.
PAGE =59=. THE BLOSSOME.
l. 10. _labour'st._ The form with 't' occurs in most of the MSS., and 't' is restored in _1635_. The 'labours' of _1633_ represents a common dropping of the 't' for ease of pronunciation. See Franz, _Shakespeare-Grammatik_, § 152. It is colloquial, and I doubt if Donne would have preserved it if he had printed the poem, supposing that he wrote the word so, and not some copyist.
ll. 21-4. _You goe to friends, whose love and meanes present Various content To your eyes, eares, and tongue, and every part: If then your body goe, what need you a heart?_
I have adopted the MS. readings 'tongue' and 'what need you a heart?' because they seem to me more certainly what Donne wrote. He may have altered them, but so may an editor. 'Tongue' is more exactly parallel to eyes and ears, and the whole talk is of organs. 'What need you a heart?' is more pointed. 'With these organs of sense, what need have you of a heart?' The idiom was not uncommon, the verb being used impersonally. The O.E.D. gives among others:
What need us so many instances abroad. _Andros Tracts_, 1691.
'What need your heart go' is of course also idiomatic. The latest example the O.E.D. gives is from Hall's _Satires_, 1597: 'What needs me care for any bookish skill?'
PAGE =61=. THE PRIMROSE, &c.
It is noteworthy that the addition 'being at Montgomery Castle', &c. was made in _1635_. It is unknown to _1633_ and the MSS. It may be unwarranted. If it be accurate, then the poem is probably addressed to Mrs. Herbert and is a half mystical, half cynical description of Platonic passion. The perfect primrose has apparently five petals, but more or less may be found. Seeking for one to symbolize his love, he fears to find either more or less. What can be less than woman? But if more than woman she becomes that unreal thing, the object of Platonic affection and Petrarchian adoration: but, as he says elsewhere,
Love's not so pure and abstract as they use To say, which have no Mistresse but their Muse.
Let woman be content to be herself. Since five is half ten, united with man she will be half of a perfect life; or (and the cynical humour breaks out again) if she is not content with that, since five is the first number which includes an even number (2) and an odd (3), it may claim to be the perfect number, and she to be the whole in which we men are included and absorbed. We have no will of our own.
'From Sarai's name He took a letter which expressed the number ten, and reposed one which made but five; so that she contributed that five which man wanted before, to show a mutual indigence and support.' _Essays in Divinity_ (Jessop, 1855), p. 118.
'Even for this, he will visite to the third, and fourth generation; and three and foure are seven, and seven is infinite. _Sermons_ 50. 47. 440.
l. 30. _this, five,_ I have introduced a comma after 'this' to show what, I think, must be the relation of the words. The later editions drop 'this', and it seems to me probable that an original reading and a correction have survived side by side. Donne may have written 'this' alone, referring back to 'five', and then, thinking the reference too remote, he may have substituted 'five' in the margin, whence it crept into the text without completely displacing 'this'. The support which the MSS. lend to _1633_ make it dangerous to remove either word now, but I have thought it well to show that 'this' _is_ 'five'. In the MSS. when a word is erased a line is drawn under it and the substituted word placed in the margin.
PAGE =62=. THE RELIQUE.
l. 13. _Where mis-devotion doth command._ The unanimity of the earlier editions and the MSS. shows clearly that 'Mass-devotion' (which Chambers adopts) is merely an ingenious conjecture of the _1669_ editor. Donne uses the word frequently, e.g.:
Here in a place, where miss-devotion frames A thousand Prayers to Saints, whose very names The ancient Church knew not, &c. _Of the Progresse of the Soule_, p. 266, ll. 511-13.
and: 'This mis-devotion, and left-handed piety, of praying for the dead.' _Sermons_ 80. 77. 780.
l. 17. _You shalbe._ I have recorded this reading of several MSS. because the poem is probably addressed to Mrs. Herbert and Donne may have so written. His discrimination of 'thou' and 'you' is very marked throughout the poems. 'Thou' is the pronoun of feeling and intimacy, 'you' of respect. Compare 'To Mrs. M. H.', and remember that Mrs. Herbert's name was Magdalen.
ll. 27-8. _Comming and going, wee Perchance might kisse, but not between those meales_: i.e. the kiss of salutation and parting. In a sermon on the text 'Kisse the Son, lest he be angry', Donne enumerates the uses of kissing sanctioned by the Bible, and this among them: 'Now by this we are slid into our fourth and last branch of our first part, The perswasion to come to this holy kisse, though defamed by treachery, though depraved by licentiousnesse, since God invites us to it, by so many good uses thereof in his Word. It is an imputation laid upon _Nero_, that _Neque adveniens neque proficiscens_, That whether comming or going he never kissed any: And Christ himself imputes it to _Simon_, as a neglect of him, That when he _came into his house_ he did not _kisse_ him. This then was in use', &c. _Sermons_ 80. 41. 407.
The kiss of salutation lasted in some countries till the later eighteenth century, perhaps still lasts. See Rousseau's _Confessions_, Bk. 9, and Byron's _Childe Harold_, III. lxxix.
But Erasmus, in 1499, speaks as though it were a specially English custom: 'Est praeterea mos nunquam satis laudatus. Sive quo venis, omnium osculis exciperis; sive discedis aliquo, osculis dimitteris; redis, redduntur suavia; venitur ad te, propinantur suavia; disceditur abs te, dividuntur basia; occurritur alicubi, basiatur affatim; denique quocunque te moves, suaviorum plena sunt omnia.'
PAGE =64=. THE DISSOLUTION.
l. 10. _earthly sad despaire._ Cf. O.E.D.: 'Earthly. 3. Partaking of the nature of earth, resembling earth as a substance, consisting of earth as an element; = Earthy, archaic or obsolete.' The form was used as late as 1843, but the change in the later editions of Donne indicates that it was growing rare in this sense. Compare,'A young man of a softly disposition.' Camden's _Reign of Elizabeth_ (English transl.).
PAGE =66=. NEGATIVE LOVE.
l. 15. _What we know not, our selves._ 'All creatures were brought to Adam, and, because he understood the natures of all those creatures, he gave them names accordingly. In that he gave no name to himselfe it may be by some perhaps argued, that he understood himselfe lesse then he did other creatures.' _Sermons_ 80. 50. 563.
PAGE =67=. THE PROHIBITION.
l. 18. _So, these extreames shall neithers office doe._ The 'neithers' of _D_, _H40_, _JC_, supported by 'neyther' in _O'F_ and 'neyther their' in _Cy_, is much more characteristic than 'ne'er their', and more likely to have been altered than to have been substituted for 'ne'er their'. The reading of _Cy_ shows how the phrase puzzled an ordinary copyist. 'These extremes shall by counteracting each other prevent either from fulfilling his function.' Compare, 'As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose' (i.e. each to the other's purpose). Shakespeare, _Hen. V_, II. ii. 107.
l. 22. _So shall I, live, thy stage not triumph bee._ I have placed a comma after I to make quite clear that 'live' is the adjective, not the verb. The 'stay' of _1633_ is defensible, but the _1633_ editor was somewhat at sea about this poem, witness the variations introduced while the edition was printing in ll. 20 and 24 and the misprinting of l. 5. All the MSS. I have consulted support 'stage'; and this gives the best meaning: 'Alive, I shall continue to be the stage on which your victories are daily set forth; dead, I shall be but your triumph, a thing achieved once, never to be repeated.' Compare:
And cause her leave to triumph in this wise Upon the prostrate spoil of that poor heart! That serves a Trophy to her conquering eyes, And must their glory to the world impart. Daniel, _Delia_, X.
ll. 23, 24. There are obviously two versions of these lines which the later editions have confounded. The first is that of the text, from _1633_. The second is that of the MSS. and runs, properly pointed:
Then lest thy love, hate, and mee thou undoe, O let me live, O love and hate me too.
The punctuation of the MSS. is very careless, but the lines as printed are quite intelligible. As given in the editions _1635-69_ they are nonsensical.
PAGE =68=. THE EXPIRATION.
l. 5. _We ask'd._ The past tense of the MSS. makes the antithesis and sense more pointed. 'It was with no one's leave we lov'd to begin with, and we will owe to no one the death that comes with parting.'
ll. 7 f. _Goe: and if that word have not quite kil'd thee, Ease mee with death, by bidding mee goe too_.
Compare:
_Val._ No more: unless the next word that thou speak'st Have some malignant power upon my life: If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear, As ending anthem of my endless dolour. _Two Gentlemen of Verona_, III. i. 236 f.
PAGE =70=. THE PARADOX.
l. 14. _lights life._ The MSS. correct the obvious mistake of the editions, 'lifes light.' The 'lights life' is, of course, the sun. In the same way at 21 'lye' is surely better suited than 'dye' to an epitaph. This poem is not in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, and _1633_ has printed it from _A18_, _N_, _TC_.
In the latter group of MSS. this poem is followed immediately by another of the same kind, which is found also in _H40_, _RP31_, and _O'F_, as well as several more miscellaneous MSS. I print from _TCC_:
A Paradox.
A PARADOX.
Whosoe termes Love a fire, may like a poet Faine what he will, for certaine cannot showe it. For Fire nere burnes, but when the fuell's neare But Love doth at most distance most appeare. Yet out of fire water did never goe, But teares from Love abundantly doe flowe. Fire still mounts upward; but Love oft descendeth. Fire leaves the midst: Love to the Center tendeth. Fire dryes and hardens: Love doth mollifie. Fire doth consume, but Love doth fructifie. The powerful Queene of Love (faire Venus) came Descended from the Sea, not from the flame, Whence passions ebbe and flowe, and from the braine Run to the hart like streames, and back againe. Yea Love oft fills mens breasts with melting snow Drowning their Love-sick minds in flouds of woe. What is Love, water then? it may be soe; But hee saith trueth, that saith hee doth not knowe.
FINIS.
PAGE =71=. FAREWELL TO LOVE.
l. 12. _His highnesse &c._ 'Presumably his highness was made of gilt gingerbread.' Chambers. See Jonson, _Bartholomew Fair_, III. i.
ll. 28-30. As these lines stand in the old editions they are unintelligible:
Because that other curse of being short, And only for a minute made to be Eager, desires to raise posterity.
Grosart prints:
Because that other curse of being short And--only-for-a-minute-made-to-be-- Eager desires to raise posterity.
This and the note which he appends I find more incomprehensible than the old text. This is his note: 'The whole sense then is: Unless Nature decreed this in order that man should despise it, (just) as she made it short, that man might for that reason also despise a sport that was only for a minute made to be eager desires to raise posterity.' Surely this is Abracadabra!
What has happened is, I believe, this: Donne here, as elsewhere, used an obsolescent word, viz. 'eagers', the verb, meaning 'sharpens'. The copyist did not recognize the form, took 'desire' for the verb, and made 'eager' the adjectival complement to 'be', changing 'desire' to 'desires' as predicate to 'curse'. What Donne had in mind was the Aristotelian doctrine that the desire to beget children is an expression of man's craving for immortality. The most natural function, according to Aristotle, of every living thing which is not maimed in any way is to beget another living thing like itself, that so it may partake of what is eternal and divine. This participation is the goal of all desire, and of all natural activity. But perishable individuals cannot partake of the immortal and divine by continuous existence. Nothing that is perishable can continue always one and the same individual. Each, therefore, participates as best he may, some more, some less; remaining the same in a way, i.e. in the species, not in the individual.' (_De Anima_, B. 4. 415 A-B.) Donne's argument then is this: 'Why of all animals have we alone this feeling of depression and remorse after the act of love? Is it a device of nature to restrain us from an act which shortens the life of the individual (he refers here to a prevalent belief as to the deleterious effect of the act of love), needed because that other curse which Adam brought upon man, the curse of mortality,
of being short, And only for a minute made to be, Eagers [i.e. whets or provokes] desire to raise posterity.'
The latest use of 'eager' as a verb quoted by the O.E.D. is from Mulcaster's _Positions_ (1581), where the sense is that of imitating physically: 'They that be gawled ... may neither runne nor wrastle for eagering the inward'. The Middle English use is closer to Donne's: 'The nature of som men is so ... unconvenable that ... poverte myhte rather egren hym to don felonies.' Chaucer, Boëth. _De Consol. Phil._ In the Burley MS. (seventeenth century) the following epigram on Bancroft appears:
A learned Bishop of this land Thinking to make religion stand, In equall poise on every syde The mixture of them thus he tryde: An ounce of protestants he singles And a dramme of papists mingles, Then adds a scruple of a puritan And melts them down in his brayne pan, But where hee lookes they should digest The scruple eagers all the rest.
In Harl. MS. 4908 f. 83 the last line reads:
That scruple troubles all the rest.
PAGE =71=. A LECTURE UPON THE SHADOW.
The text of this poem in the editions is that of _A18_, _N_, _TC_ among the MSS. A slightly different recension is found in most of the other MSS. The chief difference is that the latter read 'love' for 'loves' at ll. 9, 14, and 19. They also, however, read 'least' for 'high'st' at l. 12. In l. 19 they vacillate between 'once' and 'our'. It would not be difficult to defend either version. The only variation from the printed text which I have admitted is that on which all the MSS. are unanimous, viz. 'first' for 'short' in l. 26; 'short' is an obvious blunder.
Note On The Music To Which Certain Of Donne'S Songs Were Set.
NOTE ON THE MUSIC TO WHICH CERTAIN OF DONNE'S SONGS WERE SET.
A song meant for the Elizabethans a poem intended to be sung, generally to the accompaniment of the lute. Donne had clearly no thought of his songs being an exception to this rule:
But when I have done so, Some man his art and voice to show Doth set and sing my paine.
Yet it is difficult to think of some, perhaps the majority, of Donne's _Songs and Sonets_ as being written to be sung. Their sonorous and rhetorical rhythm, the elaborate stanzas which, like the prolonged periods of the _Elegies_, seem to give us a foretaste of the Miltonic verse-paragraph, suggest speech,--impassioned, rhythmical speech rather than the melody of song. We are not haunted by a sense of the tune to which the song should go, as we are in reading the lyrics of the Elizabethan Anthologies or of Robert Burns. Yet some of Donne's songs _were_ set to music. A note in one group of MSS. describes three of them as 'Songs which were made to certain ayres which were made before'. One of these is _The Baite_, which must have been set to the same air as Marlowe's song. I reproduce here a lute-accompaniment found in William Corkine's _Second Book of Ayres_ (1612). The airs of the other two (see p. 18) I have not been able to find, nor are they known to Mr. Barclay Squire, who has kindly helped and guided me in this matter of the music. With his aid I have reproduced here the music of two other songs, and, at another place, that of one of Donne's great _Hymns_.
PAGE =8=. SONG.
The following air is found in Egerton MS. 2013. As given here it has been conjecturally corrected by Mr. Barclay Squire:
[Music:
Go and catch a falling star Get with child a mandrake roote, Tell me where all past times are Or who cleft the Devil's foot, Teach me to hear mermaid's singing Or to keep of Envy's singing And find what wind Serves to advance an honest mind.]
PAGE =23=. BREAKE OF DAY.
This is set to the following air in Corkine's _Second Book of Ayres_ (1612). As given here it has been transcribed by Mr. Barclay Squire, omitting the lute accompaniment:
[Music:
'Tis true 'tis day, What though it be? And will you there-fore rise from me? What, will you rise, What, will you rise be-cause 'tis light? Did we lye downe be-cause 'twas night? Love that in spight of dark-nesse brought us he-ther, In spight of light should keepe us still to-ge-ther, In spight of light should keepe us still to-ge-ther, In spight of light should keepe us still to-ge-ther.]
PAGE =46=. THE BAITE.
From Corkine's _Second Book of Ayres_ (1612).
[Music: _Lessons for the Lyra Violl._
Come liue with me, and be my Loue.]
EPIGRAMS.
PAGES =75-8=. Of the epigrams sixteen are given in all the editions, _1633-69_. Of these, thirteen are in _A18_, _N_, _TC_, none in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_. Of the remaining three, two are in _W_, one in _HN_, both good authorities. I have added three of interest from _W_, of which one is in _HN_, and all three are in _O'F_. _W_ includes among the _Epigrams_ the short poem _On a Jeat Ring Sent_, printed generally with the _Songs and Sonets_. In _HN_ there is one and in the Burley MS. are three more. Of these the one in _HN_ and two of those in _Bur_ are merely coarse, and there is no use burdening Donne with more of this kind than he is already responsible for. The last in _Bur_ runs:
Why are maydes wits than boyes of lower strayne? Eve was a daughter of the ribb not brayne.
Donne's epigrams were much admired, and some of his elegies were classed with them as satirical 'evaporations of wit'. Drummond says: 'I think if he would he might easily be the best epigrammatist we have found in English; of which I have not yet seen any come near the Ancients. Compare his Marry and Love with Tasso's stanzas against beauty; one shall hardly know who hath best.' The stanzas referred to are entitled _Sopra la bellezza_, and begin:
Questo che tanto il cieco volgo apprezza.
PAGE =75=. PYRAMUS AND THISBE. The Grolier Club edition prints the first line of this epigram,
Two by themselves each other love and fear,
which suggests that 'love' and 'fear' are verbs. As punctuated in _1633_ the epigram is condensed but precise: 'These two, slain by themselves, by each other, by fear, and by love, are joined here in one tomb, by the friends whose cruel action in parting them brought them together here.' Every point in the epigram corresponds to the incidents of the story as narrated in Ovid's _Metamorphoses_, iv. 55-165. The closing line runs:
Quodque rogis superest, una requiescit in urna.
A BURNT SHIP. In _W_ the title is given in Italian, in _O'F_ in Latin. Compare James's letter to Salisbury on the Dutch demands for assistance against Spain;--'Should I ruin myself for maintaining them.... I look that by a peace they should enrich themselves to pay me my debts, and if they be so weak as they cannot subsist, either in peace or war, without I ruin myself for upholding them, in that case surely the nearest harm is to be first eschewed: _a man will leap out of a burning ship and drown himself in the sea_; and it is doubtless a farther off harm from me to suffer them to fall again into the hands of Spain, and let God provide for the danger that may with time fall upon me or my posterity, than presently to starve myself and mine with putting the meat in their mouth.' _The King to Salisbury_, 1607, Hatfield MSS., quoted in Gardiner's _History of England_, ii. 25.
PAGE =76=. A LAME BEGGER. Compare:
Dull says he is so weake, he cannot rise, Nor stand, nor goe; if that be true, he lyes. Finis quoth R.
Thomas Deloney, _Strange Histories of Songes & Sonets of Kings, Princes, Dukes, Lords, Ladyes, Knights and Gentlemen. Very pleasant either to be read or songe, &c._, 1607.
PAGE =76=. SIR JOHN WINGEFIELD. _In that late Island._ Mr. Gosse has inadvertently printed 'base' for 'late'. The 'Lady' island of _O'F_ is due probably to ignorance of what island was intended. It is, of course, Cadiz itself, which is situated on an island at the extreme point of the headland which closes the bay of Cadiz to the west. 'Then we entered into the island of Cales with our footmen,' says Captain Pryce in his letter to Cecil. Strype's _Annals_, iv. 398. Another account relates how 'on the 21st they took the town of Cadiz and at the bridge in the island were encountered by 400 horses'. Here the severest fighting took place at 'the bridge from Mayne to Cadiz'. What does Donne mean by 'late island'? Is it the island we lately visited so gloriously, or the island on which the sun sets late, that western island, now become a new Pillar of Hercules? It would not be unlike Donne to give a word a startlingly condensed force. Compare (if the reading be right) 'far faith' (p. 189, l. 4) and the note.
PAGES =75-6=. The series of Epigrams _A burnt ship_, _Fall of a wall_, _A lame begger_, _Cales and Guyana_, _Sir John Wingefield_ seem to me all to have been composed during the Cadiz expedition. The first suggests, and was probably suggested by, the fight in the harbour when so many of the Spanish ships were burned. The _Fall of a wall_ may mark an incident in the attack of the landing party which forced its way into the city. _A lame begger_ records a common spectacle in a Spanish and Catholic town. _Cales and Guyana_ must clearly have been written when, after Cadiz had been taken and sacked, the leaders were debating their next step. Essex (and Donne is on Essex's side) urged that the fleet should sail west and intercept the silver fleet, but Howard, the Lord Admiral, insisted on an immediate return to England. The last of the series chronicles the one death to which every account of the expedition refers.
PAGE =77=. ANTIQUARY. Who is the Hamon or Hammond that is evidently the subject of this epigram and is referred to in _Satyre V_, l. 87, I cannot say. I am disposed to think that it may be John Hammond, LL.D., the civilist, the father of James I's physician and of Charles I's chaplain. I have no proof that he was an antiquarian, but a civilist and authority on tithes may well have been so, and he belonged to the class which Donne satirizes with most of anger and feeling, the examiners and torturers of Catholic prisoners. We find him in Strype's _Annals_ collaborating with the notorious Topcliffe.
PHRYNE. An epigram often quoted by Ben Jonson. Drummond, _Conversations_, ed. Laing, 842.
PAGE =78=. RADERUS. 'Matthew Rader (1561-1634), a German Jesuit, published an edition of and commentary upon Martial in 1602.' Chambers. Compare: 'He added, moreover, that though Raderus and others of his order did use to geld Poets and other authors (and here I could not choose but wonder why they have not gelded their Vulgar Edition which in some places hath such obscene words, as the Hebrew tongue which is therefore called holy, doth so much abhorre that no obscene thing can be uttered in it)....' The reason which Donne gives is that 'They reserve to themselves the divers forms, and the secrets, and mysteries in this latter which they find in the authors whom they gelde.' _Ignatius his Conclave_ (1610), pp. 94-6. The epigram is therefore a coarse hit at the Jesuits.
MERCURIUS GALLO-BELGICUS. A journal or register of news started at Cologne in 1598. The first volume consisted of 659 pages and was entitled: _Mercurius Gallo-Belgicus; sive rerum in Gallia et Belgia potissimum: Hispania quoque, Italia, Anglia, Germania, Polonia, vicinisque locis ab anno 1588 usque ad Martium anni praesentis 1594 gestarum, nuncius_. In the seventeenth century it was published half-yearly and ornamented with maps. Its Latin was not unimpeachable (Jonson speaks of a 'Gallo-Belgic phrase', _Poetaster_, V. i), nor its news always trustworthy.
THE LIER. This was first printed in Sir John Simeon's _Unpublished Poems of Donne_ (1856-7), whence it is included by Chambers in his Appendix A. It is given the title _Supping Hours_. Its inclusion in _HN_ (whence the present title) and _W_ strengthens its claim to be genuine. Probably it was written after the Cadiz expedition, and contains a reminiscence (Mr. Gosse has suggested this) of Spanish fare.
l. 3. _Like Nebuchadnezar._ Compare: 'I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much skill in grass.' Shakespeare, _All's Well_, IV. v.
The Elegies.
THE ELEGIES.
Of the Elegies two groups seem to have been pretty widely circulated before the larger collections were made or publication took place. Each contained either twelve or thirteen, the twelve or thirteen being made up sometimes by the inclusion of the Funeral Elegy, 'Sorrow who to this house,' afterwards called _Elegie on the L. C._ The order in the one group, as we find it in e.g. _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, is _The Bracelet_,[1] _Going to Bed_, _Jealousie_, _The Anagram_, _Change_, _The Perfume_, _His Picture_, 'Sorrow who to this house,' 'Oh, let mee not serve,' _Loves Warr_, _On his Mistris_, 'Natures lay Ideott, I taught,' _Loves Progress_. The second group, as we find it in _A25_, _JC_, and _W_, contains _The Bracelet_, _The Comparison_, _The Perfume_, _Jealousie_, 'Oh, let not me (_sic_ _W_) serve,' 'Natures lay Ideott, I taught,' _Loves Warr_, _Going to Bed_, _Change_, _The Anagram_, _On his Mistris_, _His Picture_, 'Sorrow, who to this house.' The last is not given in _A25_. It will be noticed that _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ drops _The Comparison_; _A25_, _JC_, _W_, _Loves Progress_; and that there were thirteen elegies, taking the two groups together, apart from the Funeral Elegy.
[Footnote 1: I take the titles given in the editions for ease of reference to the reader of this edition. The only title which _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ have is _On Loves Progresse_; _A25_, _JC_, and _W_ have none. Other MSS. give one or other occasionally.]
These are the most widely circulated and probably the earliest of Donne's _Elegies_, taken as such. Of the rest _The Dreame_ is given in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, but among the songs, and _The Autumnall_ is placed by itself. The rest are either somewhat doubtful or were not allowed to get into general circulation.
Can we to any extent date the _Elegies_? There are some hints which help to indicate the years to which the earlier of them probably belong. In _The Bracelet_ Donne speaks of Spanish 'Stamps' as having
slily made Gorgeous France, ruin'd, ragged and decay'd; Scotland which knew no State, proud in one day: mangled seventeen-headed Belgia.
The last of these references is too indefinite to be of use. I mean that it covers too wide a period. Nor, indeed, do the others bring us very far. The first indicates the period from the alliance between the League and the King of Spain, 1585, when Philip promised a monthly subsidy of 50,000 crowns, to the conversion and victory of Henry IV in 1593; the second, the short time during which Spanish influence gained the upper hand in Scotland, between 1582 and 1586. After 1593 is the only determinable date. In _Loves Warre_ we are brought nearer to a definite date.
France in her lunatique giddiness did hate Ever our men, yea and our God of late; Yet shee relies upon our Angels well Which nere retorne
points to the period between Henry's conversion ('yea and our God of late') and the conclusion of peace between France and Spain in 1598. The line,
And Midas joyes our Spanish journeyes give
(taken with a similar allusion in one of his letters:
Guyanaes harvest is nip'd in the spring I feare, &c., p. 210),
refers most probably to Raleigh's expedition in 1595 to discover the fabulous wealth of Manoa. Had the Elegy been written after the Cadiz expedition there would certainly have been a more definite reference to that war. The poem was probably written in the earlier part of 1596, when the expedition was in preparation and Donne contemplated joining it.
To date one of the poems is not of course to date them all, but their paradoxical, witty, daring tone is so uniform that one may fairly conjecture that these thirteen Elegies were written between 1593 and Donne's first entry upon responsible office as secretary to Egerton in 1598.
The twelfth (_His parting from her_) and fifteenth (_The Expostulation_) Elegies it is impossible to date, but it is not _likely_ that they were written after his marriage. _Julia_ is quite undatable, a witty sally Donne might have written any time before 1615. But the fourteenth (_A Tale of a Citizen and his Wife_) was certainly written after 1609, probably in 1610.
_The Autumnall_ raises rather an interesting question. Mr. Gosse has argued that it was most probably composed as late as 1625. Walton's dating of it is hopelessly confused. He states (_Life of Mr. George Herbert_, 1670, pp. 14-19) 'that Donne made the acquaintance of Mrs. Herbert and wrote this poem when she was residing at Oxford with her son Edward, Donne being then near to (about _First Ed._) the Fortieth year of his Age'; 'both he and she were then past the Meridian of man's life.' But according to Lord Herbert his mother left Oxford and brought him to town about 1600, shortly before the insurrection of Essex, i.e. when Donne was twenty-seven years old, and secretary to Sir Thomas Egerton, and Lady Herbert was about thirty-five or thirty-six. It is, of course, not impossible that Donne visited Oxford between 1596 and 1600, but he was not then the grave person Walton portrays. The period which the latter has in view is that in which Donne was at Mitcham and Mrs. Herbert living in London. 'This day', he writes in a letter to her, dated July 23, 1607, 'I came to town and to the best part of it your house.' In 1609 Mrs. Herbert married Sir John Danvers. We know that in 1607-9 Donne was in correspondence with Mrs. Herbert and was sending her copies of his religious verses. Walton's evidence points to its being about the same time that he wrote this poem.
Mr. Gosse's argument for a later date is, regarded _a priori_, very persuasive. 'Unless it is taken as describing the venerable and beautiful old age of a distinguished woman, the piece is an absurdity; to address such lines to a youthful widow, who was about to become the bride of a boy of twenty, would have been a monstrous breach of taste and good manners' (_Life, &c._, ii. 228). It is, however, somewhat hazardous to fix a standard of taste for the age of James I, and above all others for John Donne. To the taste of the time and the temper of Donne such a poem might more becomingly be addressed to a widow of forty, the mother of ten children, one already an accomplished courtier, than it might be written by a priest in orders. Donne would have been startled to hear that in 1625 he had spent any time in such a vain amusement as composing a secular elegy. The poem he wrote to Mrs. Herbert before 1609 was probably thought by her and him an exquisite compliment. He expressly disclaims speaking of the old age which disfigures. He writes of one whose youthful beauty has flown. Forty seemed old for a woman, even to Jane Austen, and in Montaigne's opinion it is old for a man: 'J'estois tel, car je ne me considère pas à cette heure, que je suis engagé dans les avenues de la vieillesse, ayant pieça franchy les quarante ans:
Minutatim vires et robur adultum Frangit, et in partem pejorem liquitur aetas.
Ce que je seray doresnevant ce ne sera plus qu'un demy estre, ce ne sera plus moy; je m'eschappe les jours et me desrobe a moy mesme:
Singula de nobis anni praedantur euntes.' _Essais_, ii. 17.
Mrs. Herbert's marriage was due to no 'heyday of the blood'. It was the gravity of Danvers' temper which attracted her, and he became the steady friend and adviser of her children.
There are, moreover, some items of evidence which go to support Walton's testimony. The poem is found in one MS., _S_, dated 1620, which gives us a downward date; and in 1610 occurs what looks very like an allusion to Donne's poem in Ben Jonson's _Silent Woman_. Clerimont and True-wit are speaking of the Collegiate ladies, and the former asks,
Who is the president?
_True._ The grave and youthful matron, the Lady Haughty.
_Cler._ A pox of her autumnal face, her pieced beauty! there's no man can be admitted till she be ready now-a-days, till she has painted and perfumed ... I have made a song (I pray thee hear it) on the subject
Still to be neat, still to be drest...
The resemblance may be accidental, yet the frequency with which the poem is dubbed _An Autumnal Face_ or _The Autumnall_ shows that the phrase had struck home. Jonson's comedies seethe with such allusions, and I rather suspect that he is poking fun at his friend's paradoxes, perhaps in a sly way at that 'grave and youthful matron' Lady Danvers. We cannot _prove_ that the poem was written so early, but the evidence on the whole is in favour of Walton's statement.
PAGE =79=. ELEGIE I.
l. 4. That Donne must have written 'sere-barke' or 'seare-barke' is clear, both from the evidence of the editions and MSS. and from the vacillation of the latter. 'Cere-cloth' is a word which Donne uses more than once in the sermons: 'A good Cere-cloth to bruises,' _Sermons_ 80. 10. 101; 'A Searcloth that souples all bruises,' Ibid. 80. 66. 663. But to substitute 'sere-cloth' for 'sere-barke' would be to miss the force of Donne's vivid description. The 'sere-cloth' with which the sick man is covered is his own eruptive skin. Both Chambers and Norton have noted the resemblance to Hamlet's poisoned father:
a most instant tetter barked about, Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust, All my smooth body.
ll. 19-20. _Nor, at his board together being sat With words, nor touch, scarce looks adulterate._
Quum premit ille torum, vultu comes ipsa modesto Ibis, ut adcumbas; clam mihi tange pedem, Me specta, nutusque meos, vultumque loquacem: Excipe furtivas, et refer ipsa, notas. Verba superciliis sine voce loquentia dicam: Verba leges digitis, verba notata mero. Quum tibi succurrit Veneris lascivia nostrae, Purpureas tenero pollice tange genas. Si quid erit, de me tacita quod mente queraris, Pendeat extrema mollis ab aure manus: Quum tibi, quae faciam, mea lux, dicamve placebunt, Versetur digitis annulus usque tuis, Tange manu mensam, quo tangunt more precantes, Optabis merito quum mala multa viro. Quod tibi miscuerit sapias, bibat ipse iubeto; Tu puerum leviter posce, quod ipsa velis. Quae tu reddideris, ego primus pocula sumam, Et qua tu biberis, hac ego parte bibam. Ovid, _Amores_, I. iv. 15-32.
Thenceforth to her he sought to intimate His inward grief, by meanes to him well knowne: Now Bacchus fruit out of the silver plate He on the table dasht as overthrowne, Or of the fruitfull liquor overflowne, And by the dancing bubbles did divine, Or therein write to let his love be showne; Which well she red out of the learned line; (A sacrament profane in mysterie of wine.) Spenser, _Faerie Queene_, III. ix.
ll. 21 f. _Nor when he, swoln and pamper'd with great fare Sits down and snorts, cag'd in his basket chair, &c._
Vir bibat usque roga: precibus tamen oscula desint; Dumque bibit, furtim, si potes, adde merum. Si bene compositus somno vinoque iacebit; Consilium nobis resque locusque dabunt. Ovid, _Amores_, I. iv. 51-4.
PAGE =80=. ELEGIE II.
l. 4. _Though they be Ivory, yet her teeth be jeat_: i.e. 'Though her eyes be yellow as ivory, her teeth are black as jet.' The edition of 1669 substitutes 'theirs' for 'they', referring back to 'others'. Grosart follows.
l. 6. _rough_ is the reading of _1633_, _1669_, and all the best MSS. Chambers and Grosart prefer the 'tough' of _1635-54_, but 'rough' means probably 'hairy, shaggy, hirsute'. O.E.D., _Rough_, B. I. 2. Her hair is in the wrong place. To have hair on her face and none on her head are alike disadvantageous to a woman's beauty.
PAGE =81=, ll. 17-21. _If we might put the letters, &c._ Compare:
As six sweet Notes, curiously varied In skilfull Musick, make a hundred kindes Of Heav'nly sounds, that ravish hardest mindes; And with Division (of a choice device) The Hearers soules out at their ears intice: Or, as of twice-twelve Letters, thus transpos'd, The World of Words, is variously compos'd; And of these Words, in divers orders sow'n This sacred _Volume_ that you read is grow'n (Through gracious succour of th'Eternal Deity) Rich in discourse, with infinite Variety. Sylvester, _Du Bartas_, First Week, Second Day.
Sylvester follows the French closely. Du Bartas' source is probably:
Quin etiam passim nostris in versibus ipsis Multa elementa vides multis communia verbis, Cum tamen inter se versus ac verba necessest Confiteare et re et sonitu distare sonanti, Tantum elementa queunt permutato ordine solo. Lucretius, _De Rerum Natura_, I. 824-7.
Compare Aristotle, _De Gen. et Corr._ I. 2.
l. 22. _unfit._ I have changed the semicolon after this word to a full stop. The former suggests that the next two lines are an expansion or explanation of this statement. But the poet is giving a series of different reasons why Flavia may be loved.
ll. 41-2. _When Belgias citties, the round countries drowne, That durty foulenesse guards, and armes the towne:_
Chambers, adopting a composite text from editions and MSS., reads:
Like Belgia' cities the round country drowns, That dirty foulness guards and arms the towns.
Here 'the round country drowns' is an adjectival clause with the relative suppressed. But if the country actually drowned the cities the protector would be as dangerous as the enemy. The best MSS. agree with _1633-54_, and the sentence, though a little obscure, is probably correct: 'When the Belgian cities, to keep at bay their foes, drown (i.e. flood) the neighbouring countries, the foulness thus produced is their protection.' The 'cities' I take to be the subject. The reference is to their opening the sluices. See Motley's _Rise of the Dutch Republic_, the account of the sieges of Alkmaar and Leyden. 'The Drowned Land' ('Het verdronken land') was the name given to land overflowed by the bursting of the dykes.
PAGE =82=. ELEGIE III.
l. 5. _forc'd unto none_ is a strange expression, and the 'forbid to none' of _B_ is an attempt to emend it; but 'forc'd unto none' probably means 'not bound by compulsion to be faithful to any'. In woman's love and in the arts you may always expect to be ousted from a favoured position by a successful rival. No one has in these a monopoly:
Is sibi responsum hoc habeat, in medio omnibus Palmam esse positam, qui artem tractant musicam. Ter. _Phorm._ Prol. 16-17.
l. 8. _these meanes, as I,_ It is difficult to say whether the 'these' of the editions and of _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ or the 'those' of the rest of the MSS. is preferable. The construction with either in the sense of 'the same as', 'such as', was not uncommon:
Under these hard conditions as this time Is like to lay upon us. Shakespeare, _Jul. Caes._ I. ii. 174.
l. 17. _Who hath a plow-land, &c._ This has nothing to do, as Grosart seems to think, with the name for a certain measurement of land in the north of England corresponding to a hide in the south. A 'plow-land' here is an arable or cultivated field. Possibly the 'a' has crept in and one should read simply 'plow-land', or, like _P_, 'plow-lands.' Otherwise 'Who hath' is to be slurred in reading the line. The meaning of the passage seems to be that though a man puts all his own seed into his land, he is quite willing to reap the corn which has sprung from others' seed, brought thither, it may be, by wind or birds.
l. 30. _To runne all countries, a wild roguery._ The Oxford English Dictionary quotes this line, giving to 'roguery' the meaning of 'a knavish, rascally act'. But Grosart is certainly right in explaining it as 'vagrancy'. In love, Donne does not wish to be a captive bound to one, but he does not wish on the other hand to be a vagrant with no settled abode. The O.E.D. dates the poem c. 1620, which is much too late. Donne was not writing in this manner after he took orders. It cannot be later than 1601, and is probably earlier.
l. 32. _more putrifi'd_, or, as in the MSS., 'worse putrifi'd.' The latter is probably correct, but the difference is trifling. By 'putrifi'd' Donne means 'made salt' and so less fit for drinking. The 'purifi'd' of some editions points to a misunderstanding of Donne's meaning; for saltness and putrefaction were not identical: 'For Salt as incorruptible was the Symbol of friendship, and before the other service was offered unto their guests.' Browne, _Vulgar Errors_, v. 22.
PAGE =84=. ELEGIE IV.
l. 2. _All thy suppos'd escapes._ He is addressing the lady. All her supposed transgressions (e.g. of chastity) are laid to the poet's charge. 'Escape' = 'An inconsiderate transgression; a peccadillo, venial error. (In Shaks. with different notion: an outrageous transgression.) Applied _esp._ to breaches of chastity.' O.E.D. It is probably in Shakespeare's sense that Donne uses the word:
_Brabantio._ For your sake, jewel, I am glad at soul I have no other child; For thy escape would teach me tyranny, To hang clogs on them. Shakespeare, _Othello_, I. iii. 195-8.
ll. 7-8.
_Though he had wont to search with glazed eyes, As though he came to kill a Cockatrice,_
i.e. 'with staring eyes'. I take 'glazed' to be the past participle of the verb 'glaze', 'to stare':
I met a lion Who glaz'd upon me, and went surly by, Without annoying me. Shakespeare, _Jul. Caes._ I. iii. 20-2.
The past participle is thus used by Shakespeare in: 'With time's deformed hand' (_Com. of Err._ V. i. 298), i.e. 'deforming hand'; 'deserved children' (_Cor._ III. i. 292), i.e. 'deserving'. See Franz, _Shakespeare-Grammatik_, § 661.
The Cockatrice or Basilisk killed by a glance of its eye:
Here with a cockatrice dead-killing eye He rouseth up himself, and makes a pause. Shakespeare, _Lucrece_, 540-1.
The eye of the man who comes to kill a cockatrice stares with terror lest he be stricken himself.
If 'glazed' meant 'covered with a film', an adverbial complement would be needed:
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears. Shakespeare, _Rich. II_, II. ii. 16.
ll. 9, 15. _have ... take._ I have noted the subjunctive forms found in certain MSS., because this is undoubtedly Donne's usual construction. In a full analysis that I have made of Donne's syntax in the poems I have found over ninety examples of the subjunctive against seven of the indicative in concessive adverbial clauses. In these ninety are many where the concession is an admitted fact, e.g.
Though her eyes be small, her mouth is great. _Elegie II_, 3 ff.
Though poetry indeed be such a sin. _Satire II_, 5.
Of the seven, two are these doubtful examples here noted; one, where the subjunctive would be more appropriate, is due to the rhyme.
ll. 10-11. _Thy beauties beautie, and food of our love, Hope of his goods._
Grosart is puzzled by this phrase and explains 'beauties beautie' as 'the beauty of thy various beauties' (face, arms, shape, &c.). I fear that Donne means that the beauty which he most loves in his mistress is her hope or prospect of obtaining her father's goods. The whole poem is in a vein of extravagant and cynical wit. It must not be taken too seriously.
l. 22. _palenesse, blushing, sighs, and sweats._ All the MSS. read 'blushings', which is very probably correct, but I have left the two singulars to balance the two plurals. But the use of abstract nouns as common is a feature of Donne's syntax: 'We would not dwell upon increpations, and chidings, and bitternesses; we would pierce but so deepe as might make you search your wounds, when you come home to your Chamber, to bring you to a tendernesse there, not to a palenesse or blushing here.' _Sermons_ 80. 61. 611.
l. 29. _ingled_: i.e. fondled, caressed. O.E.D.
ll. 33-4. _He that to barre the first gate, doth as wide As the great Rhodian Colossus stride._
Porters seem to have been chosen for their size. Compare: 'Those big fellows that stand like Gyants (at Lords Gates) having bellies bumbasted with ale in Lambswool and with Sacks.' Dekker.
l. 37. _were hir'd to this._ All the MSS. read 'for this', but 'to' is quite Elizabethan, and gives the meaning more exactly. He was not taken on as a servant for this purpose, but was specially paid for this piece of work:
This naughty man Shall face to face be brought to Margaret, Who I believe was pack'd in all this wrong, Hir'd to it by your brother. Shakespeare, _Much Ado_, V. i. 307.
l. 44. _the pale wretch shivered._ I have (with the support of the best MSS.) changed the semicolon to a full stop here, not that as the punctuation of the editions goes it is wrong, but because it is ambiguous and has misled both Chambers and the Grolier Club editor. By changing the semicolon to a comma they make ll. 43-4 an adverbial clause of time which, with the conditional clause 'Had it beene some bad smell', modifies 'he would have thought ... had wrought'. This seems to me out of the question. The 'when' links the statement 'the pale wretch shivered' to what precedes, not to what follows. As soon as the perfume reached his nose he shivered, knowing what it meant. A new thought begins with 'Had it been some bad smell'.
The use of the semicolon, as at one time equivalent to a little less than a full stop, at another to a little more than a comma, leads occasionally to these ambiguities. The few changes which I have made in the punctuation of this poem have been made with a view to obtaining a little more consistency and clearness without violating the principles of seventeenth-century punctuation.
l. 49. _The precious Vnicornes._ See Browne, _Vulgar Errors_, iii. 23: 'Great account and much profit is made of _Unicornes horn_, at least of that which beareth the name thereof,' &c. He speaks later of the various objects 'extolled for precious Horns'; and Donne's epithet doubtless has the same application, i.e. to the horns.
PAGE =86=. ELEGIE V.
l. 8. _With cares rash sodaine stormes being o'rspread._ I have let the _1633_ reading stand, though I feel sure that Donne is not responsible for 'being o'rspread'. Printing from _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, in which probably the word 'cruel' had been dropped, the editor or printer supplied 'being' to adjust the metre. I have not corrected it because I am not sure which is Donne's version. Clearly the line has undergone some remodelling. My own view is that the earliest form is suggested by _B_, _S_, _S96_,
With Cares rash sudden storms o'rpressed,
where 'o'erpress' means 'conquer, overwhelm'. Compare Shakespeare's
but in my sight Deare heart forbear to glance thine eye aside. What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy might Is more than my o'erprest defence can bide. _Sonnets_, 139. 8.
He bestrid an o'erpressed Roman. _Coriolanus_, II. ii. 97.
To begin with, Donne described his grey hairs by a bold synecdoche, leaving the greyness to be inferred: 'My head o'erwhelmed, o'ermastered by Cares storms.' But 'o'erpressed' was harshly used and was easily changed to 'o'erspread', which was made more appropriate by substituting the effect, 'hoariness,' for the cause, 'Cares storms.' This is what we find in _JC_ and such a good MS. as _W_:
With cares rash sudden horiness o'erspread.
In _B_ and _P_ 'cruel' has been inserted to complete the verse when 'o'erpressed' was contracted to 'o'erprest' or changed to 'o'erspread'. In _1635-69_ the somewhat redundant 'rash' has been altered to 'harsh'.
With cares harsh, sodaine horinesse o'rspread.
The image is more easily apprehended, and this may be Donne's final version, but the original (if my view is correct) was bolder, and more in the style of Shakespeare's
That time of yeeare thou maist in me behold, When yellow leaues, or none, or few doe hange Vpon those boughes which shake against the could, Bare ruin'd quiers, where late the sweet birds sang. _Sonnets_, 72. 1-4.
l. 16. _Should now love lesse, what hee did love to see._ Here again there has been some recasting of the original by Donne or an editor. Most MSS. read:
Should like and love less what hee did love to see.
To 'like and love' was an Elizabethan combination:
And yet we both make shew we like and love. Farmer, _Chetham MS._ (ed. Grosart), i. 90.
Yet every one her likte, and every one her lov'd. Spenser, _Faerie Queene_, III. ix. 24.
Donne or his editor has made the line smoother.
l. 20. _To feed on that, which to disused tasts seems tough._ I have made the line an Alexandrine by printing 'disused', which occurs in _A25_ and _B_, but it is 'disus'd' in the editions and most MSS. The 'weak' of _1650-69_ adjusts the metre, but for that very reason one a little suspects an editor. Donne certainly wrote 'disus'd' or 'disused'. Who changed it to 'weak' is not so certain. The meaning of 'disused' is, of course, 'unaccustomed.' The O.E.D. quotes: 'I can nat shote nowe but with great payne, I am so disused.' Palsgr. (1530). 'Many disused persons can mutter out some honest requests in secret.' Baxter, _Reformed Pastor_ (1656).
It seems to me probable that _P_ preserves an early form of these lines:
who now is grown tough enough To feed on that which to disused tastes seems rough.
The epithet 'tough' is appropriately enough applied to Love's mature as opposed to his childish constitution, while rough has the recognized sense of 'sharp, acid, or harsh to the taste'. The O.E.D. quotes: 'Harshe, rough, stipticke, and hard wine,' Stubbs (1583). 'The roughest berry on the rudest hedge', Shakespeare, _Antony and Cleopatra_, I. iv. 64 (1608).
Possibly Donne changed 'tough' to 'strong' in order to avoid the monotonous sound of 'tough enough ... rough', and this ultimately led to the substitution of 'weak' for 'disused'. The present close of the last line I find it difficult to away with. How can a thing seem tough to the taste? Even meat does not _taste_ tough: and it is not of meat that Donne is thinking but of wine. I should be disposed to return to the reading of _P_, or, if we accept 'strong' and 'weak' as improvements, at any rate to alter 'tough' to 'rough '.
PAGE =87=. ELEGIE VI.
l. 6. _Their Princes stiles, with many Realmes fulfill._ This is the reading of all the best MSS. The 'which' for 'with' of the editions is due to an easy confusion of two contractions invariably used in the MSS. Grosart and Chambers accept 'with' from _S_ and _A25_, but further alter 'styles' to 'style', following these generally inferior MSS. The plural is correct. Donne refers to more than one prince and style. The stock instance is
the poor king Reignier, whose large style Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. _2 Henry VI_, I. i. 111-12.
But the English monarchs themselves bore in their 'style' the kingdom of France, and for some years (1558-1566) Mary, Queen of Scots, bore in her 'style' the arms of England and Ireland.
PAGE =88=, ll. 21-34. These lines evidently suggested Carew's poem, _To my Mistress sitting by a River's Side, An Eddy_:
Mark how yon eddy steals away From the rude stream into the bay; There, locked up safe, she doth divorce Her waters from the channel's course, And scorns the torrent that did bring Her headlong from her native spring, &c.
ll. 23-4. _calmely ride Her wedded channels bosome, and then chide._
The number of MSS. and editions is in favour of 'there', but the quality (e.g. _1633_ and _W_) of those which read 'then', and the sense of the lines, favour 'then'. The stream is at one moment in 'speechless slumber', and the next chiding. She cannot in the same place do both at once:
The current that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage; But when his fair course is not hindered, He makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage; And so by many winding nooks he strays, With willing sport to the wild ocean. Shakespeare, _Two Gentlemen of Verona_, II. vii. 25-32.
ll. 27-8. _Yet if her often gnawing kisses winne The traiterous banke to gape, and let her in._
The 'banke' of the MSS. must, I think, be the right reading rather than the 'banks' of the editions, the 's' having arisen from the final 'e'. A river which bursts or overflows its banks does not leave its course, though it 'drowns' the 'round country', but if it breaks through a weak part in a bank it may quit its original course for another. 'The traiterous bank' I take to be equivalent to 'the weak or treacherous spot in its bank'.
PAGE =89=. ELEGIE VII.
l. 1. _Natures lay Ideot._ Here 'lay' means, I suppose, ignorant', as Grosart says. His other suggestion, that 'lay' has the meaning of 'lay' in 'layman', a painter's figure, is unlikely. That word has a different origin from 'lay' (Lat. _laicus_), and the earliest example of it given in O.E.D. is dated 1688.
ll. 7-8. _Nor by the'eyes water call a maladie Desperately hot, or changing feaverously._
The 'call' of _1633_ is so strongly supported by the MSS. that it is dangerous to alter it. Grosart (whom Chambers follows) reads 'cast', from _S_; but a glance at the whole line as it stands there shows how little can be built upon it. 'To cast' is generally used in the phrase 'to cast his water' and thereby tell his malady; but the O.E.D. gives one example which resembles this passage if 'cast' be the right word here:
Able to cast his disease without his water. Greene's _Menaphon_.
I rather fancy, however, that 'call' is right, and is to be taken in close connexion with the next line, 'You could not cast the eyes water, and thereby call the malady desperately hot or changing feverously.'
If thou couldst, Doctor, cast The water of my land, find her disease. Shakespeare, _Macbeth_, V. iii. 50.
The 'casting' preceded and led to the finding, naming the disease, calling it this or that.
ll. 9 f. _I had not taught thee then, the Alphabet Of flowers, &c._
'_Posy_, in both its senses, is a contraction of _poesy_, the flowers of a nosegay expressing by their arrangement a sentiment like that engraved on a ring.' Weekly, _Romance of Words_, London, 1912, p. 134. She had not yet learned to sort flowers so as to make a posy.
l. 13. _Remember since, &c._ For the idiom compare:
Beseech you, sir, Remember since you owed no more to time Than I do now. Shakespeare, _Winter's Tale_, V. i. 219.
See Franz, _Shakespeare-Grammatik_, § 559.
l. 22. _Inlaid thee._ The O.E.D. cites this line as the only example of 'inlay' meaning 'to lay in, or as in, a place of concealment or preservation.' The sense is much that of 'to lay up', but the word has perhaps some of its more usual meaning, 'to set or embed in another substance.' 'Your husband has given to you, his jewel, such a setting as conceals instead of setting off your charms. I have refined and heightened those charms.'
l. 25. _Thy graces and good words my creatures bee._ I was tempted to adopt with Chambers the 'good works' of _1669_ and some MSS., the theological connexion of 'grace' and 'works' being just the kind of conceit Donne loves to play with. But the 'words' of _1633-54_ has the support of so good a MS. as _W_, and 'good words' is an Elizabethan idiom for commendation, praise, flattery:
He that will give, Good words to thee will flatter neath abhorring. Shakespeare, _Coriolanus_, I. i. 170-1.
In your bad strokes you give good words. Shakespeare, _Julius Caesar_, V. i. 30.
Moreover, Donne's word is 'graces', not 'grace'. 'Your graces and commendations are my work', i.e. either the commendations you receive, or, more probably, the refined and elegant flatteries with which you can now cajole a lover, though once your whole stock of conversation did not extend beyond 'broken proverbs and torne sentences'. Compare, in _Elegie IX: The Autumnall_, the description of Lady Danvers' conversation:
In all her words, unto all hearers fit, You may at Revels, you at Counsaile, sit.
And again, _Elegie XVIII: Loves Progresse_:
So we her ayres contemplate, words and heart, And virtues.
l. 28. _Frame and enamell Plate._ Compare: 'And therefore they that thinke to gild and enamell deceit, and falsehood, with the additions of good deceit, good falshood, before they will make deceit good, will make God bad.' _Sermons_ 80. 73. 742. 'Frame' means, of course, 'shape, fashion', and 'plate' gold or silver service. The elaborate enamelling of such dishes and cups was, I presume, as common as in the case of gold watches and clocks. See F. J. Britten's _Old Clocks and Watches and their Makers_, 1904.
PAGE =90=. ELEGIE VIII.
l. 2. _Muskats_, i.e. 'Musk-cats.' The 'muskets' of _1669_ is only a misprint.
ll. 5-6. In these lines as they stand in the editions and most of the MSS. there is clearly something wrong:
And on her neck her skin such lustre sets, They seeme no sweat drops but pearle coronets.
A 'coronet' is not an ornament of the neck, but of the head. The obvious emendation is that of _A25_, _C_, _JC_, and _W_, which Grosart and Chambers have adopted. A 'carcanet' is a necklace, and carcanets of pearl were not unusual: see O.E.D., _s. v._ But why then do the editions and so many MSS. read 'coronets'? Consideration of this has convinced me that the original error is not here but in the word 'neck'. Article by article, as in an inventory, Donne contrasts his mistress and his enemy's. But in the next line he goes on:
Ranke sweaty froth thy Mistresse's _brow_ defiles,
contrasting her brow with that of his mistress, where the sweat drops seem 'no sweat drops but pearle coronets'.
The explanation of the error is, probably, that an early copyist passed in his mind from breast to neck more easily than to brow. Another explanation is that Donne altered 'brow' to 'neck' and forgot to alter 'coronets' to 'carcanets'. I do not think this likely. The force of the poem lies in its contrasts, and the brow is proverbially connected with sweat. 'In the sweat of thy brow,' &c. Possibly Donne himself in the first version, or a copy of it, wrote 'neck', meaning to write 'brow', misled by the proximity and associations of 'breast'. Mr. J. C. Smith has shown that Spenser occasionally wrote a word which association brought into his mind, but which was clearly not the word he intended to use, as it is destructive of the rhyme-scheme. Oddly enough the late Francis Thompson used 'carcanet' in the sense of 'coronet':
Who scarfed her with the morning? and who set Upon her brow the day-fall's carcanet? _Ode to the Setting Sun._
PAGE =91=, l. 10. _Sanserra's starved men._ 'When I consider what God did for Goshen in Egypt ... How many Sancerraes he hath delivered from famines, how many Genevas from plots and machinations.' _Sermons._
The Protestants in Sancerra were besieged by the Catholics for nine months in 1573, and suffered extreme privations. Norton quotes Henri Martin, _Histoire de France_, ix. 364: 'On se disputa les débris les plus immondes de toute substance animale ou végétale; on créa, pour ainsi dire, des aliments monstrueux, impossibles.'
ll. 13-14. _And like vile lying stones in saffrond tinne, Or warts, or wheales, they hang upon her skinne._
Following the MSS. I have made 'lying' an epithet attached to 'stones' and substituted 'they hang' for the superficially more grammatical 'it hangs'. The readings of _1633_, 'vile stones lying' and 'it hangs', seem to me just the kind of changes a hasty editor would make, the kind of changes which characterize the Second Folio of Shakespeare. The stones are not only 'vile'; they are 'lying', inasmuch as they pretend to be what they are not, as the 'saffron'd tinne' pretends to be gold.
l. 19. _Thy head_: i.e. 'the head of thy mistress.' Donne continues this construction in ll. 25, 32, 39, and I have restored it from the later editions and MSS. at l. 34, 'thy gouty hand.'
l. 34. _thy gouty hand_: 'thy' is the reading of all the editions except _1633_ and of all the MSS. except _JC_ and _S_. It is probably right, corresponding to l. 19 'Thy head' and l. 32 'thy tann'd skins'. Donne uses 'thy' in a condensed fashion for 'the head of thy mistress', &c.
PAGE =92=, l. 51. _And such._ The 'such' of the MSS. is doubtless right, the 'nice' of the editions being repeated from l. 49.
PAGE =92=. ELEGIE IX.
For the date, &c., of this poem, see the introductory note on the _Elegies_.
The text of _1633_ diverges in some points from that of all the MSS., in some others it agrees with _D_, _H49_, _Lec_. In the latter case I have retained it, but where _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ agree with the rest of the MSS. I have corrected _1633_, e.g.:
PAGE =93=, l. 6. _Affection here takes Reverences name_: where 'Affection' seems more appropriate than 'Affections'; and l. 8. _But now shee's gold_: where 'They are gold' of _1633_ involves a very loose use of 'they'. Possibly _1633_ here gives a first version afterwards corrected.
ll. 29-32. _Xerxes strange Lydian love, &c._ Herodotus (vii. 31) tells how Xerxes, on his march to Greece, found in Lydia a plane-tree which for its beauty ([Greek: kalleos heineka]) he decked with gold ornaments, and entrusted to a guardian. Aelian, _Variae Historiae_, ii. 14, _De platano Xerxe amato_, attributes his admiration to its size: [Greek: en Lydia goun, phasin, idôn phyton eumegethes platanou,] &c. In the Latin translation in Hercler's edition (Firmin Didot, 1858) size is taken as equivalent to height, 'quum vidisset proceram platanum,' but the reference is more probably to extent. Pliny, _N. H._ 12. 1-3, has much to say of the size of certain planes under which companies of men camped and slept.
The quotation from Aelian confirms the _1633_ reading, 'none being so large as shee,' which indeed is confirmed by the lines that follow. The question of age is left open. The reference to' barrennesse' I do not understand.
PAGE =94=, l. 47. _naturall lation._ This, the reading of the great majority of the MSS., is obviously correct and explains the vacillation of the editions. The word was rare but quite good. The O.E.D. quotes: 'I mean lation or Local-motion from one place to another.' Fotherby (1619);
Make me the straight and oblique lines, The motions, lations, and the signs. (Herrick, _Hesper._ 64);
and other examples as late as 1690. The term was specially astronomical, as here. The 'motion natural' of _1633_ is an unusual order in Donne; the 'natural station' of _1635-69_ is the opposite of motion. The first was doubtless an intentional alteration by the editor, which the printer took in at the wrong place; the second a misreading of 'lation'.
PAGE =95=. ELEGIE X.
The title of this Elegy, _The Dream_, was given it in _1635_, perhaps wrongly. _S96_ seems to come nearer with _Picture_. The 'Image of her whom I love', addressed in the first eight lines, seems to be a picture. When that is gone and reason with it, fantasy and dreams come to the lover's aid (ll. 9-20). But the tenor of the poem is somewhat obscure; the picture is addressed in terms that could hardly be strengthened if the lady herself were present.
l. 26. _Mad with much heart, &c._ Aristotle made the heart the source of all 'the actions of life and sense'. Galen transferred these to the brain. See note to p. 99, l. 100.
PAGE =96=. ELEGIE XI.
Donne has in this Elegy carried to its farthest extreme, as only a metaphysical or scholastic poet like himself could, the favourite Elizabethan pun on the coin called the Angel. Shakespeare is fond of the same quibble: 'She has all the rule of her husband's purse; she hath a legion of angels' (_Merry Wives_, I. iii. 60). But Donne knows more of the philosophy of angels than Shakespeare and can pursue the analogy into more surprising subtleties. Nor is the pun on angels the only one which he follows up in this poem: crowns, pistolets, and gold are all played with in turn. The poem was a favourite with Ben Jonson: 'his verses of the Lost Chaine he hath by heart' (_Drummond's Conversations_, ed. Laing).
The text of the poem, which was first printed in _1635_ (Marriot having been prohibited from including it in the edition of 1633), is based on a MS. closely resembling _Cy_ and _P_, and differing in several readings from the text given in the rest of the MSS., including _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, and _W_. I have endeavoured rather to give this version correctly, while recording the variants, than either to substitute another or contaminate the two. When _Cy_ and _P_ go over to the side of the other MSS. it is a fair inference that the editions have gone astray. When they diverge, the question is a more open one.
PAGE =97=, l. 24. _their naturall Countreys rot_: i.e. 'their native Countreys rot', the 'lues Gallica'. Compare 'the naturall people of that Countrey', Greene, _News from Hell_ (ed. Grosart, p. 57). This is the reading of _Cy_, and the order of the words in the other MSS. points to its being the reading of the MS. from which _1635_ was printed.
l. 26. _So pale, so lame, &c._ The chipping and debasement of the French crown is frequently referred to, and Shakespeare is fond of punning on the word. But two extracts from Stow's _Chronicle_ (_continued ... by_ Edmund Howes), 1631, will throw some light on the references to coins in this poem: In the year 1559 took place the last abasement of English money whereby testons and groats were lowered in value and called in, 'and according to the last valuation of them, she gave them fine money of cleane silver for them commonly called Sterling money, and from this time there was no manner of base money coyned or used in England ... but all English monies were made of gold and silver, which is not so in any other nation whatsoever, but have sundry sorts of copper money.'
'The 9. of November, the French crowne that went currant for six shillings foure pence, was proclaimed to be sixe shillings.'
In 1561, 'The fifteenth of November, the Queenes Maiestie published a Proclamation for divers small pieces of silver money to be currant, as the sixe pence, foure pence, three pence, 2 pence and a peny, three half-pence, and 3 farthings: and also forbad all forraigne coynes to be currant within the same Realme, as well gold as silver, calling them all into her Maiesties Mints, except two sorts of crownes of gold, the one the French crowne, the other the Flemish crowne.' The result was the bringing in of large sums in 'silver plates: and as much or more in pistolets, and other gold of Spanish coynes, and one weeke in pistolets and other Spanish gold 16000 pounds, all these to be coyned with the Queenes stamps.'
l. 29. _Spanish Stamps still travelling._ Grosart regards this as an allusion to the wide diffusion of Spanish coins. The reference is more pointed. It is to the prevalence of Spanish bribery, the policy of securing paid agents in every country. It was by money that Parma secured his first hold on the revolted provinces. Gardiner has shown that Lord Cranborne, afterwards Earl of Salisbury, accepted a pension from the Spanish king (_Hist. of England_, i, p. 215). The discovery of the number of his Court who were in Spanish pay came as a profound shock to James at a later period. The invariable charge brought by one Dutch statesman against another was of being in the pay of the Spaniard.
'It is his Indian gold,' says Raleigh, speaking of the King of Spain in 1596, 'that endangers and disturbs all the nations of Europe; it creeps into councils, purchases intelligence, and sets bound loyalty at liberty in the greatest monarchies thereof.'
ll. 40-1. _Gorgeous France ruin'd, ragged and decay'd; Scotland, which knew no state, proud in one day:_
The punctuation of _1669_ has the support generally of the MSS., but in matters of punctuation these are not a very safe guide. As punctuated in _1635_, 'ragged and decay'd' are epithets of Scotland, contrasting her with 'Gorgeous France'. I think, however, that the antithesis to 'gorgeous' is 'ruin'd, ragged and decay'd', describing the condition of France after the pistolets of Spain had done their work. The epithet applied to Scotland is 'which knew no state', the antithesis being 'proud in one day'.
PAGE =98=, ll. 51-4. _Much hope which they should nourish, &c._ Professor Norton proposed that the last two of these lines should run:
Will vanish if thou, Love, let them alone, For thou wilt love me less when they are gone;
but that 'alone' is a misprint for 'atone.' This is unnecessary, and there is no authority for 'atone'. What Donne says, in the cynical vein of _Elegie VI_, 9-10, is: 'If thou love me let my crowns alone, for the poorer I grow the less you will love me. I shall lose the qualities which you admired in me when you saw them through the glamour of wealth.'
l. 55. _And be content._ The majority of the MSS. begin a new paragraph here and read:
Oh, be content, &c.
Donne would almost seem to have read or seen (he was a frequent theatre-goer) the old play of _Soliman and Perseda_ (pr. 1599). There the lover, having lost a carcanet, sends a cryer through the street and offers one hundred crowns reward. Chambers notes a similar case in _The Puritan_ (1607). Lost property is still cried by the bellman in northern Scottish towns. The custom of resorting in such cases to 'some dread Conjurer' is frequently referred to. See Jonson's _Alchemist_ for the questions with which their customers approached conjurers.
ll. 71-2. _So in the first falne angels, &c._ Aquinas discusses the question: 'Utrum intellectus daemonis sit obtenebratus per privationem cognitionis omnis veritatis.' After stating the arguments for such privation he replies: 'Sed contra est quod Dionysius dicit ... quod "data sunt daemonibus aliqua dona, quae nequaquam mutata esse dicimus, sed sunt integra et splendidissima." Inter ista, autem, naturalia dona est cognitio veritatis.' Aquinas then explains that knowledge is twofold, that which comes by nature, and that which comes by grace: and that the latter again is twofold, that which is purely speculative, and that which is 'affectiva, producens amorem Dei'. 'Harum autem trium cognitionum prima in daemonibus nec est ablata nec diminuta: consequitur enim ipsam naturam Angeli, qui secundum suam naturam est quidam intellectus vel mens. Propter simplicitatem autem suae substantiae a natura eius aliquid subtrahi non potest.' Devils, therefore, have natural knowledge in an eminent degree (_splendidissima_); they have even the knowledge which comes by grace in so far as God chooses to bestow it, for His own purposes, by the mediation of angels or 'per aliqua temporalia divinae virtutis effecta' (Augustine). But of the knowledge which leads to good they have nothing: 'tenendum est firmiter secundum fidem catholicam, quod et voluntas bonorum Angelorum confirmata est in bono, et voluntas daemonum obstinata est in malo.' _Summa_ I.
lxiv. 1-2. They have 'wisdom and knowledge', but it is immovably set to do ill.
ll. 77-8. _Pitty these Angels; yet their dignities Passe Vertues, Powers and Principalities._
There is a good deal of vacillation in the MSS. as to the punctuation of 'Angels yet', some placing the semicolon before, others after 'yet'. The difference is not great, but that which I have adopted, though it has least authority, brings out best what I take to be the meaning of these somewhat difficult lines. 'Pity these Angels, for yet (i.e. until they are melted down and lose their form) they, as good angels, are superior in dignity to Vertues, Powers, and Principalities among the bad angels.' The order of the Angelic beings, which the Middle Ages took from Pseudo-Dionysius, consisted of nine Orders in three Hierarchies. The first and highest Hierarchy included (beginning with the highest Order) Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones; the second, Dominions, Virtues, and Powers; the third, Principalities, Archangels, Angels. Thus the three Orders mentioned by Donne are all in rank superior to mere Angels; but the lowest Order of Good Angels is superior to the highest Order of Evil Spirits, although before their fall these belonged to the highest Orders. Probably, however, there is a second and satiric reference in Donne's words which explains his choice of Vertues, Powers, and Principalities. In the other sense of the words Angels are coins, money; and the power of money surpasses that of earthly Vertues, Powers, and Principalities. This may explain, further, why Donne singles out 'Vertues, Powers, and Principalities'. One would expect that, to make the antithesis between good and bad angels as complete as possible, he would have named the three highest orders, Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones. But the three orders which he does mention are the highest Orders which travel, as money does. The angels are divided into _Assistentes_ and _Administrates_. To the former class belong all the Orders of the first Hierarchy, and the Dominions of the second. The Vertues are thus the highest Order of _Administrantes_. Aquinas, _Summa_, cxii. 3, 4. The _Assistentes_ are those who 'only stand and wait'.
PAGE =99=, l. 100. _rot thy moist braine_: So Sylvester's _Du Bartas_, I. ii. 18:
the Brain Doth highest place of all our Frame retain, And tempers with its moistful coldness so Th'excessive heat of other parts below.
This was Aristotle's opinion (_De Part. Anim._ II. 7), refuted by Galen, who, like Plato, made the brain the seat of the soul and the generator of the animal spirits. See II. p. 45.
PAGE =100=, ll. 112, 114. _Gold is Restorative ... 'tis cordiall._ 'Most men say as much of gold, and some other minerals, as these have done of precious stones. Erastus still maintaineth the opposite part, Disput. in Paracelsum, cap. 4, fol. 196, he confesseth of gold, that it makes the heart merry, but in no other sense but as it is in a miser's chest:
----at mihi plaudo ----simulac nummos contemplor in arcâ
as he said in the poet: it so revives the spirits, and is an excellent receipt against melancholy,
For gold in phisik is a cordial, Therefore he lovede gold in special.' Burton, _Anatomy of Melancholy_, Pt. 2, Sub. 4.
ELEGIE XII.
PAGE =101=, l. 37. _And mad'st us sigh and glow_: 'sigh and blow' has been the somewhat inelegant reading of all editions hitherto.
l. 42. _And over all thy husbands towring eyes._ The epithet 'towring' is strange and the MSS. show some vacillation. Most of them read 'towred', probably the past participle of the same verb, though Grosart alters to 'two red'--not a very poetical description. _RP31_ here diverges from _H40_ and reads 'loured', perhaps for 'lurid', but both these MSS. alter the order of the words and attach the epithet to 'husbands', which is manifestly wrong, and the Grolier Club edition prints 'lowering' without comment, regarding, I suppose, 't' as a mistake for 'l'.
The 'towring' of _1669_ and _TCD_ is probably correct, being a bold metaphor from hawking, and having the force practically of 'threatening'. The hawk towers threateningly above its prey before it 'sousing kills with a grace'. If 'towring' is not right, 'lowring' is the most probable emendation.
PAGE =102=, l. 43. _That flam'd with oylie sweat of jealousie._ This is the reading of all the MSS., and as on the whole their text is superior I have followed it. If 'oylie' is, as I think, the right epithet, it means 'moist', as in 'an oily palm', with perhaps a reference to the inflammability of oil. If 'ouglie '(i.e. ugly) be preferred it is a forcible transferred epithet.
l. 49. _most respects?_ This is the reading of all the MSS., and 'best' in _1669_ is probably an emendation. The use of 'most' as an adjective, superlative of 'great', is not uncommon:
God's wrong is most of all. Shakespeare, _Rich. III_, IV. iv. 377.
Though in this place most master wear no breeches. Ibid., _2 Hen. VI_, I. iii. 144.
l. 54. I can make no exact sense of this line either as it stands in _1669_ or in the MSS. One is tempted to combine the versions and read:
Yea thy pale colours, and thy panting heart,
the 'secrets of our Art' being all the signs by which they communicated to one another their mutual affection. But it is necessary to explain the presence of 'inwards' or 'inward' in both the versions.
PAGE =103=, l. 79. _The Summer how it ripened in the eare_; This fine passage has been rather spoiled in all editions hitherto by printing in this line 'yeare' for 'eare', even in modernized texts. The MSS. and the sense both show that 'eare' is the right word, and indeed I have no doubt that 'year' in _1635_ was simply due to a compositor's or copyist's pronunciation. It occurs again in the 1669 edition in the song _Twicknam Garden_ (p. 28, l. 3):
And at mine eyes, and at mine years,
These forms in 'y' are common in Sylvester's _Du Bartas_, e.g. 'yerst'. The O.E.D. gives the fourteenth to the sixteenth centuries as those in which 'yere' was a recognized pronunciation of 'ear', but it is found sporadically later and has misled editors. Thus in Sir George Etherege's letter to the Earl of Middleton from Ratisbon, printed in Dryden's _Works_ (Scott and Saintsbury), xi, pp. 38-40, some lines run:
These formed the jewel erst did grace The cap of the first Grave o' the race, Preferred by Graffin Marian To adorn the handle of her fan; And, as by old record appears, Worn since in Kunigunda's years; Now sparkling in the Froein's hair, No rocket breaking in the air Can with her starry head compare.
In a modernized text, as this is, surely 'Kunigunda's years' should be 'Kunigunda's ears'.
ll. 93-4. _That I may grow enamoured on your mind, When my own thoughts I there reflected find._
'I there neglected find' has been the reading of all editions hitherto--a strange reason for being enamoured.
PAGE =104=, l. 96. _My deeds shall still be what my words are now_: 'words' suits the context better than either the 'deeds' of _1635-69_ or 'thoughts' of _A25_.
PAGE =104=. ELEGIE XIII.
PAGE =105=, ll. 13-14. _Liv'd Mantuan now againe, That foemall Mastix, to limme with his penne_
Chambers, following the editions from _1639_ onwards, drops the comma after 'Mastix', which suggests that Julia is the 'foemall Mastix', not Mantuan. By Mantuan he understands Virgil, and supposes there is a reference to the 'flammis armataque Chimaera' of _Aen._ vi. 289. The Mantuan of the text is the 'Old Mantuan' of _Love's Labour's Lost_, iv. 2. 92. Donne calls Mantuan the scourge of women because of his fourth eclogue _De natura mulierum_. Norton quotes from it:
Femineum servile genus, crudele, superbum.
The O.E.D. quotes from S. Holland, _Zara_ (1656): 'It would have puzzell'd that Female Mastix Mantuan to have limn'd this she Chymera'--obviously borrowed from this poem. The dictionary gives examples of 'mastix' in other compounds.
The reference to Mantuan as a woman-hater is a favourite one with the prose-pamphleteers: 'To this might be added _Mantuans_ invective against them, but that pittie makes me refraine from renewing his worne out complaints, the wounds whereof the former forepast feminine sexe hath felt. I, but here the _Homer_ of Women hath forestalled an objection, saying that _Mantuans_ house holding of our Ladie, he was enforced by melancholic into such vehemencie of speech', &c. Nash, _The Anatomy of Absurdity_ (ed. McKerrow, i. 12).
'Where I leave you to consider, Gentlemen, how far unmeete women are to have such reproches laid upon them, as sundrye large lipt fellows have done: who when they take a peece of work in hand, and either for want of matter, or lack of wit, are half gravelled, then they must fill up the page with slaundering of women, who scarsly know what a woman is: but if I were able either by wit or arte to be their defender, or had the law in my hand to dispose as I list, which would be as unseemely, as an Asse to treade the measures: yet, if it were so, I would correct _Mantuans Egloge_, intituled _Alphus_: or els if the Authour were alive, I would not doubt to persuade him in recompence of his errour, to frame a new one,' &c. Greene, _Mamillia_ (ed. Grosart), 106-7. Greene is probably the '_Homer_ of Women' referred to in the first extract.
l. 19. _Tenarus._ In the _Anatomy of the World_ 'Tenarif' is thus spelt in the editions of 1633 to 1669, and Grosart declared that the reference here is to that island. It is of course to 'Taenarus' in Laconia. There was in that headland a sulphurous cavern believed to be a passage to Hades. Through it Orpheus descended to recover Eurydice. Ovid, _Met._ x. 13; Paus. iii. 14, 25.
l. 28. _self-accusing oaths_: 'oaths' is the reading of the MSS., 'loaths' of the editions. The word 'loaths' in the sense of 'dislike, hatred, ill-will' is found as late as 1728 (O.E.D.). 'If your Horse ... grow to a loath of his meat.' Topsell (1607). A self-accusing loath may mean a hatred, e.g. of good, which condemns yourself. In the context, however, 'cavils, untroths,' I am inclined to think that 'oaths' is right. Among the malevolent evils with which her breast swarms are oaths accusing others of crimes, which accuse herself, either because she is willing to implicate herself so long as she secures her enemy's ruin, or because the information is of a kind that could be got only by complicity in crime.
PAGE =105=. ELEGIE XIV.
PAGE =106=, l. 6. _I touch no fat sowes grease._ Probably 'I say nothing libellous as to the way in which this or that rich man has acquired his wealth'. I cannot find the proverb accurately explained, or given in quite this form, in any collection.
l. 10. _will redd or pale._ The reading of _1669_ and the two MSS. is doubtless correct, 'looke' being an editorial insertion as the use of 'red' as a verb was growing rare. If 'looke' had belonged to the original text 'counsellor' would probably have had the second syllable elided. Compare:
Roses out-red their [i.e. women's] lips and cheeks, Lillies their whiteness stain. Brome, _The Resolve_.
l. 21. _the number of the Plaguy Bill_: i.e. the weekly bill of deaths by the plague. By a Privy Council order of April 9, 1604, the theatres were permitted to be open 'except ther shall happen weeklie to die of the Plague above the number of thirtie'. The number was later raised to forty. The theatres were repeatedly closed for this reason between July 10, 1606, and 1610. In 1609 especially the fear of infection made it difficult for the companies, driven from London, to gain permission to act anywhere. There were no performances at Court during the winter 1609-10. Murray, _English Dramatic Companies_.
l. 22. _the Custome Farmers._ The Privy Council registers abound in references to the farmers of the customs and their conflicts with the merchants. As they had to pay dearly for their farm, they were tempted to press the law against the merchants in exacting dues.
l. 23. _Of the Virginian plot._ Two expeditions were sent to Virginia in 1609, in May under Sir Thomas Gates, Sir George Somers, and Captain Newport, and at the end of the year under Lord de la Warr, 'who by free election of the Treasurer and counsell of Virginia, and with the full consent of the generality of that company was constituted and authorized, during his natural life to be Lord Governor and Captaine Generall of all the English Collonies planted, or to be planted in Virginia, according to the tenor of his Majesties letters patents granted that yeare 1609.' Stow. Speculation in Virginia stock was encouraged: 'Besides many noblemen, knights, gentlemen, merchants, and wealthy tradesmen, most of the incorporated trades of London were induced to take shares in the stock.' Hildreth, _History of the United States_, i. 108, quoted by Norton.
The meaning of 'plot' here is 'device, design, scheme' (O.E.D.), as 'There have beene divers good plottes devised, and wise counsells cast allready about reformation of that realme': Spenser, _State of Ireland_. Donne uses the word also in the more original sense of 'a piece of ground, a spot'. See p. 132, l. 34.
l. 23-4. _whether Ward ... the I(n)land Seas._ I have taken 'Iland' _1635-54_ as intended for 'Inland', perhaps written 'ĩland', not for 'Island'. The edition of 1669 reads 'midland', and there is no doubt that the Mediterranean was the scene of the career and exploits of the notorious Ward, whose head-quarters were at Tunis. The Mediterranean is called the Inland sea in Holland's translation of Pliny (_Hist. of the World_, III. _The Proeme_); and Donne uses the phrase (with a different application but one borrowed from this meaning) in the _Progresse of the Soule_, p. 308, ll. 317-8:
as if his vast wombe were Some Inland sea.
Previous editors read 'Island seas' but do not explain the reference, except Grosart, who declares that the 'Iland seas are those around the West Indian and other islands. The Midland seas (as in _1669_) were probably the Gulf of Mexico and Caribbean Seas'. He cites no authority; nor have we proof that Ward was ever in these seas. Writing to Salisbury on the 7th of March, 1607-8, Wotton says: 'The voice is here newly arrived that Warde hath taken another Venetian vessel of good value, so as the hatred of him increaseth among them and fully as fast as the fear of him. These are his effects. Now to give your Lordship some taste of his language. One Moore, captain of an English ship that tradeth this way ... was hailed by him not long since a little without the Gulf, and answering that he was bound for Venice, "Tell those flat caps" (said he) "who have been the occasion that I am banished out of my country that before I have done with them I will make them sue for pardon." In this style he speaketh.' Pearsall Smith, _Life and Letters of ... Wotton_, ii. 415. Mr. Pearsall Smith adds in a note that Ward hoped to 'buy or threaten the English Government into pardoning him', and that some attempt was also made by the Venetian Government to procure his assassination.
If 'Island' be the right reading the sea referred to must be the Adriatic. The Islands of the Illyrian coast were at various times the haunt of pirates. But I have found no instance of the phrase in this sense.
l. 25. _the Brittaine Burse._ This was built by the Earl of Salisbury on the site of an 'olde long stable' in the Strand on the north side of Durham House: 'And upon Tuesday the tenth of Aprill this yeere, one thousand sixe hundred and nine, many of the upper shoppes were richly furnished with wares, and the next day after that, the King, Queene, and Prince, the Lady Elizabeth and the Duke of Yorke, with many great Lords, and chiefe Ladies, came thither, and were there entertained with pleasant speeches, giftes, and ingenious devices, and then the king gave it a name, and called it Brittaines Burse.' Stow, _Chronicle_, p. 894.
l. 27. _Of new built Algate, and the More-field crosses._ Aldgate, one of the four principal gates in the City wall, was taken down in 1606 and rebuilt by 1609: Stow, _Survey_. Norton refers to Jonson's _Silent Woman_, I. i: 'How long did the canvas hang afore Aldgate? Were the people suffered to see the city's Love and Charity while they were rude stone, before they were painted and burnished?'
'The More-field crosses' are apparently the walks at Moor-field. Speaking of the embellishment of London which ensued from the long duration of peace, Stow says, 'And lastly, whereof there is a more generall, and particular notice taken by all persons resorting and residing in London, the new and pleasant walks on the north side of the city, anciently called More fields, which field (untill the third yeare of King James) was a most noysome and offensive place, being a generall laystall, a rotten morish ground, whereof it tooke first the name.' Stow, _Chronicle_. For the ditches which crossed the field were substituted 'most faire and royall walkes'.
PAGE =107=, l. 41. The '(_quoth Hee_)' of the 1669 edition is obviously correct. 'Hee' is required both by rhyme and reason. Mr. Chambers has ingeniously put '"True" quoth I' into a parenthesis, as a remark interjected by the poet. But apart from the rhyme the 'quoth Hee' is needed to explain the transition to direct speech. Without it the long speech of the citizen begins very awkwardly.
ll. 42-44. These lines seem to echo the Royal Proclamation of 1609, though the reference is different: 'in this speciall Proclamation his Majestic declared how grievously, the people of this latter age and times are fallen into verball profession, as well of religion, as of all commendable morall vertues, but wanting the actions and deeds of so specious a profession, and the insatiable and immeasurable itching boldnesse of the spirits, tongues and pens of most men.' Stow, _Chronicle_.
l. 46. _Bawd, Tavern-keeper, Whore and Scrivener_; The singular number of the MS. gives as good a sense as the plural and a better rhyme.
l. 47. _The much of Privileg'd kingsmen, and the store Of fresh protections, &c._
'We have many bankrupts daily, and as many protections, which doth marvellously hinder all manner of commerce.' Chamberlain to Carleton, Dec. 31, 1612. By 'kingsmen' I understand noblemen holding monopolies from the King. I do not understand the 'kinsmen' of the editions. By 'protections' is meant 'exemptions from suits in law', especially suits for debt. The London tradesmen were much cheated by the protections granted to the servants and followers of members of Parliament.
l. 65. _found nothing but a Rope._ I cannot identify this Rope. In the _Aulularia_ of Plautus, when Euclio finds his treasure gone he laments in the usual manner. At l. 721 he says, 'Heu me miserum, misere perii, male perditu', _pessume ornatus eo_.' The last words may have been taken as meaning 'I have the rope round my neck'.
PAGE =108=. ELEGIE XV.
l. 12. Following _RP31_ and also Jonson's _Underwoods_ I have taken 'at once' as going with 'Both hot and cold', not with 'make life, and death' as in _1633-69_. This is one of the poems which _1633_ derived from some other source than _D_, _H49_, _Lec_.
ll. 16-18 (_all sweeter ... the rest_) Chambers has overlooked altogether the _1633_ reading 'sweeter'. He prints 'sweeten'd' from _1635-69_. It is clear from the MSS. that this is an editor's amendment due to Donne's 'all sweeter' suggesting, perhaps intentionally, 'all the sweeter'. By dropping the bracket Chambers has left at least ambiguous the construction of 17-18: _And the divine impression of stolne kisses That sealed the rest._ Does this, as in _1633_, belong to the parenthesis, or is 'the divine impression' to be taken with 'so many accents sweet, so many sighes' and 'so many oathes and teares' as part subject to 'should now prove empty blisses'. I prefer the _1633_ arrangement, which has the support of the MSS., though the punctuation of these is apt to be careless. The accents, sighs, oaths, and tears were all made sweeter by having been stolen with fear and trembling. This is how the Grolier Club editor takes it; Grosart and Chambers prefer to follow _1635-69_.
PAGE 109, l. 34. I do not know whence Chambers derived his reading 'drift' for 'trust'--perhaps from an imperfect copy of _1633_. He attributes it to all the editions prior to 1669. This is an oversight.
PAGE =110=, ll. 59 f. _I could renew, &c._ Compare Ovid, _Amores_, III. ii. 1-7.
Non ego nobilium sedeo studiosus equorum; Cui tamen ipsa faves, vincat ut ille precor. Ut loquerer tecum veni tecumque sederem, Ne tibi non notus, quem facis, esset amor. Tu cursum spectas, ego te; spectemus uterque Quod iuvat, atque oculos pascat uterque suos. O, cuicumque faves, felix agitator equorum!
PAGE =111=. ELEGIE XVI.
A careful study of the textual notes to this poem will show that there is a considerable difference between the text of this poem as given for the first time in _1635_, and that of the majority of the MSS. It is very difficult, however, to decide between them as the differences are not generally such as to suggest that one reading is necessarily right, the other wrong. The chief variants are these: 7 'parents' and 'fathers'. Here I fancy the 'parents' of the MSS. is right, and that 'fathers' in the editions and in a late MS. like _O'F_ is due to the identification of Donne's mistress with his wife. Only the father of Anne More was alive at the time of their first acquaintance. It is not at all certain, however, that this poem is addressed to Anne More, and in any case Donne would probably have disguised the details. The change of 'parents' to 'fathers' is more likely than the opposite. In l. 12 'wayes' (edd.) and 'meanes' (MSS.) are practically indistinguishable; nor is there much to choose between the two versions of l. 18: 'My soule from other lands to thee shall soare' (edd.) and 'From other lands my soule towards thee shall soare' (MSS.). In each case the version of the editions is slightly the better. In l. 28, on the other hand, I have adopted 'mindes' without hesitation although here the MSS. vary. There is no question of changing the mind, but there is of changing the mind's habit, of adopting a boy's cast of thought and manner: as Rosalind says,
and in my heart Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will, We'll have a swashing and a martial outside, As many other mannish cowards have That do outface it with their semblances. _As You Like It_, I. iii. 114-18.
In l. 35 the reading 'Lives fuellers', i.e. 'Life's fuellers', which is found in such early and good MSS. as _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ and _W_, is very remarkable. If I were convinced that it is correct I should regard it as decisive and prefer the MS. readings throughout. But 'Loves fuellers', though also a strange phrase, seems more easy of interpretation, and applicable.
In l. 37 there can, I think, be no doubt that the original reading is preserved by _A18_, _N_, _S_, _TCD_, and _W_.
Will quickly knowe thee, and knowe thee, and, alas!
The sudden, brutal change in the sense of the word 'knowe' is quite in Donne's manner. The reasons for omitting or softening it are obvious, and may excuse my not restoring it. The whole of these central lines reveal that strange bad taste, some radical want of delicacy, which mars not only Donne's poems and lighter prose but even at times the sermons. In l. 49 the reading of the MSS. _A18_, _N_, _TC_; _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, and _W_ is also probably original:
Nor praise, nor dispraise me; Blesse nor curse.
It is not uncommon in Donne's poetry to find a syllable dropped with the effect of increasing the stress on a rhetorically emphatic word, here 'Blesse'. An editor would be sure to supply 'nor'.
Lamb has quoted from this Elegy in his note to Beaumont and Fletcher's _Philaster_ (_Specimens of English Dramatic Poets_, 1808). It is clear that he used a copy of the 1669 edition, for he reads 35 'Lives fuellers', and also 42 'Aydroptique' for 'Hydroptique'. Both these mistakes were corrected in _1719_. Donne speaks in his sermons of 'fuelling and advancing his tentations'. _Sermons_ 80. 10. 99.
PAGE =112=, l. 44. _England is onely a worthy Gallerie_: i.e. entrance hall or corridor: 'Here then is the use of our hope before death, that this life shall be a gallery into a better roome and deliver us over to a better Country: for, _if in this life only_,' &c. _Sermons_ 50. 30. 270. 'He made but one world; for, this, and the next, are not _two Worlds_;... They are not _two Houses_; This is the _Gallery_, and that the _Bedchamber_ of one, and the same Palace, which shall feel no ruine.' _Sermons_ 50. 43. 399.
In connexion with the general theme of this poem it may be noted that in 1605 Sir Robert Dudley, the illegitimate son of the Earl of Leicester, who like Donne served in the Cadiz and Islands expeditions, left England accompanied by the beautiful Elizabeth Southwell disguised as a page. At this period the most fantastic poetry was never more fantastic than life itself.
PAGE =113=. ELEGIE XVII.
l. 12. _wide and farr._ The MSS. here correct an obvious error of the editions.
PAGE =114=, l. 24. This line is found only in _A10_, which omits the next eleven lines. It may belong to a shorter version of the poem, but it fits quite well into the context.
PAGE =115=, l. 58. _daring eyes._ The epithet looks as though it had been repeated from the line above, and perhaps 'darling' or 'darting' may have been the original reading. However, both the MSS. agree with the editions, and the word is probably used in two distinct senses, 'bold, adventurous' with 'armes' and 'dazzling' with 'eyes'. Compare:
O now no more Shall his perfections, like the sunbeams, dare The purblind world; in heaven those glories are. Campion, _Elegie upon the Untimely Death of Prince Henry_.
Let his Grace go forward And dare us with his cap like larks. Shakespeare, _Henry VIII_, III. ii. 282.
This refers to the custom of 'daring' or dazzling larks with a mirror.
PAGE =116=. ELEGIE XVIII.
PAGE =117=, ll. 31-2. _Men to such Gods, &c._ Donne has in view here the different kinds of sacrifice described by Porphyry:
How to devote things living in due form My verse shall tell, thou in thy tablets write. For gods of earth and gods of heaven each three; For heavenly pure white; for gods of earth Cattle of kindred hue divide in three, And on the altar lay thy sacrifice. For gods infernal bury deep, and cast The blood into a trench. For gentle Nymphs Honey and gifts of Dionysus pour. Eusebius: _Praeparatio Evangelica_, iv. 9 (trans. E. H. Gifford, 1903).
l. 47. _The Nose_ (_like to the first Meridian_) 'In the state of nature we consider the light, as the sunne, to be risen at the Moluccae, in the farthest East; In the state of the law we consider it as the sunne come to Ormus, the first Quadrant; but in the Gospel to be come to the Canaries, the fortunate Ilands, the first Meridian. Now whatsoever is beyond this, is Westward, towards a Declination.' _Sermons_ 80. 68. 688.
'Longitude is length, and in the heavens it is understood the distance of any starre or Planet, from the begining of Aries to the place of the said Planet or Starre ... Otherwise, longitude in the earth, is the distance of the Meridian of any place, from the Meridian which passeth over the Isles of Azores, where the beginning of longitude is said to be.' _The Sea-mans Kalender_, 1632. But ancient Cosmographers placed the first meridian at the Canaries. See note to p. 187, l. 2.
PAGE =118=, l. 52. _Not faynte Canaries but Ambrosiall._ The 'Canary' of several MSS. is probably right--an adjective, like 'Ambrosiall'. By 'faynte' is meant 'faintly odorous' as opposed to 'Ambrosial', i.e. 'divinely fragrant; perfumed as with Ambrosia' (O.E.D.). 'Fruit that ambrosial smell diffus'd': Milton, _Par. Lost_, ix. 852. The text gives an earlier use of both these words in this meaning than any indicated by the O.E.D. William Morris uses the same adjective in a somewhat ambiguous way but meaning, I suppose, 'weak, ready to die':
Where still mid thoughts of August's quivering gold Folk hoed the wheat, and clipped the vine in trust Of faint October's purple-foaming must. _Earthly Paradise, Atalanta's Race._
PAGE =119=. ELEGIE XIX.
PAGE =120=, l. 17. _then safely tread._ The 'safely' of so many MSS., including _W_, seems to me a more likely reading than 'softly'. The latter was probably suggested by the 'soft' of the following line. The 'safely' means of course that even without her shoes she will not be hurt.
l. 22. _Ill spirits._ It is not easy to decide between the 'Ill' of _1669_ and some MSS. and the 'All' of some other MSS. Besides those enumerated, two lesser MSS., viz. the Sloane MSS. 542 and 1792, read 'all'.
In _Elegie IV_, l. 68, 'all' is written for 'ill' in _B_.
PAGE =121=, l. 30. _How blest am I in this discovering thee!_ The 'this' of almost all the MSS. is supported by the change of 'discovering' into 'discovery' of _B_, _O'F_, one way of evading the rather unusual construction, 'this' with a verbal noun followed by an object. The alteration of 'this' to 'thus' in _1669_ is another. But the construction, though bold, is not inexcusable, and Donne wishes to lay the stress not on the manner of the discovery, but on the discovery itself, comparing it (in a very characteristic manner) to the discovery of America. This figure alone is sufficient to establish Donne's authorship, for he is peculiarly fond of these allusions to voyages, using them again and again in his sermons. For the use of 'this' with the gerund compare: 'Sir,--I humbly thank you for this continuing me in your memory, and enlarging me so far, as to the memory of my Sovereign, and (I hope) my Master.' _Letters_, p. 306.
l. 32. _Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be._ Chambers reads 'my soul'--I do not know from what source. The metaphor is from signing and sealing.
ll. 35-8. _Gems which you women use, &c._ I have adopted several emendations from the MSS. In the edition of 1669 the lines are printed thus:
Jems which you women use Are like Atlantas ball: cast in men's views, That when a fools eye lighteth on a Jem His earthly soul may court that, not them:
I have adopted 'balls' from several MSS. as agreeing with the story and with the plural 'Gems'. I have taken 'are' with 'cast in mens views', regarding 'like Atlantas balls' as parenthetic. Both the metre and the sense of l. 38 are improved by reading 'covet' for 'court', though the latter has considerable support. The two words are easily confused in writing. I have adopted 'theirs' too in preference to 'that' because it is more in Donne's manner as well as strongly supported. 'A man who loves dress and ornaments on a woman loves not her but what belongs to her; what is accessory, not what is essential.' Compare:
For he who colour loves, and skin, Loves but their oldest clothes.
The antithesis 'theirs not them' is much more pointed than 'that not them'.
l. 46. _There is no pennance due to innocence._ I suspect that the original cast of this line was that pointed to by the MSS.,
Here is no penance, much less innocence:
Penance and innocence alike are clothed in white. The version in the text is a softening of the original to make it compatible with the suggestion that the poem could be read as an epithalamium. 'Why', says a note in the margin of the Bridgewater MS., 'may not a man write his own epithalamium if he can do it so modestly?'
PAGE =122=. ELEGIE XX.
Though not printed till 1802 there can be no doubt that this poem is by Donne. The MS. which Waldron used is the Dyce fellow of _JC_. Compare Ovid, _Amor._ i. 9: 'Militat omnis amans, et habet sua castra Cupido.'
PAGE =124=. HEROICALL EPISTLE. _Sapho to Philaenis._
I have transferred this poem hither from its place in _1635-69_ among the sober _Letters to Severall Personages_. It has obviously a closer relation to the Elegies, and must have been composed about the same time. Its genus is the Heroical Epistle modelled on Ovid, of which Drayton produced the most popular English imitations in 1597. Donne's was possibly evoked by these and written in 1597-8, but there is no means of dating it exactly. 'Passionating' and 'conceited' eloquence is the quality of these poems modelled on Ovid, and whatever one may think of the poem on moral grounds it is impossible to deny that Donne has caught the tone of the kind, and written a poem passionate and eloquent in its own not altogether admirable way. The reader is more than once reminded of Mr. Swinburne's far less conceited but more diffuse _Anactoria_.
l. 22. _As Down, as Stars, &c._ 'Down' is probably correct, but the 'Dowves' (i.e. doves) of _P_ gives the plural as in the other nouns, and a closer parallel in poetic vividness. We get a series of pictures--doves, stars, cedars, lilies. The meaning conveyed would be the same:
this hand As soft as doves-downe, and as white as it. _Wint. Tale_, IV. iv. 374.
But of course swan's down is also celebrated:
Heaven with sweet repose doth crowne Each vertue softer than the swan's fam'd downe. Habington, _Castara_.
PAGE =125=, l. 33. Modern editors separate 'thorny' and 'hairy' by a comma. They should rather be connected by a hyphen as in _TCD_.
l. 40. _And are, as theeves trac'd, which rob when it snows._ This is doubtless the source of Dryden's figurative description of Jonson's thefts from the Ancients: 'You track him everywhere in their snow.' _Essay of Dramatic Poesy_.
EPITHALAMIONS.
PAGE =127=. The dates of the two chief Marriage Songs are: the Princess Elizabeth, Feb. 14, 1613; the Earl of Somerset, Dec. 26, 1613. The third is an earlier piece of work, dating from the years when Donne was a student at Lincoln's Inn. It is found in _W_, following the _Satyres_ and _Elegies_ and preceding the _Letters_, being probably the only one written when the collection in the first part of that MS. was made.
While quite himself in his treatment of the theme of this kind of poem, Donne comes in it nearer to Spenser than in any other kind. In glow and colour nothing he has written surpasses the Somerset Epithalamion:
First her eyes kindle other Ladies eyes, Then from their beams their jewels lusters rise, And from their jewels torches do take fire, And all is warmth and light and good desire.
_An Epithalamion, or Marriage Song, &c._ 'In February following, the Prince Palatine and that lovely Princess, the Lady Elizabeth, were married on Bishop Valentine's Day, in all the Pomp and Glory that so much grandeur could express. Her vestments were white, the Emblem of Innocency; her Hair dishevel'd hanging down her Back at length, an Ornament of Virginity; a Crown of pure Gold upon her Head, the Cognizance of Majesty, being all over beset with precious Gems, shining _like a Constellation_; her Train supported by Twelve young Ladies in White Garments, so adorned with Jewels, that her passage looked like a Milky-way. She was led to Church by her Brother Prince Charles, and the Earl of Northampton; the young Batchelor on the Right Hand, and the old on the left.' Camden, _Annales_.
A full description of the festivities will be found in Nichol's _Progresses of King James_, in Stow's _Chronicle_, and other works. In a letter to Mrs. Carleton, Chamberlain gives an account of what he saw: 'It were long and tedious to tell you all the particulars of the excessive bravery, both of men and women, but you may conceive the rest by one or two. The Lady Wotton had a gown that cost fifty pounds a yard the embroidery.... The Viscount Rochester, the Lord Hay, and the Lord Dingwall were exceeding rich and costly; but above all, they speak of the Earl of Dorset. But this extreme cost and riches makes us all poor.' _Court and Times of James I_, i. 226. The princess had been educated by Lord and Lady Harington, the parents of Donne's patroness, the Countess of Bedford. They accompanied her to Heidelberg, but Lord Harington died on his way home, Lady Harington shortly after her return. Donne had thus links with the Princess, and these were renewed and strengthened later when with Lord Doncaster he visited Heidelberg in 1619, and preached before her and her husband. He sent her his first printed sermon and his _Devotions upon Emergent Occasions, &c._ (1624), and to the latter she, then in exile and trouble, replied in a courteous strain.
PAGE =128=. Compare with the opening stanzas Chaucer's _Parliament of Foules_ and Skeat's note (_Works of Chaucer_, i. 516). Birds were supposed to choose their mates on St. Valentine's Day (Feb. 14).
l. 42. _this, thy Valentine._ This is the reading of all the editions except _1669_ and of all the MSS. except two of no independent value. I think it is better than 'this day, Valentine', which Chambers adopts from _1669_. The bride is addressed throughout the stanza, and it would be a very abrupt change to refer 'thou' in l. 41 to Valentine. I take 'this, thy Valentine' to mean 'this which is thy day, _par excellence_', 'thy Saint Valentine's day', 'the day which saw you paired'. But 'a Valentine' is a 'true-love': 'to be your Valentine' (_Hamlet_, IV. v. 50), and the reference may be to Frederick,--Frederick's Day is to become an era.
ll. 43-50. The punctuation of these lines requires attention. That of the editions, which Chambers follows, arranges them thus:
Come forth, come forth, and as one glorious flame Meeting Another growes the same, So meet thy Fredericke, and so To an unseparable union goe, Since separation Falls not on such things as are infinite, Nor things which are but one, can disunite. You'are twice inseparable, great, and one.
In this it will be seen that the clause 'Since separation ... can disunite' is attached to the _previous_ verb. It gives the reason why they should 'go to an unseparable union'. In that which I have adopted, which is that of several good MSS., the clause 'Since separation ... can disunite' goes with what _follows_, explains 'You are twice inseparable, great, and one.' This is obviously right. My attention was first called to this emendation by the punctuation of the Grolier Club editor, who changes the comma after 'goe' (l. 46) to a semicolon.
l. 46. _To an unseparable union growe._ I have adopted 'growe' from the MSS. in place of 'goe' from the editions. The former are unanimous with the strange exception of _Lec_. This MS., which in several respects seems to be most like that from which _1633_ was printed, varies here from its fellows _D_ and _H49_, probably for the same reason that the editor of _1633_ did, because he did not quite understand the phrase 'growe to' as used here, and 'goe' follows later. But it is unlikely that 'goe' would have been changed to 'growe', and
To an unseparable union growe
is, I think, preferable, because (1) both the words used in l. 44 are thus echoed.
_Meeting_ Another, _growes_ the same, So _meet_ thy Fredericke, and so To an unseparable union _growe_.
(2) 'To an unseparable union growe', meaning 'Become inseparably incorporated with one another', is a slightly violent but not unnatural application of the phrase 'grow to' so common in Elizabethan English:
'I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body.' _All's Well that Ends Well_, II. i. 36.
First let our eyes be rivited quite through Our turning brains, and both our lips grow to. Donne, _Elegie XII_, 57-8.
l. 56. The 'or' of the MSS. must, I think, be right. 'O Bishop Valentine' does not make good sense. Chambers's ingenious emendation of _1669_, by which he connects 'of Bishop Valentine' with 'one way left', lacks support. Bishop Valentine has paired them; the Bishop in church has united them; the consummation is their own act.
PAGE =131=. ECCLOGUE. 1613. _December_ 26, &c.
It is unnecessary to detail all the ugly history of this notorious marriage. See Gardiner, _History of England_, ii. 16 and 20. Frances Howard, daughter of Thomas Howard, the first Earl of Suffolk, was married in 1606 to the youthful Earl of Essex, the later Parliamentary general. In 1613, after a prolonged suit she was granted a divorce, or a decree of nullity, and was at once married to King James's ruling favourite, Robert Carr, created Viscount Rochester in 1611, and Earl of Somerset in 1613. Donne, like every one else, had sought assiduously to win the favour of the all-powerful favourite. Mr. Gosse was in error in attributing to him a report on 'the proceedings in the nullity of the marriage of Essex and Lady Frances Howard' (Harl. MS. 39, f. 416), which was the work of his namesake, Sir Daniell Dunn. None the less, Donne's own letters show that he was quite willing to lend a hand in promoting the divorce; and that before the decree was granted he was already busy polishing his epithalamium. One of these letters is addressed to Sir Robert Ker, afterwards Earl of Ancrum, a friend of Donne's and a protégé of Somerset's. It seems to me probable that Sir Robert Ker is the 'Allophanes' of the Induction. Donne is of course 'Idios', the private man, who holds no place at Court. 'Allophanes' is one who seems like another, who bears the same name as another, i.e. the bridegroom. The name of both Sir Robert and the Earl of Somerset was Robert Ker or Carr.
PAGE =132=, l. 34. _in darke plotts._ Here the reading of _1635_, 'plotts,' has the support of all the MSS., and the 'places' of _1633_, to which _1669_ returns, is probably an emendation accidental or intentional of the editor or printer. It disturbs the metre. The word 'plot' of a piece of ground was, and is, not infrequent, and here its meaning is only a little extended. In the _Progresse of the Soule_, l. 129, Donne speaks of 'a darke and foggie plot'.
_fire without light._ Compare: 'Fool, saies Christ, this night they will fetch away thy soul; but he neither tells him, who they be that shall fetch it, nor whither they shall carry it; he hath no light but lightnings; a sodain flash of horror first, and then he goes into fire without light.' _Sermons_ 26. 19. 273. 'This dark fire, which was not prepared for us.' Ibid.
l. 57. _In the East-Indian fleet._ The MSS. here give us back a word which _1633_ had dropped, the other editions following suit. It was the East-Indian fleet which brought spices, the West-Indian brought 'plate', i.e. gold or (more properly) silver, to which there is no reference here.
l. 58. _or Amber in thy taste?_ 'Amber' is here of course 'Ambergris', which was much used in old cookery, in which considerable importance was attached to scent as well as flavour. Compare:
beasts of chase, or foul of game, In pastry built, or from the spit, or boil'd, Gris-amber steam'd; Milton, _Paradise Regained_, ii. 344.
and
Be sure The wines be lusty, high, and full of spirit, And amber'd all. Beaumont and Fletcher, _The Custom of the Country_, iii. 2.
This was the original meaning of the word 'amber', which was extended to the yellow fossil resin through some mistaken identification of the two substances. Mr. Gosse has called my attention to some passages which seem to indicate that the other amber was also eaten. Tallemant des Réaux says of the Marquise de Rambouillet, 'Elle bransle un peu la teste, et cela lui vient d'avoir trop mangé d'ambre autrefois.' This may be ambergris; but Olivier de Serres, in his _Théâtre d'Agriculture_ (1600), speaks of persons who had formed a taste for drinking 'de l'ambre jaune subtilement pulvérisé'.
PAGE =134=, ll. 85-6. _Thou hast no such; yet here was this, and more, An earnest lover, wise then, and before._
This is the reading of _1633_ and gives, I think, Donne's meaning. Missing this, later editions placed a full stop after 'more', so that each line concludes a sentence. Mr. Chambers emends by changing the full stop after 'before' into a comma, and reading:
Thou hast no such; yet here was this and more. An earnest lover, wise then, and before, Our little Cupid hath sued livery.
This looks ingenious, but I confess I do not know what it means. When was Cupid wise? When had he been so before? And with what special propriety is Cupid here called 'an earnest lover'? What Donne says is: 'Here _was_ all this,--a court such as I have described, and more--an earnest lover (viz. the Earl of Somerset), wise in love (when most men are foolish), and wise before, as is approved by the King's confidence. In being admitted to that breast Cupid has ceased to be a child, has attained his majority, and the right to administer his own affairs.' Compare: '_I love them that love me, &c._... The Person that professes love in this place is Wisdom herself ... so that _sapere et amare_, to be wise and to love, which perchance never met before nor since, are met in this text.' _Sermons_ 26. 18, Dec. 14, 1617.
Then, sweetest Silvia, let's no longer stay; True love we know, precipitates delay. Away with doubts, all scruples hence remove; No man at one time can be wise and love. Herrick, _To Silvia to Wed_.
PAGE =135=. I have inserted the title _Epithalamion_ after the _Ecclogue_ from _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, _O'F_, _S96_, as otherwise the latter title is extended to the whole poem. This poem is headed in two different ways in the MSS. In _A18_, _N_, _TC_, the title at the beginning is: _Eclogue Inducing an Epithalamion at the marriage of the E. of S._ The proper titles of the two parts are thus given at once, and no second title is needed later. In the other MSS. the title at the beginning is _Eclogue. 1613. Decemb. 26._ Later follows the title _Epithalamion_. As _1633_ follows this fashion at the beginning, it should have done so throughout.
PAGE =136=, l. 126. _Since both have both th'enflaming eyes._ This is the reading of all the MSS. and it explains the fact that 'th'enflaming' is so printed in _1633_. Without the 'both' this destroys the metre and, accordingly, the later editions read 'the enflaming'. It was natural to bring 'eye' into the singular and make 'th'enflaming eye' balance 'the loving heart'. Moreover 'both th'enflaming eyes' may have puzzled a printer. It is a Donnean device for emphasis. He has spoken of _her_ flaming eyes, and now that he identifies the lovers, that identity must be complete. Both the eyes of both are lit with the same flame, both their hearts kindled at the same fire. Compare later: 225. 'One fire of foure inflaming eyes,' &c.
l. 129. _Yet let_ _A23_, _O'F_. The first of these MSS. is an early copy of the poem. 'Yet' improves both the sense and the metre. It would be easily dropped from its likeness to 'let' suggesting a duplication of that word.
PAGE =137=, l. 150. _Who can the Sun in water see._ The Grolier Club edition alters the full stop here to a semicolon; and Chambers quotes the reading of _A18_, _N_, _TC_, 'winter' for 'water', as worth noting. Both the change and the suggestion imply some misapprehension of the reference of these lines, which is to the preceding verse:
For our ease, give thine eyes th'unusual part Of joy, a Teare.
The opening of a stanza with two lines which in thought belong to the previous one is not unprecedented in Donne's poems. Compare the sixth stanza of _A Valediction: of my name in the window_, and note.
Dryden has borrowed this image--like many another of Donne's:
Muse down again precipitate thy flight; For how can mortal eyes sustain immortal light? But as the sun in water we can bear, Yet not the sun, but his reflection there, So let us view her here in what she was, And take her image in this watery glass. _Eleonora_, ll. 134-9.
l. 156. _as their spheares are._ The crystalline sphere in which each planet is fixed.
PAGE =138=, ll. 171-81. _The Benediction._ The accurate punctuation of Donne's poetry is not an easy matter. In the 1633 edition the last five lines of this stanza have no stronger stop than a comma. This may be quite right, but it leaves ambiguous what is the exact force and what the connexion of the line--
Nature and grace doe all, and nothing Art.
The editions of 1635-69, by placing a full stop after 'give' (l. 178), connect 'Nature and grace' with what follows, and Chambers and the Grolier Club editor have accepted this, though they place a semicolon after 'Art'. It seems to me that the line must go with what precedes. The force of 'may' is carried on to 'doe all':
may here, to the worlds end, live Heires from this King, to take thanks, you, to give, Nature and grace doe all and nothing Art.
'May there always be heirs of James to receive thanks, of you two to give; and may this mutual relation owe everything to nature and grace, the goodness of your descendants, the grace of the king, nothing to art, to policy and flattery.' That is the only meaning I can give to the line. The only change in _1633_ is that of a comma to a full stop, a big change in value, a small one typographically.
PAGE =139=, l. 200. _they doe not set so too_; I have changed the full stop after 'too' to a semicolon, as the 'Therefore thou maist' which follows is an immediate inference from these two lines. 'You rose at the same hour this morning, but you (the bride) must go first to bed.'
ll. 204-5. _As he that sees, &c._ 'I have sometimes wondered in the reading what was become of those glaring colours which amazed me in _Bussy D'Ambois_ upon the theatre; but when I had taken up what I supposed a fallen star, I found I had been cozened with a jelly; nothing but a cold, dull mass, which glittered no longer than it was a-shooting.' Dryden, _The Spanish Friar_. In another place Dryden uses the figure in a more poetic or at least ambitious fashion:
The tapers of the gods, The sun and moon, run down like waxen globes; The shooting stars end all in purple jellies, And chaos is at hand. _Oedipus_, II. i.
The idea was a common one, but I have no doubt that Dryden owed his use of it as an image to Donne. There is no poet from whom he pilfers 'wit' more freely.
PAGE =140=, ll. 215-16. _Now, as in Tullias tombe_, i.e. Cicero's daughter. 'According to a ridiculous story, which some of the moderns report, in the age of Pope Paul III a monument was discovered on the Appian road with the superscription _Tulliolae filiae meae_; the body of a woman was found in it, which was reduced to ashes as soon as touched; there was also a lamp burning, which was extinguished as soon as the air gained admission there, and which was supposed to have been lighted above 1500 years.' Lemprière. See Browne, _Vulgar Errors_, iii. 21.
PAGE =141=, l. 17. _Help with your presence and devise to praise._ I have dropped the comma after 'presence' because it suggests to us, though it did not necessarily do so to seventeenth-century readers, that 'devise' here is a verb--both Dr. Grosart and Mr. Chambers have taken it as such--whereas it is the noun 'device' = fancy, invention. Their fancy and invention is to be shown in the attiring of the bride:
Conceitedly dresse her, and be assign'd By you, fit place for every flower and jewell, Make her for love fit fewell As gay as Flora, and as rich as Inde.
'Devise to praise' would be a very awkward construction.
PAGE =142=, l. 26. _Sonns of these Senators wealths deep oceans._ The corruption of the text here has arisen in the first place from the readily explicable confusion of 'sonnes' or 'sonns' as written and 'sonne', the final 's' being the merest flourish and repeatedly overlooked in copying and printing, while 'sonne' easily becomes 'some', and secondly from a misapprehension of Donne's characteristic pun. The punctuation of the 1633 edition is supported by almost every MS.
The 'frolique Patricians' are of course not the sons of 'these Senators' by birth. 'I speak not this to yourselves, you Senators of London,' says Donne in the _Sermon Preached at Pauls Cross ... 26 Mart. 1616_, 'but as God hath blessed you in your ways, and in your callings, so put your children into ways and courses too, in which God may bless them.... The Fathers' former labours shall not excuse their Sons future idleness.' The sons of wealthy citizens might grow idle and extravagant; they could not be styled 'Patricians'. It is not of them that Donne is thinking, but of the young noblemen who are accompanying their friend on his wedding-day. They are, or are willing to be, the sons, by marriage not by blood, of 'these Senators', or rather of their money-bags. In a word, they marry their daughters for money, as the hero of the _Epithalamion_ is doing. It is fortunate for the Senators if the young courtiers do not find in their wives as well as their daughters, like Fastidious Brisk in Jonson's comedy, 'Golden Mines and furnish'd Treasurie.' But they are 'Sunnes' as well as Sonnes'--suns which drink up the deep oceans of these Senators' wealth:
it rain'd more Then if the Sunne had drunk the sea before. _Storme_, 43-4.
Hence the metaphor 'deep oceans', and hence the appropriateness of the predicate 'Here shine'. This pun on 'sunne' and 'sonne' is a favourite with Donne:
Mad paper stay, and grudge not here to burne With all those sonnes [sunnes _B_, _S96_] whom my braine did create. _To Mrs. M. H. H._, p. 216.
I am thy sonne, made with thyself to shine. _Holy Sonnets_, II. 5.
Sweare by thyself, that at my death thy sonne Shall shine as hee shines now, and heretofore.
_A Hymn to God the Father._
'This day both Gods Sons arose: The Sun of his Firmament, and the Son of his bosome.' _Sermons_ 80. 26. 255. 'And when thy Sun, thy soule comes to set in thy death-bed, the Son of Grace shall suck it up into glory.' Ibid. 80. 45. 450.
Correctly read the line has a satiric quality which Donne's lines rarely want, and in which this stanza abounds. I have chosen the spelling 'Sonns' as that which is most commonly used in the MSS. for 'sonnes' and 'sunnes'.
PAGE =143=, l. 57. _His steeds nill be restrain'd._ I had adopted the reading 'nill' for 'will' conjecturally before I found it in _W_. There can be no doubt it is right. As printed, the two clauses (57-8) simply contradict each other. The use of 'nill' for 'will' was one of Spenser's Chaucerisms, and Donne comes closer to Spenser in the _Epithalamia_ than anywhere else. Sylvester uses it in his translation of Du Bartas:
For I nill stiffly argue to and fro In nice opinions, whether so or so.
And it occurs in Davison's _Poetical Rhapsody_:
And therefore nill I boast of war.
In Shakespeare, setting aside the phrase 'nill he, will he', we have:
in scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether.
ll. 81-2. _Till now thou wast but able To be what now thou art_;
She has realized her potentiality; she is now actually what hitherto she has been only [Greek: en dynamei], therefore she 'puts on perfection'. 'Praeterea secundum Philosophum ... _qualibet potentiâ melior est eius actus_; nam forma est melior quam materia, et actio quam potentia activa: est enim finis eius.' Aquinas, _Summa_, xxv. i. See also Aristotle, _Met._ 1050 _a_ 2-16. This metaphysical doctrine is not contradicted by the religious exaltation of virginity, for it is not virginity as such which is preferred to marriage by the Church, but the virgin's dedication of herself to God: 'Virginitas inde honorata, quia Deo dicata.... Virgines ideo laudatae, quia Deo dicatae. Nec nos hoc in virginibus praedicamus, quod virgines sunt; sed quod Deo dicatae piâ continentiâ virgines. Nam, quod non temere dixerim, felicior mihi videtur nupta mulier quam virgo nuptura: habet enim iam illa quod ista adhuc cupit.... Illa uni studet placere cui data est: haec multis, incerta cui danda est,' &c.; August. _De Sanct. Virg._ I. x, xi. Compare Aquinas, _Summa_ II. 2, Quaest. clii. 3. Wedded to Christ the virgin puts on a higher perfection.
SATYRES.
The earliest date assignable to any of the _Satyres_ is 1593, or more probably 1594-5. On the back of the Harleian MS. 5110 (_H51_), in the British Museum, is inscribed:[1]
Jhon Dunne his Satires Anno Domini 1593
The handwriting is not identical with that in which the poems are transcribed, and it is impossible to say either when the poems were copied or when the title and date were affixed. One may not build too absolutely on its accuracy; but there are in the three first _Satires_ (which alone the MS. contains) some indications that point to 1593-5 as the probable date. Mr. Chambers notes the reference in 1., 80, 'the wise politic horse,' to Banks' performing horse, and says: 'A large collection of them' (i.e. allusions to the horse) 'will be found in Mr. Halliwell-Phillips's Memoranda on _Love's Labour's Lost_. Only one of these allusions is, however, earlier than 1593. It is in 1591, and refers not to an exhibition in London, but in the provinces, and not to Morocco, which was a bay, but to a white horse. It is probable, therefore, that by 1591 Banks had not yet come to London, and if so the date 1593 on the Harl. MS. 5110 of Donne's _Satires_ cannot be far from that of their composition.' But this is not the only allusion. The same lines run on:
Or thou O Elephant or Ape wilt doe.
This has been passed by commentators as a quite general reference; but the Ape and Elephant seem to have been animals actually performing, or exhibited, in London about 1594. Thus in _Every Man out of his Humour_, acted in 1599, Carlo Buffone says (IV. 6): ''S heart he keeps more ado with this monster' (i.e. Sogliardo's dog) 'than ever Banks did with his horse, or the fellow with the elephant.' Further, all three are mentioned in the _Epigrams_ of Sir John Davies, e.g.:
In Dacum.
Amongst the poets Dacus numbered is Yet could he never make an English rime; But some prose speeches I have heard of his, Which have been spoken many an hundred time: The man that keepes the Elephant hath one, Wherein he tells the wonders of the beast: Another Bankes pronounced long agon, When he his curtailes qualities exprest: Hee first taught him that keepes the monuments At Westminster his formall tale to say: And also him which Puppets represents, And also him that w^{th} the Ape doth play: Though all his poetry be like to this, Amongst the poets Dacus numbred is.
And again:
In Titum
Titus the brave and valorous young gallant Three years together in the town hath beene, Yet my Lo. Chancellors tombe he hath not seene, Nor the new water-worke, nor the Elephant. I cannot tell the cause without a smile: Hee hath been in the Counter all the while.
Colonel Cunningham has pointed out another reference in Basse's _Metamorphosis of the Walnut Tree_ (1645), where he tells how 'in our youth we saw the Elephant'. Grosart's suggestion that the Elephant was an Inn is absurd.
Davies' _Epigrams_ were first published along with Marlowe's version of Ovid's _Elegies_, but no date is affixed to any of the three editions which followed one another. But a MS. in the Bodleian which contains forty-five of the Epigrams describes them as _English Epigrammes much like Buckminsters Almanacke servinge for all England but especially for the meridian of the honourable cittye of London calculated by John Davies of Grayes Inne gentleman An^o 1594 in November_.[2] This seems much too exact to be a pure invention, and if it be correct it is very unlikely that the allusions would be to ancient history. Banks' Horse, the performing Ape, and the Elephant were all among the sights of the day, like the recently erected tomb of Lord Chancellor Hatton, who died in 1591. The atmosphere of the first _Satyre_, as of Davies' _Epigrams_, is that of 1593-5. The phrase 'the Infanta of London, Heire to an India', in which commentators have found needless difficulty, contains possibly, besides its obvious meaning, an allusion to the fact that since 1587 the Infanta of Spain had become in official Catholic circles heir to the English throne. In 1594 Parsons' tract, _A Conference about the next Succession to the Crown of England. By R. Doleman_, defended her claim, and made the Infanta's name a byword in England.
If _H51_ is thus approximately right in its dating of the first Satire it may be the better trusted as regards the other two, and there is at least nothing in them to make this date impossible. The references to poetry in the second acquire a more vivid interest when their date or approximate date is remembered. In 1593 died Marlowe, the greatest of the brilliant group that reformed the stage, giving
ideot actors means (Starving 'themselves') to live by 'their' labour'd sceanes;
and Shakespeare was one of the 'ideot actors'. Shakespeare, too, was one of the many sonneteers who 'would move Love by rithmes', and in 1593 and 1594 he appeared among those 'who write to Lords, rewards to get'.
It would be interesting if we could identify the lawyer-poet, Coscus, referred to in this Satire. Malone, in a MS. note to his copy of _1633_ (now in the Bodleian Library), suggested John Hoskins or Sir Richard Martin. Grosart conjectured that Donne had in view the _Gullinge Sonnets_ preserved in the Farmer-Chetham MS., and ascribed with probability to Sir John Davies, the poet of the _Epigrams_ just mentioned. Chambers seems to lean to this view and says, 'these sonnets are couched in legal terminology.' Donne is supposed to have mistaken Davies' 'gulling' for serious poetry. This is very unlikely. Moreover, only the last two of Davies' sonnets are 'couched in legal terminology':
My case is this, I love Zepheria bright, Of her I hold my harte by fealty:
and
To Love my lord I doe knights service owe And therefore nowe he hath my wit in ward.
Nor, although Davies' style parodies the style of the sonneteers (not of the anonymous _Zepheria_ only), is it particularly harsh. It is much more probable that Donne, like Davies, has chiefly in view this anonymous series of sonnets--_Zepheria_. _Ogni dì viene la sera. Mysus et Haemonia juvenis qui cuspide vulnus senserat, hac ipsa cuspide sensit opem. At London: Printed by the Widow Orwin, for N. L. and John Busby._ 1594. The style of _Zepheria_ exactly fits Donne's description:
words, words which would teare The tender labyrinth of a soft maids eare.
'The verbs "imparadize", "portionize", "thesaurize", are some of the fruits of his ingenuity. He claims that his Muse is capable of "hyperbolised trajections"; he apostrophizes his lady's eyes as "illuminating lamps" and calls his pen his "heart's solicitor".' Sidney Lee, _Elizabethan Sonnets_. The following sonnet from the series illustrates the use of legal terminology which both Davies and Donne satirize:
Canzon 20.
How often hath my pen (mine heart's Solicitor) Instructed thee in Breviat of my case! While Fancy-pleading eyes (thy beauty's visitor) Have pattern'd to my quill, an angel's face. How have my Sonnets (faithful Counsellors) Thee without ceasing moved for Day of Hearing! While they, my Plaintive Cause (my faith's Revealers!), Thy long delay, my patience, in thine ear ring. How have I stood at bar of thine own conscience When in Requesting Court my suit I brought! How have the long adjournments slowed the sentence Which I (through much expense of tears) besought! Through many difficulties have I run, Ah sooner wert thou lost, I wis, than won.
We do not know who the author of _Zepheria_ was, so cannot tell how far Donne is portraying an individual in what follows. It can hardly be Hoskins or Martin, unless _Zepheria_ itself was intended to be a burlesque, which is possible. Quite possibly Donne has taken the author of _Zepheria_ simply as a type of the young lawyer who writes bad poetry; and in the rest of the poem portrays the same type when he has abandoned poetry and devoted himself to 'Law practice for mere gain', extorting money and lands from Catholics or suspected Catholics, and drawing cozening conveyances. If _Zepheria_ be the poems referred to, then 1594-5 would be the date of this Satire.
The third _Satyre_ has no datable references, but its tone reflects the years in which Donne was loosening himself from the Catholic Church but had not yet conformed, the years between 1593 and 1599, and probably the earlier rather than the later of these years. On the whole 1593 is a little too early a date for these three satires. They were probably written between 1594 and 1597.
The long fourth _Satyre_ is in the Hawthornden MS. (_HN_) headed _Sat. 4. anno 1594_. But this is a mistake either of Drummond, who transcribed the poems probably as late as 1610, or of Donne himself, whose tendency was to push these early effusions far back in his life. The reference to 'the losse of Amyens' (l. 114) shows that the poem must have been written after March 1597, probably between that date and September, when Amiens was re-taken by Henry IV. These lines _may_ be an insertion, but there is no extant copy of the _Satyre_ without them. It belongs to the period between the 'Calis-journey' and the 'Island-voyage', when first Donne is likely to have appeared at court in the train of Essex.
The fifth _Satyre_ is referred by Grosart and Chambers to 1602-3 on the ground that the phrase 'the great Carricks pepper' is a reference to the expedition sent out by the East India Company under Captain James Lancaster to procure pepper, the price of which commodity was excessively high. Lancaster captured a Portuguese Carrick and sent home pepper and spice. There is no proof, however, that this ship was ever known as 'the Carrick' or 'the great Carrick'. That phrase _was_ applied to 'that prodigious great carack called the _Madre de Dios_ or _Mother of God_, one of the greatest burden belonging to the crown of Portugal', which was captured by Raleigh's expedition and brought to Dartmouth in 1592. 'This prize was reckoned the greatest and richest that had ever been brought into England' and 'daily drew vast numbers of spectators from all parts to admire at the hugeness of it' (Oldys, _Life of Raleigh_, 1829, pp. 154-7). Strype states that she 'was seven decks high, 165 foot long, and manned with 600 men' (_Annals_, iv. 177-82). That pepper formed a large part of the Carrick's cargo is clear from the following order issued by the Privy Council: _A letter to Sir Francis Drake, William Killigrewe, Richard Carmarden and Thomas Midleton Commissioners appointed for the Carrique_. 'Wee have received your letter of the 23^{rd} of this presente of your proceeding in lading of other convenient barkes with the pepper out of the Carrique, and your opinion concerning the same, for answere whereunto we do thinke it meete, and so require you to take order, so soone as the goods are quite dischardged, that Sir Martin Frobisher be appointed to have the charge and conduction of those shippes laden with the pepper and other commodities out of the Carrique to be brought about to Chatham.' 27 Octobris, 1592. See also under October 1. The reference in 'the great Carricks pepper' is thus clear. The words 'You Sir, whose righteousness she loves', &c., ll. 31-3, show that the poem was written after Donne had entered Sir Thomas Egerton's service, i.e. between 1598, if not earlier, and February 1601-2 when he was dismissed, which makes the date suggested by Grosart and Chambers (1602-3) impossible. The poem was probably written in 1598-9. There is a note of enthusiasm in these lines as of one who has just entered on a service of which he is proud, and the occasion of the poem was probably Egerton's endeavour to curtail the fees claim'd by the Clerk of the Star Chamber (see note below). With Essex's return from Ireland in 1599 began a period of trouble and anxiety for Egerton, and probably for Donne too. The more sombre cast of his thought, and the modification in his feelings towards Elizabeth, after the fatal February of 1600-1, are reflected in the satirical fragment _The Progresse of the Soule_.
The so-called sixth and seventh _Satyres_ (added in 1635 and 1669) I have relegated to the _Appendix B_, and have given elsewhere my reasons for assigning them to Sir John Roe. That Donne wrote only five regular _Satyres_ is very definitely stated by Drummond of Hawthornden in a note prefixed to the copy of the fourth in _HN_: 'This Satyre (though it heere have the first place because no more was intended to this booke) was indeed the authors fourth in number and order he having written five in all to using which this caution will sufficientlie direct in the rest.'
[Footnote 1: Attention was first called to this inscription by J. Payne Collier in his _Poetical Decameron_ (1820). He uses the date to vindicate the claim for Donne's priority as a satirist to Hall. 'Dunne' is of course one of the many ways in which the poet's name is spelt, and 'Jhon' is a spelling of 'John'. The poet's own signature is generally 'Jo. Donne.' 'Jhon Don' is Drummond's spelling on the title-page of _HN_. In _Q_ the first page is headed 'M^r John Dunnes Satires'.]
[Footnote 2: Of the forty-five which the MS. contains, some thirty-three were published in the edition referred to above. On the other hand the edition contains some which are not in the MS. Of these, one, 47, 'Meditations of a gull,' alone refers to events which are certainly later than 1594. As this is not in the MS. there is nothing to contradict the assertion that it (and the Epigrams cited above) belong to 1594. Davies' Epigrams are referred to in Sir John Harrington's _Metamorphosis of Ajax_, 1596.]
PAGE =145=. SATYRE I.
This _Satyre_ is pretty closely imitated in the _Satyra Quinta_ of _SKIALETHEIA. or, A shadowe of Truth in certaine Epigrams and Satyres. 1598_. attributed to Edward Guilpin (or Gilpin), to whom extracts from it are assigned in _Englands Parnassus_ (1600). Who Guilpin was we do not know. Besides the work named he wrote two sonnets prefixed to Gervase Markham's _Devoreux. Vertues tears for the losse of the most Christian King Henry, third of that name; and the untimely death of the most noble and heroical Gentleman, Walter Devoreux, who was slain before Roan in France. First written in French by the most excellent and learned Gentlewoman, Madame Geneuefe Petan Maulette. And paraphrastically translated into English by Jervis Markham._ 1597. See Grosart's Introduction to his reprint of _Skialetheia_ in _Occasional Issues_. 6. (1878). Donne addresses a letter to _Mr. E. G._ (p. 208), which Gosse conjectures to be addressed to Guilpin. That Guilpin knew Donne is probable in view of this early imitation of a privately circulated MS. poem. Guilpin's poem begins:
Let me alone I prethee in thys Cell, Entice me not into the Citties hell; Tempt me not forth this _Eden_ of content, To tast of that which I shall soone repent: Prethy excuse me, I am hot alone Accompanied with meditation, And calme content, whose tast more pleaseth me Then all the Citties lushious vanity. I had rather be encoffin'd in this chest Amongst these bookes and papers I protest, Then free-booting abroad purchase offence, And scandale my calme thoughts with discontents. Heere I converse with those diviner spirits, Whose knowledge, and admire, the world inherits: Heere doth the famous profound _Stagarite_, With Natures mistick harmony delight My ravish'd contemplation: I heere see The now-old worlds youth in an history:
l. 1. _Away thou fondling, &c._ The reading of the majority of editions and MSS. is 'changeling', but this is a case not of a right and wrong reading but of two versions, both ascribable to the author. Which was his emendation it is impossible to say. He may have changed 'fondling' (a 'fond' or foolish person) thinking that the idea was conveyed by 'motley', which, like Shakespeare's epithet 'patch', is a synecdoche from the dress of the professional fool or jester. On the other hand the idea of 'changeling' is repeated in 'humorist', which suggests changeable and fanciful. I have, therefore, let the _1633_ text stand. 'Changeling' has of course the meaning here of 'a fickle or inconstant person', not the common sense of a person or thing or child substituted for another, as 'fondling' is not here a 'pet, favourite', as in modern usage.
l. 3. _Consorted._ Grosart, who professes to print from _H51_, reads _Consoled_, without any authority.
l. 6. _Natures Secretary_: i.e. Aristotle. He is always 'the Philosopher' in Aquinas and the other schoolmen. Walton speaks of 'the great secretary of nature and all learning, Sir Francis Bacon'.
l. 7. _jolly Statesmen._ All the MSS. except _O'F_ agree with _1633_ in reading 'jolly', though 'wily' is an obvious emendation. Chambers adopts it. By 'jolly' Donne probably meant 'overweeningly self-confident ... full of presumptuous pride ... arrogant, over-bearing' (O.E.D.). 'Evilmerodach, a jolly man, without Iustyse and cruel.' Caxton (1474). 'It concerneth every one of us ... not to be too high-minded or jolly for anything that is past.' Sanderson (1648).
l. 10. _Giddie fantastique Poets of each land._ In a letter Donne tells Buckingham, in Spain, how his own library is filled with Spanish books 'from the mistress of my youth, Poetry, to the wife of mine age, Divinity'. This line in the Satires points to the fact, which Donne was probably tempted later to obscure a little, that his first prolonged visit to the Continent had been made before he settled in London in 1592 and probably without the permission of the Government. The other than Spanish poets would doubtless be French and Italian. Donne had read Dante. He refers to him in the fourth _Satyre_ ('who dreamt he saw hell'), and in an unpublished letter in the Burley MS. he dilates at some length, but in no very creditable fashion, on an episode in the _Divina Commedia_. Of French poets he probably knew at any rate Du Bartas and Regnier.
l. 12. _And follow headlong, wild uncertain thee?_ I have retained the _1633_ punctuation instead of, with Chambers, comma-ing 'wild' as well as 'headlong'. The latter is possibly an adverb here, going with 'follow'. The use of 'headlong' as an adjective with persons was not common. The earliest example in the O.E.D. is from _Hudibras_:
The Friendly Rug preserv'd the ground, And headlong Knight from bruise or wound.
Donne's line is, however, ambiguous; and the subsequent description of the humorist would justify the adjective.
l. 18. _Bright parcell gilt, with forty dead mens pay._ Compare: 'Captains some in guilt armour (unbatt'red) some in buffe jerkins, plated o'r with massy silver lace (raz'd out of the ashes of dead pay).' Dekker, _Newes from Hell_, ii. 119 (Grosart). So many 'dead pays' (i.e. men no longer on the muster roll) were among the perquisites allowed to every captain of a company, but the number was constantly exceeded: 'Moreover where' (i.e. whereas) 'there are 15 dead paies allowed ordinarily in every bande, which is paid allwaies and taken by the captaines, althogh theire nombers be greatly dyminished in soche sorte as sometimes there are not fower score or fewer in a company, her Majestys pleasure is that from hence the saide 15 dead paies shall not be allowed unlesse the companies be full and compleate, but after the rate of two dead paies for everie twenty men that shalbe in the saide bande where the companies are dyminished.' Letter to Sir John Norreyes, Knighte. _Acts of the Privy Council_, 1592.
PAGE =146=, l. 27. _Oh monstrous, superstitious puritan._ The 'Monster' of the MSS. is of course _not_ due to the substitution of the noun for the adjective, but is simply an older form of the adjective. Compare 'O wonder Vandermast', Greene's _Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay_.
l. 32. _raise thy formall_: 'raise' is probably right, but 'vaile' is a common metaphor. 'A Player? Call him, the lousie slave: what will he saile by, and not once strike or vaile to a Man of Warre.' Captain Tucca in Jonson's _Poetaster_, III. 3.
l. 33. _That wilt consort none, &c._ It is unnecessary to alter 'consort none' to 'consort with none', as some MSS. do. The construction is quite regular. 'Wilt thou consort me, bear me company?' Heywood. The 'consorted with these few books' of l. 3 is classed by the O.E.D. under a slightly different sense of the word--not 'attended on by' these books, but 'associated in a common lot with' them.
l. 39. _The nakednesse and barenesse, &c._ The reading 'barrennesse' of all the editions and some MSS. is due probably to similarity of pronunciation (rather than of spelling) and a superficial suggestion of appropriateness to the context. A second glance shows that 'bareness' is the correct reading. The MSS. give frequent evidence of having been written to dictation.
l. 46. The 'yet', which the later editions and Chambers drop, is quite in Donne's style. It is heavily stressed and 'he was' is slurred, 'h' was.'
PAGE =147=, l. 58. _The Infanta of London, Heire to an India._ It is not necessary to suppose a reference to any person in particular. The allusion is in the first place to the wealth of the city, and the greed of patricians and courtiers to profit by that wealth. 'No one can tell who, amid the host of greedy and expectant suitors, will carry off whoever is at present the wealthiest minor (and probably the king's ward) in London, i.e. the City.' Compare the _Epithalamion made at Lincolns Inn_:
Daughters of London, you which be Our Golden Mines, and furnish'd Treasury, You which are Angels, yet still bring with you Thousands of Angels on your marriage days . . . . . . . . Make her for Love fit fuel, As gay as Flora, and as rich as Inde.
Compare also: 'I possess as much in your wish, Sir, as if I were made Lord of the Indies.' Jonson, _Every Man out of his Humour_, II. iii.
The 'Infanta' of _A25_, _O'F_, _Q_ is pretty certainly right, though 'Infant' can be applied, like 'Prince', to a woman. There is probably a second allusion to the claim of the Infanta of Spain to be heir to the English throne.
l. 60. _heavens Scheme_: 'Scheme' is certainly the right reading. The common MS. spelling, 'sceame' or 'sceames', explains the 'sceanes' which _1633_ has derived from _N_, _TCD_. For the _Satyres_ the editor did not use his best MS. See _Text and Canon, &c._, p. xcv. It is possible that a slurred definite article ('th'heavens') has been lost.
In preparing his 'theme' or horoscope the astrologer had five principal things to consider, (1) the heavenly mansions, (2) the signs of the zodiac, (3) the planets, (4) the aspects and configurations, (5) the fixed stars. With this end in view the astrologer divided the heavens into twelve parts, called mansions, to which he related the positions occupied at the same moment by the stars in each of them ('drawing the horoscope'). There were several methods of doing this. That of Ptolemy consisted in dividing the zodiac into twelve equal parts. This was called the equal manner. To represent the mansions the astrologers constructed twelve triangles between two squares placed one within the other. Each of the twelve mansions thus formed had a different name, and determined different aspects of the life and fortune of the subject of the horoscope. From the first was foretold the general character of his life, his health, his habits, morals. The second indicated his wealth; and so on. The different signs of the zodiac and the planets, in like manner, had each its special influence. But sufficient has been said to indicate what Donne means by 'drawing forth Heavens scheme'.
l. 62. _subtile-witted._ There is something to be said for the 'supple-witted' of _H51_ and some other MSS. 'Subtle-witted' means 'fantastic, ingenious'; 'supple-witted' means 'variable'. Like Fastidious Brisk in _Every Man out of his Humour_, they have a fresh fashion in suits every day. 'When men are willing to prefer their friends, we heare them often give these testimonies of a man; He hath good parts, and you need not be ashamed to speak for him; he understands the world, he knowes how things passe, and he hath a discreet, a supple, and an appliable disposition, and hee may make a fit instrument for all your purposes, and you need not be afraid to speake for him.' _Sermons_ 80. 74. 750. A 'supple disposition' is one that changes easily to adapt itself to circumstances.
PAGE =148=, l. 81. _O Elephant or Ape_, See Introductory Note to _Satyres_.
l. 89. _I whispered let'us go._ I have, following the example of _1633_ in other cases, indicated the slurring of 'let'us' or 'let's', which is necessary metrically if we are to read the full 'whispered' which _1669_ first contracts to 'whisperd'. _Q_ shows that 'let's' is the right contraction. Donne's use of colloquial slurrings must be constantly kept in view when reading especially his satires. They are not always indicated in the editions: but note l. 52:
I shut my chamber doore, and come, lets goe.
PAGE =149=, ll. 100-4. My punctuation of these lines is a slight modification of that indicated by _W_ and _JC_, which give the proper division of the speeches. The use of inverted commas would make this clearer, but Chambers' division seems to me (if I understand it) to give the whole speech, from 'But to me' to 'So is the Pox', to Donne's companion, which is to deprive Donne of his closing repartee. The Grolier Club editor avoids this, but makes 'Why he hath travelled long?' a part of Donne's speech beginning 'Our dull comedians want him'. I divide the speeches thus:--
_Donne._ Why stoop'st thou so?
_Companion._ Why? he hath travail'd.
_Donne._ Long?
_Companion._ No: but to me (_Donne interpolates_ 'which understand none') he doth seem to be Perfect French and Italian.
_Donne._ So is the Pox.
The brackets round 'which understand none' I have taken from _Q_. I had thought of inserting them before I came on this MS. Of course brackets in old editions are often used where commas would be sufficient, and one can build nothing on their insertion here in one MS. But it seems to me that these words have no point unless regarded as a sarcastic comment interpolated by Donne, perhaps _sotto voce_. 'To you, who understand neither French nor Italian, he may seem perfect French and Italian--but to no one else.' Probably an eclectic attire was the only evidence of travel observable in the person in question. 'How oddly is he suited!' says Portia of her English wooer; 'I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behaviour everywhere.' Brackets are thus used by Jonson to indicate a remark interjected _sotto voce_. See the quotation from the _Poetaster_ in the note on _The Message_ (II. p. 37). Modern editors substitute for the brackets the direction 'Aside', which is not in the Folio (1616).
PAGE =149=. SATYRE II.
ll. 1-4. It will be seen that _H51_ gives two alternative versions of these lines. The version of the printed text is that of the majority of the MSS.
PAGE =150=, ll. 15-16. _As in some Organ, &c._ Chambers prints these lines with a comma after 'move', connecting them with what follows about love-poetry. Clearly they belong to what has been said about dramatic poets. It is Marlowe and his fellows who are the bellows which set the actor-puppets in motion.
ll. 19-20. _Rammes and slings now, &c._ The 'Rimes and songs' of _P_ is a quaint variant due either to an accident of hearing or to an interpretation of the metaphor: 'As in war money is more effective than rams and slings, so it is more effective in love than songs.' But there is a further allusion in the condensed stroke, for 'pistolets' means also 'fire-arms'. Money is as much more effective than poetry in love as fire-arms are than rams and slings in war. Donne is Dryden's teacher in the condensed stroke, which 'cleaves to the waist', lines such as
They got a villain, and we lost a fool.
PAGE =151=, l. 33. _to out-sweare the Letanie._ 'Letanie,' the reading of all the MSS., is indicated by a dash in _1633_ and is omitted without any indication by _1635-39_. In _1649-50_ the blank was supplied, probably conjecturally, by 'the gallant'. It was not till _1669_ that 'Letanie' was inserted. In 'versifying' Donne's _Satyres_ Pope altered this to 'or Irishmen out-swear', and Warburton in a note explains the original: 'Dr. Donne's is a low allusion to a licentious quibble used at that time by the enemies of the English Liturgy, who, disliking the frequent invocations in the Litanie, called them the _taking God's name in vain_, which is the Scripture periphrasis for swearing.'
l. 36. _tenements._ Drummond in _HN_ writes 'torments', probably a conjectural emendation. Drummond was not so well versed in Scholastic Philosophy as Donne.
l. 44. _But a scarce Poet._ This is the reading of the best MSS., and I have adopted it in preference to 'But scarce a Poet', which is an awkward phrase and does not express what the writer means. Donne does not say that he is barely a poet, but that he is a bad poet. Donne uses 'scarce' thus as an adjective again in _Satyre IV_, l. 4 (where see note) and l. 240. It seems to have puzzled copyists and editors, who amend it in various ways. By 'jollier of this state' he means 'prouder of this state', using the word as in 'jolly statesmen', I. 7.
l. 48. '_language of the Pleas and Bench._' See Introductory Note for legal diction in love-sonnets.
PAGE =152=, ll. 62-3. _but men which chuse Law practise for meere gaine, bold soule, repute._
The unpunctuated 'for meere gaine bold soule repute' of _1633-69_ and most MSS. has caused considerable trouble to the editors and copyists. One way out of the difficulty, 'bold souls repute,' appears in Chambers' edition as an emendation, and before that in Tonson's edition (1719), whence it was copied by all the editions to Chalmers' (1810). Lowell's conjecture, 'hold soules repute,' had been anticipated in some MSS. There is no real difficulty. I had comma'd the words 'bold soule' before I examined _Q_, which places them in brackets, a common means in old books of indicating an apostrophe. The 'bold soule' addressed, and invoked to esteem such worthless people aright, is the 'Sir' (whoever that may be) to whom the whole poem is addressed. A note in _HN_ prefixed to this poem says that it is taken from 'C. B.'s copy', i.e. Christopher Brooke's. It is quite possible that this _Satyre_, like _The Storme_, was addressed to him.
ll. 71-4. _Like a wedge in a block, wring to the barre, Bearing-like Asses; and more shamelesse farre, &c._
These lines are printed as in _1633_, except that the comma after 'Asses' is raised to a semicolon, and that I have put a hyphen between 'Bearing' and 'like'. The lines are difficult and have greatly puzzled editors. Grosart prints from _H51_ and reads 'wringd', which, though an admissible form of the past-participle, makes no sense here. The Grolier Club editor prints:
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 ...
Chambers adopts much the same scheme:
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 ...
By retaining the comma after 'bar' in a modernized text with modern punctuation these editors leave it doubtful whether they do or do not consider that 'asses' is the object to 'wring'. Further, they connect 'and more shameless far than carted whores' closely with 'asses', separating it by a semicolon from 'lie to the grave judge'. I take it that 'more shameless far' is regarded by these editors as a qualifying adjunct to 'asses'. This is surely wrong. The subject of the long sentence is 'He' (l. 65), and the infinitives throughout are complements to 'must': 'He must walk ... he must talk ... [he must] lie ... [he must] wring to the bar bearing-like asses; [he must], more shameless than carted whores, lie to the grave judge, &c.' This is the only method in which I can construe the passage, and it carries with it the assumption that 'bearing like' should be connected by a hyphen to form an adjective similar to 'Relique-like', which is the MS. form of 'Relique-ly' at l. 84. Certainly it is 'he', Coscus, who is 'more shameless, &c.,' not his victims. These are the 'bearing-like asses', the patient Catholics or suspected Catholics whom he wrings to the bar and forces to disgorge fines. Coscus, a poet in his youth, has become a Topcliffe in his maturer years. 'Bearing,' 'patient' is the regular epithet for asses in Elizabethan literature:
Asses are made to bear and so are you. _Taming of the Shrew_, II. i. 200.
In Jonson's _Poetaster_, v. i, the ass is declared to be the hieroglyphic of
Patience, frugality, and fortitude.
Possibly, but it is not very likely, Donne refers not only to the stupid patience of the ass but to her fertility: 'They be very gainefull and profitable to their maisters, yielding more commodities than the revenues of good farmers.' Holland's _Pliny_, 8. 43, _Of Asses_.
PAGE =153=, l. 87. _In parchments._ The plural is the reading of the better MSS. and seems to me to give the better sense. The final 's' is so easily overlooked or confounded with a final 'e' that one must determine the right reading by the sense of the passage.
ll. 93-6. _When Luther was profest, &c._ The 'power and glory clause' which is not found in the Vulgate or any of the old Latin versions of the New Testament (and is therefore not used in Catholic prayers, public or private), was taken by Erasmus (1516) from all the Greek codices, though he does not regard it as genuine. Thence it passed into Luther's (1521) and most Reformed versions. In his popular and devotional _Auslegung deutsch des Vaterunsers_ (1519) Luther makes no reference to it.
l. 105. _Whereas th'old ... In great hals._ The line as I have printed it combines the versions of _1633_ and the later editions. It is found in several MSS. Some of these, on the other hand, like _1633-69_, read 'where'; but 'where's' with a plural subject following was quite idiomatic. Compare: 'Here needs no spies nor eunuchs,' p. 81, l. 39; 'With firmer age returns our liberties,' p. 115, l. 77.
At p. 165, l. 182, the MSS. point to 'cryes his flatterers' as the original version. See Franz, _Shak.-Gram._ § 672; Knecht, _Die Kongruenz zwischen Subjekt und Prädikat_ (1911), p. 28.
Donne has other instances of irregular concord, or of the plural form in 's', and 'th':
by thy fathers wrath By all paines which want and divorcement hath. P. 111, l. 8.
Had'st thou staid there, and look'd out at her eyes, All had ador'd thee that now from thee flies. P. 285, l. 17.
Those unlick't beare-whelps, unfil'd pistolets That (more than Canon shot) availes or lets. P. 97, l. 32.
The rhyme makes the form here indisputable. The MSS. point to a more frequent use of 'hath' with a plural subject than the editions have preserved. The above three instances seem all plurals. In other cases the individuals form a whole, or there is ellipsis:
All Kings, and all their favorites, All glory of honors, beauties, wits, The Sunne it selfe which makes times, as they passe, Is elder by a year, now, then it was. _The Anniversarie_, p. 24, ll. 1-4.
He that but tasts, he that devours, And he that leaves all, doth as well. _Communitie_, p. 33, ll. 20-1.
PAGE =154=, l. 107. _meanes blesse_. The reading of _1633_ has the support of the best MSS. Grosart and Chambers prefer the reading of the later editions, 'Meane's blest.' This, it would seem to me, needs the definite article. The other reading gives quite the same sense, 'in all things means (i.e. middle ways, moderate measures) bring blessings':
Rectius vives, Licini, neque altum Semper urgendo neque, dum procellas Cautus horrescis, nimium premendo Litus iniquum.
Auream quisquis mediocritatem Diligit, tutus caret obsoleti Sordibus tecti, caret invidenda Sobrius aula. Horace, _Odes_, ii. 10.
The general tenor of the closing lines recalls Horace's treatment of the same theme in _Sat._ ii. 2. 88, 125, more than either Juvenal, _Sat._ ix, or Persius, _Sat._ vi.
Grosart states that 'means, then as now, meant riches, possessions, but never the mean or middle'. But see O.E.D., which quotes for the plural in this sense: 'Tempering goodly well Their contrary dislikes with loved means.' Spenser, _Hymns_. In the singular Bacon has, 'But to speake in a Meane.' _Of Adversitie_.
PAGE =154=. SATYRE III.
PAGE =155=, l. 19. _leaders rage._ This phrase might tempt one to date the poem after the Cadiz expedition and Islands voyage, in both of which 'leaders' rage', i.e. the quarrels of Howard and Essex, and of Essex and Raleigh, militated against success; but it is too little to build upon. Donne may mean simply the arbitrary exercise of arbitrary power on the part of leaders.
ll. 30-2. _who made thee to stand Sentinell, &c._ 'Souldier' is the reading of what is perhaps the older version of the _Satyres_. It would do as well: 'Quare et tibi, Publi, et piis omnibus retinendus est animus in custodia corporis; nec iniussu eius a quo ille est vobis datus ex hominum vita migrandum est, ne munus assignatum a Deo defugisse videamini.' Cicero, _Somnium Scipionis_.
'Veteres quidem philosophiae principes, Pythagoras et Plotinus, prohibitionis huius non tam creatores sunt quam praecones, omnino illicitum esse dicentes _quempiam militiae servientem a praesidio et commissa sibi statione discedere_ contra ducis vel principis iussum. Plane eleganti exemplo usi sunt eo quod militia est vita hominis super terram.' John of Salisbury, _Policrat._ ii. 27.
Donne considers the rashness of those whom he refers to as a degree of, an approach to, suicide. To expose ourselves to these perils we abandon the moral warfare to which we are appointed. In his own work on suicide ([Greek: BIATHANATOS], &c.) Donne discusses the permissible approaches to suicide. An unpublished _Problem_ shows his knowledge of John of Salisbury.
ll. 33-4. _Know thy foes, &c._ I have followed the better MSS. here against _1633_ and _L74_, _N_, _TCD_. The dropping of 's' after 'foe' has probably led to the attempt to regularize the construction by interjecting 'h'is'. Donne has three foes in view--the devil, the world, and the flesh.
l. 35. _quit._ Whether we read 'quit' or 'rid' the construction is difficult. The phrase seems to mean 'to be free of his whole Realm'--an unparalleled use of either adjective.
l. 36. _The worlds all parts._ Here 'all' means 'every', but Shakespeare would make 'parts' singular: 'All bond and privilege of nature break,' _Cor._ V. iii. 25. Donne blends two constructions.
PAGE =156=, l. 49. _Crantz._ I have adopted the spelling of _W_, which emphasizes the Dutch character of the name. The 'Crates' of _Q_ is tempting as bringing the name into line with the other classical ones, but all the other MSS. have an 'n' in the word. Donne has in view the 'schismatics of Amsterdam' (_The Will_) and their followers. The change to Grant or Grants shows a tendency in the copyists to substitute a Scotch for a Dutch name.
PAGE =157=, ll. 69-71. _But unmoved thou, &c._ As punctuated in the old editions these lines are certainly ambiguous. The semicolon after 'allow' has a little less value than that of a full stop; that after 'right' a little more than a comma, or contrariwise. Grosart, Chambers, and the Grolier Club editor all connect 'and the right' with what precedes:
But unmoved thou Of force must one, and forced but one allow; And the right.
So Chambers,--Grosart and the Grolier Club editor place a comma after 'allow'. It seems to me that 'And the right' goes rather with what follows:
But unmoved thou Of force must one, and forced but one allow. And the right, ask thy father which is she.
If the first arrangement be right, then 'And' seems awkward. The second marks two stages in the argument: a stable judgement compels us to acknowledge religion, and that there can be only one. This being so, the next question is, Which is the true one? As to that, we cannot do better than consult our fathers:
In doubtful questions 'tis the safest way To learn what unsuspected ancients say; For 'tis not likely we should higher soar In search of Heaven than all the Church before; Nor can we be deceived unless we see The Scriptures and the Fathers disagree. Dryden, _Religio Laici_.
'Remember the days of old, consider the years of many generations: ask thy father, and he will shew thee; thy elders, and they will tell thee.' Deut. xxxii. 7.
l. 76. _To adore, or scorne an image, &c._ Compare: 'I should violate my own arm rather than a Church, nor willingly deface the name of Saint or Martyr. At the sight of a Cross or Crucifix I can dispense with my hat, but scarce with the thought or memory of my Saviour: I cannot laugh at, but rather pity the fruitless journeys of Pilgrims, or contemn the miserable condition of Friars; for though misplaced in circumstances, there is something in it of Devotion. I could never hear the _Ave-Mary_ Bell without an elevation, or think it a sufficient warrant, because they erred in one circumstance, for me to err in all, that is in silence and dumb contempt.... At a solemn Procession I have wept abundantly, while my consorts blind with opposition and prejudice, have fallen into an excess of scorn and laughter.' Sir Thomas Browne, _Religio Medici_, sect. 3. Compare also Donne's letter To Sir H. R. (probably to Goodyere), (_Letters_, p. 29), 'You know I have never imprisoned the word Religion; not straightning it Friarly _ad religiones factitias_, (as the Romans call well their orders of Religion), nor immuring it in a Rome, or a Geneva; they are all virtual beams of one Sun.... They are not so contrary as the North and South Poles; and they are connaturall pieces of one circle. Religion is Christianity, which being too spirituall to be seen by us, doth therefore take an apparent body of good life and works, so salvation requires an honest Christian.'
l. 80. _Cragged and steep._ The three epithets, 'cragged', 'ragged', and 'rugged', found in the MSS., are all legitimate and appropriate. The second has the support of the best MSS. and is used by Donne elsewhere: 'He shall shine upon thee in all dark wayes, and rectifie thee in all ragged ways.' _Sermons_ 80. 52. 526. Shakespeare uses it repeatedly: 'A ragged, fearful, hanging rock,' _Gent. of Ver._ I. ii. 121; 'My ragged prison walls,' _Rich. II_, V. v. 21; and metaphorically, 'Winter's ragged hand,' _Sonn._ VI. i.
ll. 85-7. _To will implyes delay, &c._ I have changed the 'to' of _1633_ to 'too'. It is a mere change of spelling and has the support of both _H51_ and _W_. Grosart and Chambers take it as the preposition following the noun it governs, 'hard knowledge to'--an unexampled construction in the case of a monosyllabic preposition. Franz (_Shak.-Gram._ § 544) gives cases of inversion for metrical purposes, but only with 'mehrsilbigen Präpositionen', e.g. 'For fear lest day should look their shapes upon.' _Mid. N. Dream_, III. ii. 385.
Grosart, the Grolier Club editor, and Chambers have all, I think, been misled by the accidental omission in _1633_ of the full stop or colon after 'doe', l. 85. Chambers prints:
To will implies delay, therefore now do Hard deeds, the body's pains; hard knowledge to The mind's endeavours reach.
The Grolier Club version is:
To will implies delay, therefore now do Hard deeds, the body's pains; hard knowledge too The mind's endeavours reach.
The latter is the better version, but in each 'the body's pains' is a strange apposition to 'deeds' taken as object to 'do'. We do not 'do pains'. The second clause also has no obvious relation to the first which would justify the 'too'. If we close the first sentence at 'doe', we get both better sense and a better balance: 'Act _now_, for the night cometh. Hard deeds are achieved by the body's pains (i.e. toil, effort), and hard knowledge is attained by the mind's efforts.' The order of the words, and the condensed force given to 'reach' produce a somewhat harsh effect, but not more so than is usual in the _Satyres_, and less so than the alternative versions of the editors. The following lines continue the thought quite naturally: 'No endeavours of the mind will enable us to _comprehend_ mysteries, but all eyes can _apprehend_ them, dazzle as they may.' Compare: 'In all Philosophy there is not so darke a thing as light; As the sunne which is _fons lucis naturalis_, the beginning of naturall light, is the most evident thing to be seen, and yet the hardest to be looked upon, so is naturall light to our reason and understanding. Nothing clearer, for it is _clearnesse_ it selfe, nothing darker, it is enwrapped in so many scruples. Nothing nearer, for it is round about us, nothing more remote, for wee know neither entrance, nor limits of it. Nothing more _easie_, for a child discerns it, nothing more _hard_ for no man understands it. It is apprehensible by _sense_, and not comprehensible by _reason_. If wee winke, wee cannot chuse but see it, if wee stare, wee know it never the better.' _Sermons_ 50. 36. 324.
PAGE =158=, ll. 96-7. _a Philip, or a Gregory, &c._ Grosart and Norton conjecture that by Philip is meant Melanchthon, and for 'Gregory' Norton conjectures Gregory VII; Grosart either Gregory the Great or Gregory of Nazianzus. But surely Philip of Spain is balanced against Harry of England, one defender of the faith against another, as Gregory against Luther. What Gregory is meant we cannot say, but probably Donne had in view Gregory XIII or Gregory XIV, post-Reformation Popes, rather than either of those mentioned above. Satire does not deal in Ancient History. The choice is between Catholic and Protestant Princes and Popes.
PAGE =158=. SATYRE IIII.
This satire, like several of the period, is based on Horace's _Ibam forte via Sacra_ (_Sat._ i. 9), but Donne follows a quite independent line. Horace's theme is at bottom a contrast between his own friendship with Maecenas and 'the way in which vulgar and pushing people sought, and sought in vain, to obtain an introduction'. Donne, like Horace, describes a bore, but makes this the occasion for a general picture of the hangers-on at Court. A more veiled thread running through the poem is an attack on the ways and tricks of informers. The bore's gossip is probably not without a motive:
I ... felt my selfe then Becoming Traytor, and mee thought I saw One of our Giant Statutes ope his jaw To sucke me in.
The manner in which the stranger accosts him suggests the 'intelligencer': 'Two hungry turns had I scarce fetcht in this wast gallery when I was encountered by a neat pedantical fellow, in the forme of a Cittizen, who thrusting himself abruptly into my companie, like an Intelligencer, began very earnestly to question me.' Nash, _Pierce Penniless_.
In the _Satyres_ Donne is always, though he does not state his position too clearly, one with links attaching him to the persecuted Catholic minority. He hates informers and pursuivants.
ll. 1-4. These lines resemble the opening of Régnier's imitation of Horace's satire:
Charles, de mes peches j'ay bien fait penitence; Or, toy qui te cognois aux cas de conscience, Juge si j'ay raison de penser estre absous.
I can trace no further resemblance.
l. 4. _A recreation to, and scarse map of this._ I have ventured here to restore, from _Q_ and its duplicate among the Dyce MSS., what I think must have been the original form of this line. The adjective 'scarse' or 'scarce' used in this way ('a scarce poet', 'a scarce brook') is characteristic of Donne, and it always puzzled his copyists, who tried to correct it in one way or another, e.g. 'scarce a poet', II. 44; 'a scant brooke', IV. 240. It is inconceivable that they would have introduced it. The preposition 'to' governing 'such as' regularizes the construction, but would very easily be omitted by a copyist who wished to smooth the metre or did not at once catch its reference. Donne's use of 'scarse', like his use of 'Macaron' in this poem, is probably an Italianism; in Italian 'scarso' means 'wanting, scanty, poor'--'stretta e scarsa fortuna', 'E si riduce talvolta nell' Estate con si scarsa acqua', 'Veniva bellissima tanto quanto ogni comparazione ci saria scarsa', 'Ma l'ingegno e le rime erano scarse' (Petrarch).
PAGE =159=, l. 21. _seaven Antiquaries studies._ Donne has more than one hit at Antiquaries. See the _Epigrams_ and _Satyre V_. The reign of Elizabeth witnessed a great revival of antiquarian studies and the first formation of an Antiquarian society: 'There was a time, most excellent king,' says a later writer addressing King James, 'when as well under Queen Elizabeth, as under your majesty, certain choice gentlemen, men of known proof, were knit together, _statis temporibus_, by the love of these studies, upon contribution among themselves: which company consisted of an elective president and of clarissimi, of other antiquaries and a register.' Oldys, _Life of Raleigh_, p. 317. He goes on to describe how the society was dissolved by death. In the list of names he gives there are more than seven, but it is just possible that Donne refers to some such society in its early stages.
l. 22. _Africks monsters, Guianaes rarities._ Africa was famous as the land of monsters. The second reference is to the marvels described in Sir Walter Raleigh's _The discoverie of the large, rich and bewtiful Empire of Guiana, with a relation of the great and golden City of Manoa which the Spaniards call El Dorado, performed in the year 1595_ (pub. 1596). Among the monsters were Amazons, Anthropophagi,
and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders.
l. 23. _Stranger then strangers, &c._ The 'Stranger then strangest' of some MSS. would form a natural climax to the preceding list of marvels. But 'strangers' is the authoritative reading, and forms the transition to the next few lines. The reference is to the unpopularity in London of the numerous strangers whom wars and religious persecution had collected in England. Strype (_Annals_, iv) prints a paper of 1568 in which the Lord Mayor gives to the Privy Council an account of the strangers in London. In 1593 there were again complaints of their presence and threats to attack them. 'While these inquiries were making, to incense the people against them there were these lines in one of their libels: Doth not the world see that you, beastly brutes, the Belgians, or rather drunken drones and faint-hearted Flemings; and you fraudulent father (_sic. Query_ 'faitor[s]'), Frenchmen, by your cowardly flight from your own natural countries, have abandoned the same into the hands of your proud, cowardly enemies, and have by a feigned hypocrisy and counterfeit show of religion placed yourself here in a most fertile soil, under a most gracious and merciful prince; who hath been contented, to the great prejudice of her own natural subjects, to suffer you to live here in better case and more freedom then her own people--Be it known to all Flemings and Frenchmen that it is best for them to depart out of the realm of England between this and the 9th of July next. If not then to take that which follows: for that there shall be many a sore stripe. Apprentices will rise to the number of 2336. And all the apprentices and journeymen will down with the Flemings and strangers.'
Another libel was in verse, and after quoting it the official document proceeds: 'The court upon these seditious motives took the most prudent measures to protect the poor strangers, and to prevent any riot or insurrection.' Among other provisions, 'Orders to be given to appoint a strong watch of merchants and others, and like-handicrafted masters, to answer for their apprentices' and servants' misdoing.' Strype's _Annals_, iv. 234-5.
In the same year a bill was promoted in Parliament _against aliens selling foreign wares among us by retail_, which Raleigh supported: 'Whereas it is pretended that for strangers it is against charity, against honour, against profit to expel them: in my opinion it is no matter of charity to relieve them. For first, such as fly hither have forsaken their own king: and religion is no pretext for them; for we have no Dutchmen here, but such as come from those princes where the gospel is preached; yet here they live disliking our church,' &c. Birch, _Life of Raleigh_, p. 163.
I have thought it worth while to note these more recent references as Grosart refers to the rising against strangers on May-day, 1517.
l. 29. _by your priesthood, &c._ In 1581 a proclamation was issued imposing the penalty of death on any Jesuits or seminary priests who entered the Queen's dominions, and in 1585 Parliament again decreed that all Jesuits and seminary priests were to leave the kingdom within forty days under the capital penalty of treason. The detection, imprisonment, torture, and execution of disguised priests form a considerable chapter in Elizabethan history. Donne's companion looks so strange that he runs the risk of arrest as a seminary priest from Rome, or Douay. See Strype's _Annals_, passim, and Meyer, _Die Katholische Kirche unter Elisabeth_, 1910.
PAGE =160=, l. 35. _and saith_: 'saith' is the reading of all the earlier editions, although Chambers and the Grolier Club editor silently alter it to an exclamatory 'faith'--turning it into a statement which Donne immediately contradicts. The 'saith' is a harshly interpolated 'so he says'. One MS. adds 'he', and possibly the pronoun in some form has been dropped, e.g. 'sayth a speakes'.
ll. 37-8. _Made of the Accents, &c._ It is perhaps rash to accept the 'no language' of _A25_, _Q_, and the Dyce MS. But the last two represent, I think, an early version of the _Satyres_, and 'no language' (like 'nill be delayed', _Epithal. made at Lincolns Inn_) is just the sort of reading that would tend to disappear in repeated transmission. It is too bold for the average copyist or editor. But its boldness is characteristic of Donne; it gives a much better sense; and it is echoed by Jonson in his _Discoveries_: 'Spenser in affecting the ancients writ no language.' In like manner Donne's companion, in affecting the accents and best phrases of all languages, spoke none. I confess that seems to me a more pointed remark than that he spoke one made up of these.
l. 48. _Jovius or Surius_: Paolo Giovio, Bishop of Nocera, among many other works wrote _Historiarum sui temporis Libri XLV. 1553_. Chambers quotes from the _Nouvelle Biographie Générale_: 'Ses œuvres sont pleines des mensonges dont profita sa cupidité.'
Laurentius Surius (1522-78) was a Carthusian monk who wrote ecclesiastical history. Among his works are a _Commentarius brevis rerum in orbe gestarum ab anno 1550_ (1568), and a _Vitae Sanctorum, 1570 et seq._ He was accused of inaccuracy by Protestant writers. It is worth while noting that _Q_ and _O'F_ read 'Sleydan', i.e. Sleidanus. John Sleidan (1506-56) was a Protestant historian who, like Surius, wrote both general and ecclesiastical history, e.g. _De quatuor Summis Imperiis, Babylonico, Persico, Graeco, et Romano_, 1556 (an English translation appeared in 1635), and _De Statu Religionis et Reipublicae, Carolo Quinto Caesare Commentarii_ (1555-9). The latter is a history of the Reformation written from the Protestant point of view, to which Surius' work is a reply. Sleidan's history did not give entire satisfaction to the reformers. It is quite possible that Donne's first sneer was at the Protestant historian and that he thought it safer later to substitute the Catholic Surius.
l. 54. _Calepines Dictionarie._ A well-known polyglot dictionary edited by Ambrose Calepine (1455-1511) in 1502. It grew later to a _Dictionarium Octolingue_, and ultimately to a _Dictionarium XI Linguarum_ (Basel, 1590).
l. 56. _Some other Jesuites._ The 'other' is found only in _HN_, which is no very reliable authority. Without it the line wants a whole foot, not merely a syllable. Donne more than once drops a syllable, compensating for it by the length and stress which is given to another. Nothing can make up for the want of a whole foot, though in dramatic verse an incomplete line may be effective. To me, too, it seems very like Donne to introduce this condensed and sudden stroke at Beza and nothing more likely to have been dropped later, either by way of precaution or because it was not understood. No one of the reformers was more disliked by Catholics than Beza. The licence of his early life, his loose Latin verses, the scurrilous wit of his own controversial method--all exposed him to and provoked attack. The _De Vita et Moribus Theodori Bezae, Omnium Haereticorum nostri temporis facile principis, &c.: Authore Jacobo Laingaeo Doctore Sorbonico_ (1585), is a bitter and calumnious attack. There was, too, something of the Jesuit, both in the character of the arguments used and in the claim made on behalf of the Church to direct the civil arm, in Beza's defence of the execution of Servetus. Moreover, the _Vindiciae contra Tyrannos_ was sometimes attributed to Beza, and the views of the reformers regarding the rights of kings put forward there, and those held by the Jesuits, approximate closely. (See _Cambridge Modern History_, iii. 22, _Political Thought in the Sixteenth Century_, pp. 759-66.) In his subsequent attacks upon the Jesuits, Donne always singles out the danger of their doctrines and practice to the authority of kings. Throughout the _Satyres_ Donne's veiled Catholic prejudices have to be constantly borne in mind.
PAGE =161=, l. 59. _and so Panurge was._ See Rabelais, _Pantagruel_ ii. 9. One day that Pantagruel was walking with his friends he met 'un homme beau de stature et elegant en tous lineaments de corps, mais pitoyablement navré en divers lieux, et tant mal en ordre qu'il sembloit estre eschappe es chiens'. Pantagruel, convinced from his appearance that 'il n'est pauvre que par fortune', demands of him his name and story. He replies; but, to the dismay of Pantagruel and his friends, his answer is couched first in German, then in Arabic (?), then in Italian, in English (or what passes as such), in Basque, in Lanternoy (an Esperanto of Rabelais's invention), in Dutch, in Spanish, in Danish, in Hebrew, in Greek, in the language of Utopia, and finally in Latin. '"Dea, mon amy," dist Pantagruel, "ne sçavez-vous parler françoys?" "Si faict tresbien, Seigneur," respondit le compaignon; "Dieu mercy! c'est ma langue naturelle et maternelle, car je suis né et ay esté nourry jeune au jardin de France: c'est Touraine."--"Doncques," dist Pantagruel, "racomtez nous quel est votre nom et dont vous venez."... "Seigneur," dist le compagnon, "mon vray et propre nom de baptesmes est Panurge."' Panurge was not much behind Calepine's Dictionary, and if Donne's companion spoke in the 'accent and best phrase' of all these tongues he certainly spoke 'no language'.
l. 69. _doth not last_: 'last' has the support of several good MSS., 'taste' (i.e. savour, go down, be acceptable) of some. It is impossible to decide on intrinsic grounds between them.
l. 70. _Aretines pictures._ The lascivious pictures of Giulio Romano, for which Aretino wrote sonnets.
l. 75. _the man that keepes the Abbey tombes._ See Davies' epigram, _On Dacus_, quoted in the general note on the _Satyres_.
l. 80. _Kingstreet._ From Charing Cross to the King's Palace at Westminster. It was for long the only way to Westminster from the north. 'The last part of it has now been covered by the new Government offices in Parliament Street'. Stow's _Survey of London_, ed. Charles Lethbridge Kingsford (1908), ii. 102 and notes.
ll. 83-7. I divide the dialogue thus:
_Companion._ Are not your Frenchmen neat?
_Donne._ Mine? As you see I have but one Frenchman, look he follows me.
_Companion (ignoring this impertinence)._ Certes they (i.e. Frenchmen) are neatly cloth'd. I of this mind am, Your only wearing is your grogaram.
_Donne._ Not so Sir, I have more.
The joke turns on Donne's pretending to misunderstand the bore's colloquial, but rather affected, indefinite use of 'your'. Donne applies it to himself: 'You are mistaken in thinking that I have only one suit.' Chambers gives the whole speech, from 'He's base' to 'he follows me', to the bore. This gives 'Certes ... grogaram' to Donne, and the closing repartee to the bore. Chambers uses inverted commas, and has, probably by an oversight, omitted to begin a new speech at 'Mine'.
For 'your' as used by the bore compare Bottom's use of it in _A Midsummer Nights Dream_: 'I will discharge it in either your straw-coloured beard, or your orange-tawny beard', and 'there is not a more fearful wild-fowl than your lion'. In most of the instances quoted by Schmidt there is the suggestion that Shakespeare is making fun of an affectation of the moment. That Donne had a French servant appears from one of his letters: 'therefore I onely send you this Letter ... and my promise to distribute your other Letters, according to your addresses, as fast as my Monsieur can doe it.' To Sir G. B., _Letters_, p. 201.
PAGE =162=, l. 97. _ten Hollensheads, or Halls, or Stowes._ Every reader of these old chroniclers knows how they mingle with their account of the greater events of each year mention of trifling events, strange births, fires, &c. This characteristic of the Chronicles is reflected in the History-Plays based on them. Nash complains of these 'lay-chroniclers that write of nothing but of Mayors and Sherifs, and the deere yere and the great frost'. _Pierce Penniless._
ll. 98. _he knowes; He knowes._ I have followed _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ in thus punctuating. To place the semicolon after 'trash' makes 'Of triviall household trash' depend rather awkwardly on 'lye'. Donne does not accuse the chroniclers of lying, but of reporting trivialities.
PAGE =163=, l. 113-4. _since The Spaniards came, &c._: i.e. from 1588 to 1597.
l. 117. _To heare this Makeron talke._ This is the earliest instance of this Italian word used in English which the O.E.D. quotes, and is a proof of Donne's Italian travels. The _Vocabolario degli Accademici della Crusca_ (1747) quotes as an example of the word with this meaning, _homo crassâ Minerva_, in Italian:
O maccheron, ben hai la vista corta. Bellina, _Sonetti_, 29.
Donne's use of the word attracted attention. It is repeated in one of the _Elegies to the Author_, and led to the absurd substitution, in the editions after _1633_, of 'maceron' for 'mucheron' (mushroom) in the epistle prefixed to _The Progress of the Soule_.
l. 124. _Perpetuities._ 'Perpetuities are so much impugned because they will be prejudiciall to the Queenes profitt, which is raised daily from fines and recoveries.' _Manningham's Diary_, April 22, 1602. Manningham refers probably to real property in which for many centuries the Judges have ruled there can be no inalienable rights, i.e. perpetuities. Donne's companion declares that such inalienable rights are being established in offices. One has but to read Donne's or Chamberlain's letters (or any contemporaries) to see what a traffic went on in reversions to offices secular and sacred.
l. 133. _To sucke me in; for_.... I have, with some of the MSS. and with Chambers and the later editions, connected 'for hearing him' with what follows. But _1633_ and the better MSS. read:
To sucke me in for hearing him. I found....
Possibly this is right, but it seems to me better to connect 'for hearing him' with what follows. It makes the comparison to the superstition about communicating infection clearer: 'I found that as ... leachers, &c., ... so I, hearing him, might grow guilty and he free.' 'I should be convicted of treason; he would go free as a spy who had spoken treason only to draw me out'. See the accounts of trials of suspected traitors before Walsingham and others. It is on this passage I base my view that Donne's companion is not merely a bore, but a spy, or at any rate is ready to turn informer to earn a crown or two.
PAGE =164=, l. 148. _complementall thankes._ The word 'complement' or 'compliment' had a bad sense: 'We have a word now denizened and brought into familiar use among us, Complement; and for the most part, in an ill sense; so it is, when the heart of the speaker doth not answer his tongue; but God forbid but a true heart, and a faire tongue might very well consist together: As vertue itself receives an addition, by being in a faire body, so do good intentions of the heart, by being expressed in faire language. That man aggravates his condemnation that gives me good words, and meanes ill; but he gives me a rich Jewell and in a faire Cabinet, he gives me precious wine, and in a clear glasse, that intends well, and expresses his good intentions well too.' _Sermons_ 80. 18. 176.
l. 164. _th'huffing braggart, puft Nobility._ I have followed the MSS. in inserting 'th'' and taking 'braggart' as a noun. It would be more easy to omit the article than to insert. Moreover 'braggart' is commoner as a noun. The O.E.D. gives no example of the adjectival use earlier than 1613. Compare:
The huft, puft, curld, purld, wanton Pride. Sylvester, _Du Bartas_, i. 2.
PAGE =165=, l. 169. _your waxen garden_ or _yon waxen garden_--it is impossible to say which Donne wrote. The reference is to the artificial gardens in wax exhibited apparently by Italian puppet or 'motion' exhibitors. Compare:
I smile to think how fond the Italians are, To judge their artificial gardens rare, When London in thy cheekes can shew them heere Roses and Lillies growing all the yeere. Drayton, _Heroical Epistles_ (1597), _Edward IV to Jane Shore_.
l. 176. _Baloune._ A game played with a large wind-ball or football struck to and fro with the arm or foot.
l. 179. _and I, (God pardon mee.)_ This, the reading of the _1633_ edition, is obviously right. Mr. Chambers, misled by the dropping of the full stop after 'me' in the editions from _1639_ onwards, has adopted a reading of his own:
and aye--God pardon me-- As fresh and sweet their apparels be, as be The fields they sold to buy them.
But what, in this case, does Donne ask God's pardon for? It is not _his_ fault that their apparels are fresh or costly. 'God pardon them!' would be the appropriate exclamation. What Donne asks God's pardon for is, that he too should be found in the 'Presence' again, after what he has already seen of Court life and 'the wretchedness of suitors': as though Dante, who had seen Hell and escaped, should wilfully return thither.
l. 189. _Cutchannel_: i.e. Cochineal. The ladies' painted faces suggest the comparison. In or shortly before 1603 an English ship, the _Margaret and John_, made a piratical attack on the Venetian ship, _La Babiana_. An indemnity was paid, and among the stolen articles are mentioned 54 weights of cochineal, valued at £50-7. Our school Histories tell us of Turkish and Moorish pirates, not so much of the piracy which was conducted by English merchant ships, not always confining themselves to the ships of nations at war with their country.
PAGE =166=, ll. 205-6. _trye ... thighe._ I have, with the support of _Ash._ 38, printed thus instead of _tryes ... thighes_. If we retain 'tryes', then we should also, with several MSS., read (l. 204) 'survayes'; and if 'thighes' be correct we should expect 'legges'. The regular construction keeps the infinitive throughout, 'refine', 'lift', 'call', 'survay', 'trye'. If we suppose that Donne shifted the construction as he got away from the governing verb, the change would naturally begin with 'survayes'.
ll. 215-6. _A Pursevant would have ravish'd him away._ The reading of three independent MSS., _Q_, _O'F_, and _JC_, of 'Topcliffe' for 'Pursevant' is a very interesting clue to the Catholic point of view from which Donne's _Satyres_ were written. Richard Topcliffe (1532-1609) was one of the cruellest of the creatures employed to ferret out and examine by torture Catholics and Jesuits. It was he who tortured Southwell the poet. In 1593 he was on the commission against Jesuits, and in 1594-5 was in prison. John Hammond, the civilist, who is possibly referred to in _Satyre V_, l. 87, sat with him on several inquiries. See _D.N.B._ and authorities quoted there; also Meyer, _Die Katholische Kirche unter Elisabeth_, 1910.
PAGE =167=, ll. 233-4. _men big enough to throw Charing Crosse for a barre._
Of one of Harvey's pamphlets Nash writes: 'Credibly it was once rumoured about the Court, that the Guard meant to try masteries with it before the Queene, and, instead of throwing the sledge or the hammer, to hurle it foorth at the armes end for a wager.' _Have with you, &c._ (M^{c}Kerrow, iii, p. 36.)
ll. 235-6. _Queenes man, and fine Living, barrells of beefe, flaggons of wine._
Compare Cowley's _Loves Riddle_, III. i:
_Apl._ He shew thee first all the coelestial signs, And to begin, look on that horned head.
_Aln._ Whose is't? Jupiters?
_Apl._ No, tis the Ram! Next that the spacious Bull fills up the place.
_Aln._ The Bull? Tis well the fellows of the Guard Intend not to come thither; if they did The Gods might chance to lose their beef.
The name 'beefeater' has, I suppose, some responsibility for the jest. Nash refers to their size: 'The big-bodied Halbordiers that guard her Majesty,' Nash (Grosart), i. 102; and to their capacities as trenchermen: 'Lies as big as one of the Guardes chynes of beefe,' Nash (M^{c}Kerrow), i. 269.
'Ascapart is a giant thirty feet high who figures in the legend of Sir Bevis of Southampton.' Chambers.
l. 240. _a scarce brooke_. Donne uses 'scarce' in this sense, i.e. 'scanty'. It is not common. See note to l. 4.
PAGE =168=, l. 242. _Macchabees modestie._ 'And if I have done well, and as is fitting the story, it is that which I have desired; but if slenderly and meanly, it is that which I could attain unto.' 2 Maccabees xv. 38.
PAGE =168=. SATYRE V.
l. 9. _If all things be in all._ 'All things are concealed in all. One of them all is the concealer of the rest--their corporeal vessel, external, visible and movable.' Paracelsus, _Coelum Philosophorum: The First Canon, Concerning the Nature and Properties of Mercury_.
PAGE =169=, l. 31. _You Sir, &c._: i.e. Sir Thomas Egerton, whose service Donne entered probably in 1598 and left in 1601-2. Norton says 1596 to 1600. In 1596 Egerton was made Lord Keeper. In 1597 he was busy with the reform of some of the abuses connected with the Clerkship of the Star Chamber, and this is probably what Donne has in view throughout the Satyre. 'For some years the administration of this office had given rise to complaints. In the last Parliament a bill had been brought in ... for the reformation of it; but by a little management on the part of the Speaker had been thrown out on the second reading. Upon this I suppose the complainants addressed themselves to the Queen. For it appears that the matter was under inquiry in 1595, when Puckering was Lord Keeper; and it is certain that at a later period some of the fees claimed by the Clerk of Council were by authority of the Lord Keeper Egerton restrained.' Spedding, _Letters and Life of Francis Bacon_, ii. 56. In the note Spedding refers to a MS. at Bridgewater House containing 'The humble petition of the Clerk of the Council concerning his fees restrained by the Rt. Hon. the Lord Keeper'. Bacon held the reversion to this Clerkship and in a long letter to Egerton he discusses in detail the nature of the 'claim'd fees'. The question was not settled till 1605. It will be noticed that in several editions and MSS. the reading is 'claim'd fees'.
ll. 37-41. These lines are correctly printed in _1633_, though the old use of the semicolon to indicate at one time a little less than a full stop, at another just a little more than a comma, has caused confusion. I have, therefore, ventured to alter the first (after 'farre') to a full stop, and the second (after 'duties') to a comma. '_That_', says Donne (the italics give emphasis), 'was the iron age when justice was sold. Now' (in this 'age of rusty iron') 'injustice is sold dearer. Once you have allowed all the demands made on you, you find, suitors (and suitors are gamblers), that the money you toiled for has passed into other hands, the lands for which you urged your rival claims has escaped you, as Angelica escaped while Ferrau and Rinaldo fought for her.'
To the reading of the editions _1635-54_, which Chambers has adopted (but by printing in roman letters he makes 'that' a relative pronoun, and 'iron age' subject to 'did allow'), I can attach no meaning:
The iron Age _that_ was, when justice was sold (now Injustice is sold dearer) did allow All claim'd fees and duties. Gamesters anon.
How did the iron age allow fees and duties? The text of _1669_ reverts to that of _1633_ (keeping the 'claim'd fees' of _1635-54_), but does not improve the punctuation by changing the semicolon after 'farre' to a comma.
Mr. Allen (_Rise of Formal Satire, &c._) points out that the allusion to the age of 'rusty iron', which deserves some worse name, is obviously derived from Juvenal XIII. 28 ff.:
Nunc aetas agitur, peioraque saecula ferri Temporibus: quorum sceleri non invenit ipsa Nomen, et a nullo posuit natura metallo.
With Donne's
so controverted lands Scape, like Angelica, the strivers hands
compare Chaucer's
We strive as did the houndes for the boon Thei foughte al day and yet hir parte was noon: Ther cam a kyte, whil that they were so wrothe, And bar away the boon betwixt hem bothe. And therfore at the kynges country brother Eche man for himself, there is noon other. _Knightes Tale_, ll. 319 ff.
ll. 45-6. _powre of the Courts below Flow._ Grosart and Chambers silently alter to 'Flows', but both the editions and MSS. have the plural form. Franz notes the construction in Shakespeare:
The venom of such looks, we fairly hope, Have lost their quality. _Hen. V_, V. ii. 18.
All the power of his wits have given way to his impatience. _Lear_, III. v. 4.
The last is a very close parallel. The proximity of the plural noun in the prepositional phrase is the chief determining factor, but in some cases the combined noun and qualifying phrase has a plural force--'such venomous looks', 'his mental powers or faculties.'
PAGE =170=, l. 61. _heavens Courts._ There can be no doubt that the plural is right: 'so the Roman profession seems to exhale, and refine our wills from earthly Drugs, and Lees, more then the Reformed, and so seems to bring us nearer heaven, but then that carries heaven farther from us, by making us pass so many Courts, and Offices of Saints in this life, in all our petitions,' &c. _Letters_, 102.
ll. 65-8. Compare: 'If a Pursevant, if a Serjeant come to thee from the King, in any Court of Justice, though he come to put thee in trouble, to call thee to an account, yet thou receivest him, thou entertainest him, thou paiest him fees.' _Sermons_ 80. 52. 525. Gardiner, writing of the treatment of Catholics under Elizabeth, says: 'Hard as this treatment was, it was made worse by the misconduct of the constables and pursevants whose business it was to search for the priests who took refuge in the secret chambers which were always to be found in the mansions of the Catholic gentry. These wretches, under pretence of discovering the concealed fugitives, were in the habit of wantonly destroying the furniture or of carrying off valuable property.' _Hist. of England_, i. 97.
PAGE =171=, l. 91. The right reading of this line must be either (_a_) that which we have taken from _N_ and _TCD_, which differs only by a letter from that of _1633-69_; or (_b_) that of _A25_, _B_, and other MSS.:
And div'd neare drowning, for what vanished.
The first refers to the suitor. He, like the dog, dives for what _has_ vanished; goes to law for what is irrecoverable. The second reading would refer to the dog and continue the illustration: 'Thou art the dog whom shadows cozened and who div'd for what vanish'd.' The ambiguity accounts for the vacillation of the MSS. and editions. The reading of _1669_ is a conjectural emendation. The 'div'd'st' of some MSS. is an endeavour to get an agreement of tenses after 'what's' had become 'what'.
PAGE =172=. VPON MR. THOMAS CORYATS CRUDITIES.
These verses were first published in 1611 with a mass of witty and scurrilous verses by all the 'wits' of the day, prefixed to Coryats _Crudities hastily gobbled up in five months travells in France, Savoy, Italy, Rhaetia ... Newly digested in the hungry aire of Odcombe, in the County of Somerset, and now dispersed to the nourishment of the travelling members of this Kingdom_. Coryat was an eccentric and a favourite butt of the wits, but was not without ability as well as enterprise. In 1612 he set out on a journey through the East which took him to Constantinople, Jerusalem, Armenia, Mesopotamia, Persia, and India. In his letters to the wits at home he sends greetings to, among others, Christopher Brooke, John Hoskins (as 'Mr. Ecquinoctial Pasticrust of the Middle Temple'), Ben Jonson, George Garrat, and 'M. John Donne, the author of two most elegant Latine Bookes, _Pseudomartyr_ and _Ignatius Conclave_' He died at Surat in 1617.
l. 2. _leavened spirit._ This is the reading of _1611_. It was altered in _1649_ to 'learned', and modern editors have neglected to correct the error. A glance at the first line shows that 'leavened' is right. It is leaven which raises bread. A 'leavened spirit' is one easily puffed up by the 'love of greatness'. There is much more of satire in such an epithet than in 'learned'.
l. 17. _great Lunatique_, i.e. probably 'great humourist', whose moods and whims are governed by the changeful moon. See O.E.D., which quotes:
Ther (i.e. women's) hertys chaunge never ... Ther sect ys no thing lunatyke. Lydgate.
'By nativitie they be lunaticke ... as borne under the influence of Luna, and therefore as firme ... as melting waxe.' Greene, _Mamillia_.
l. 22. _Munster._ The _Cosmographia Universalis_ (1541) of Sebastian Munster (1489-1552).
l. 22. _Gesner._ The _Bibliotheca Universalis, siue Catalogus Omnium Scriptorum in Linguis Latina, Graeca, et Hebraica_, 1545, by Conrad von Gesner of Zurich (1516-1565). Norton quotes from Morhof's _Polyhistor_: 'Conradus Gesner inter universales et perpetuos Catalogorum scriptores principatum obtinet'; and from Dr. Johnson: 'The book upon which all my fame was originally founded.'
l. 23. _Gallo-belgicus._ See _Epigrams_.
PAGE =173=, l. 56. _Which casts at Portescues._ Grosart offers the only intelligible explanation of this phrase. He identifies the 'Portescue' with the 'Portaque' or 'Portegue', the great crusado of Portugal, worth £3 12_s._, and quotes from Harrington, _On Playe_: 'Where lords and great men have been disposed to play deep play, and not having money about them, have cut cards instead of counters, with asseverance (on their honours) to pay for every piece of card so lost a portegue.' Donne's reference to the use which is to be made of Coryat's books shows clearly that he is speaking of some such custom as this. Chambers asks pertinently, would the phrase not be 'for Portescues'? but 'to cast at Portescues' may have been a term, perhaps translated. A greater difficulty is that 'Portescue' is not given as a form of 'Portague' by the O.E.D., but a false etymology connecting it with 'escus', crowns, may have produced it.
The following poem is also found among the poems prefixed to Coryat's _Crudities_. It may be by Donne, but was not printed in any edition of his poems:
_Incipit Ioannes Dones._
Loe her's a Man, worthy indeede to trauell; Fat Libian plaines, strangest Chinas grauell. For Europe well hath scene him stirre his stumpes: Turning his double shoes to simple pumpes. And for relation, looke he doth afford Almost for euery step he tooke a word; What had he done had he ere hug'd th'Ocean With swimming _Drake_ or famous _Magelan_? And kis'd that _vnturn'd[1] cheeke_ of our old mother, Since so our Europes world he can discouer? It's not that _French_[2] which made his _Gyant_[3] see Those vncouth Ilands where wordes frozen bee, Till by the thaw next yeare they'r voic't againe; Whose _Papagauts_, _Andoüelets_, and that traine Should be such matter for a Pope to curse As he would make; make! makes ten times worse, And yet so pleasing as shall laughter moue: And be his vaine, his game, his praise, his loue. Sit not still then, keeping fames trump vnblowne: But get thee _Coryate_ to some land vnknowne. From whẽce proclaime thy wisdom with those wõders, Rarer then sommers snowes, or winters thunders. And take this praise of that th'ast done alreadie: T'is pitty ere they _flow_ should haue an _eddie_. _Explicit Ioannes Dones._
PAGE =174=. IN EUNDEM MACARONICUM.
A writer in _Notes and Queries_, 3rd Series, vii, 1865, gives the following translation of these lines:
As many perfect linguists as these two distichs make, So many prudent statesmen will this book of yours produce. To me the honour is sufficient of being understood: for I leave To you the honour of being believed by no one.
[Footnote 1: _Terra incognita._]
[Footnote 2: _Rablais._]
[Footnote 3: _Pantagruel._]
[(These notes are given in the margin of the original, opposite the words explained.)]
LETTERS TO SEVERALL PERSONAGES.
Of Donne's _Letters_ the earliest are the _Storms_ and _Calme_ which were written in 1597. The two letters to Sir Henry Wotton, 'Sir, More then kisses' and 'Heres no more newes, then vertue', belong to 1597-8. The fresh letter here published, _H: W: in Hiber: belligeranti_ (p. 188), was sent to Wotton in 1599. That _To Mr Rowland Woodward_ (p. 185) was probably written about the same time, and to these years--1598 to about 1608--belong also, I am inclined to think, the group of short letters beginning with _To Mr T. W._ at p. 205. There are very few indications of date. In that to Mr. R. W. (pp. 209-10) an allusion is made to the disappointment of hopes in connexion with Guiana:
Guyanaes harvest is nip'd in the spring, I feare; And with us (me thinkes) Fate deales so As with the Jewes guide God did; he did show Him the rich land, but bar'd his entry in: Oh, slownes is our punishment and sinne.
Grosart and Chambers refer this, and 'the Spanish businesse' below, to 1613-14. The more probable reference is to the disappointment of Raleigh's hopes, in 1596 and the years immediately following, that the Government might be persuaded to make a settlement in Guiana, both on account of its wealth and as a strategic point to be used in harassing the King of Spain. Coolly received by Burleigh, Raleigh's scheme excited considerable enthusiasm, and Chapman wrote his _De Guiana: Carmen Epicum_, prefixed to Lawrence Keymis's _A Relation of the Second Voyage to Guiana_ (1596), to celebrate Raleigh's achievement and to promote his scheme. The 'Spanish businesse', i.e. businesses, which, Donne complains,
as the Earth between the Moone and Sun Eclipse the light which Guiana would give,
are probably the efforts in the direction of peace made by the party in the Government opposed to Essex. Guiana is referred to in the _Satyres_ which certainly belong to these years, and in _Elegie XX: Loves War_, which cannot be dated so late as 1613-14. In 1598 Chamberlain writes to Carleton: 'Sir John Gilbert, with six or seven saile, one and other, is gone for Guiana, and I heare that Sir Walter Raleigh should be so deeply discontented because he thrives no better, that he is not far off from making that way himself'. Chamberlain's _Letters_, Camd. Soc. 1861. Compare also: 'The Queene seemede troubled to-daye; Hatton came out from her presence with ill countenance, and pulled me aside by the gyrdle and saide in a secrete waie; If you have any suite to-day praie you put it aside, The sunne doth not shine. Tis _this accursede Spanish businesse_; so will I not adventure her Highnesse choler, lest she should collar me also.' Sir John Harington's _Nugae Antiquae_, i. 176. (Note dated 1598.) All these letters are found in the Westmoreland MS. (_W_), whose order I have adopted, and the titles they bear--'To Mr H. W.', 'To Mr C. B.'--suggest that they belong to a period before either Wotton or Brooke was well known, at least before Wotton had been knighted. The tone throughout points to their belonging to the same time. They are full of allusions now difficult or impossible to explain. They are written to intimate friends. 'Thou' is the pronoun used throughout, whereas 'You' is the formula in the letters to noble ladies. Wotton, Christopher and Samuel Brooke, Rowland and Thomas Woodward are among the names which can be identified, and they are the names of Donne's most intimate friends in his earlier years. Probably there were answers to Donne's letters. He refers to poems which have called forth his poems. One of these has been preserved in the Westmoreland MS., though we cannot tell who wrote it. A Bodleian MS. contains another verse letter written to Donne in the same style as these letters, a little crabbed and enigmatical, and it is addressed to him as Secretary to Sir Thomas Egerton. This whole correspondence, then, I should be inclined to date from 1597 to about 1607-8. The last is probably the date of the letter _To E. of D._ or _To L. of D._ (so in _W_), beginning:
See Sir, how as the Suns hot Masculine flame Begets strange creatures on Niles durty slime.
This I have transferred to the _Divine Poems_, and shall give reasons later for ascribing it to about this year, and for questioning the identification of its recipient with Viscount Doncaster, later Earl of Carlisle.
Of the remaining _Letters_ some date themselves pretty definitely. Donne formed the acquaintance of Lady Bedford about 1607-8 when she came to Twickenham, and the two letters to her--'Reason is our Soules left hand' (p. 189) and 'You have refin'd mee' (p. 191)--probably belong to the early years of their friendship. The second suggests that the poet is himself at Mitcham. The long, difficult letter, 'T'have written then' (p. 195), belongs probably to some year following 1609. There is an allusion to Virginia, in which there was a quickening of interest in 1609 (see _Elegie XIV_, Note), and the 'two new starres' sent 'lately to the firmament' may be Lady Markham (died May 4, 1609) and Mris Boulstred (died Aug. 4, 1609). This is Chambers's conjecture; but Norton identifies them with Prince Henry (died Nov. 6, 1612) and the Countess's brother, Lord Harington, who died early in 1614. Public characters like these are more fittingly described as stars, so that the poem probably belongs to 1614, to which year certainly belongs the letter _To the Countesse of Salisbury_ (p. 224). What New Year called forth the letter to Lady Bedford, beginning 'This twilight of two years' (p. 198), we do not know, nor the date of the long letter in triplets, 'Honour is so sublime perfection' (p. 218). But the latter was most probably written from France in 1611-12, like the fragmentary letter which follows, and the letter, similar in verse and in 'metaphysics', _To the Lady Carey and Mrs Essex Riche_ (p. 221). Donne had a little shocked his noble lady friends by the extravagance of his adulation of the dead child Mrs. Elizabeth Drury, in 1611, and these letters are written to make his peace and to show the pitch he is capable of soaring to in praise of their maturer virtues.
To Sir Henry Wotton (p. 214), Donne wrote in a somewhat more elevated and respectful strain than that of his earlier letters, when the former set out on his embassy to Venice in 1604. The letter to Sir Henry Goodyere (p. 183) belongs to the Mitcham days, 1605-8. To Sir Edward Herbert (p. 193) he wrote 'at Julyers', therefore in 1610. The letter _To the Countesse of Huntingdon_ (p. 201) was probably written just before Donne took orders, 1614-15. The date of the letter _To Mris M. H._ (p. 216), that is, to Mrs. Magdalen Herbert, not yet Lady Danvers, must have been earlier than her second marriage in 1608--the exact day of that marriage I do not know--probably in 1604, as the verse, style and tone closely resemble that of the letter to Wotton of that year. This suits the tenor of the letter, which implies that she had not yet married Sir John Danvers.
The last in the collection of the letters to Lady Bedford, 'You that are she and you' (p. 227), seems from its position in _1633_ and several MSS. to have been sent to her with the elegy called _Death_, and to have been evoked by the death of Lady Markham or Mrs. Boulstred in 1609.
The majority of the letters thus belong to the years 1596-7 to 1607-8, the remainder to the next six years. With the _Funerall Elegies_ and the earlier of the _Divine Poems_ they represent the middle and on the whole least attractive period of Donne's life and work. The _Songs and Sonets_ and _Elegies_ are the expression of his brilliant and stormy youth, the _Holy Sonnets_ and the hymns are the utterance of his ascetic and penitent last years. In the interval between the two, the wit, the courtier, the man of the world, and the divine jostle each other in Donne's works in a way that is not a little disconcerting to readers of an age and temper less habituated to strong contrasts.
PAGE =175=. THE STORME.
After the Cadiz expedition in 1596, the King of Spain began the preparation of a second Armada. With a view to destroying this Elizabeth fitted out a large fleet under the command of Essex, Howard, and Raleigh. The storm described in Donne's letter so damaged the fleet that the larger purpose was abandoned and a smaller expedition, after visiting the Spanish coast, proceeded to the Azores, with a view to intercepting the silver fleet returning from America. Owing to dissensions between Raleigh and Essex, it failed of its purpose. This was the famous 'Islands Expedition'.
The description of the departure and the storm which followed was probably written in Plymouth, whither the ships had to put back, and whence they sailed again about a month later; therefore in July-August, 1597. 'We imbarked our Army, and set sayle about the ninth of July, and for two dayes space were accompanied with a faire leading North-easterly wind.' (Mildly it kist our sailes, &c.)...... 'Wee now being in this faire course, some sixtie leagues onwards our journey with our whole Fleet together, there suddenly arose a fierce and tempestuous storme full in our teethe, continuing for foure dayes with so great violence, as that now everyone was inforced rather to looke to his own safetie, and with a low saile to serve the Seas, then to beate it up against the stormy windes to keep together, or to follow the directions for the places of meeting.' _A larger Relation of the said Iland Voyage written by Sir Arthur Gorges, &c. Purchas his Pilgrimes._ Glasg. MCMVII. While at Plymouth Donne wrote a prose letter, to whom is not clear, preserved in the Burley Commonplace Book. There he speaks of 'so very bad wether y^t even some of y^e mariners have been drawen to think it were not altogether amiss to pray, and myself heard one of them say, God help us'.
_To Mr. Christopher Brooke._ Donne's intimate friend and chamber-fellow at Lincoln's Inn. He was Donne's chief abetter in his secret marriage, his younger brother Samuel performing the ceremony. They were the sons of Robert Brooke, Alderman of and once M.P. for York, and his wife Jane Maltby. The Alderman had other sons who followed in his footsteps and figure among the Freemen of York, but Christopher and Samuel earned a wider reputation. At Lincoln's Inn, Christopher wrote verses and cultivated the society of the wits. Wood mentions as his friends and admirers Selden and Jonson, Drayton and Browne, Wither and Davies of Hereford. Browne sings his praises in the second song of the second book of _Britannia's Pastorals_, and in _The Shepherds Pipe_ (1614) urges him to sing a higher strain. His poems, which have been collected and edited by the late Dr. Grosart, include an Elegy on Prince Henry, and a long poem of no merit, _The Ghost of Richard the Third_ (_Miscellanies_ of the _Fuller Worthies Library_, vol. iv, 1872). In 1614 he became a bencher and Summer Reader at Lincoln's Inn. He died February 7, 1627/8.
l. 4. _By Hilliard drawne._ Nicholas Hilliard (1537-1619), the first English miniature painter. He was goldsmith, carver, and limner to Queen Elizabeth, and engraved her second great seal in 1586. He drew a portrait of Mary, Queen of Scots, at eighteen, and executed miniatures of many contemporaries. He also wrote a treatise on miniature painting. Mr. Laurence Binyon thinks it is quite possible that the miniature from which Marshall, about 1635, engraved the portrait of Donne as a young man, was by Hilliard. It is, he says, quite in his style.
l. 13. _From out her pregnant intrailes._ The ancients attributed winds to the effect of exhalations from the earth. Seneca, _Quaestiones Naturales_, v. 4, discusses various causes but mentions this first: 'Sometimes the earth herself emits a great quantity of air, which she breathes out of her hidden recesses ... A suggestion has been made which I cannot make up my mind to believe, and yet I cannot pass over without mention. In our bodies food produces flatulence, the emission of which causes great offence to ones nasal susceptibilities; sometimes a report accompanies the relief of the stomach, sometimes there is more polite smothering of it. In like manner it is supposed the great frame of things when assimilating its nourishment emits air. It is a lucky thing for us that nature's digestion is good, else we might apprehend some less agreeable consequences.' (_Q. N. translated by John Clarke, with notes by Sir Archibald Geikie_, 1910.) These exhalations, according to one view, mounting up were driven back by the violence of the stars, or by inability to pass the frozen middle region of the air--hence commotions. (Pliny, _Nat. Hist._ ii. 38, 45, 47, 48.) This explains Donne's 'middle marble room', where 'marble' may mean 'hard', or _possibly_ 'blue' referring to the colour of the heavens. It is so used by Studley in his translations of Seneca's tragedies: 'Whereas the marble sea doth fleete,' _Hipp._ i. 25; 'When marble skies no filthy fog doth dim,' _Herc. Oet._ ii. 8; 'The monstrous hags of marble seas' (monstra caerulei maris), _Hipp._ v. 5, I owe this suggestion to Miss Evelyn Spearing (_The Elizabethan 'Tenne Tragedies of Seneca'._ _Mod. Lang. Review_, iv. 4). But the peripatetic view was that the heavens were made of hard, solid, though transparent, concentric spheres: 'Tycho will have two distinct matters of heaven and ayre; but to say truth, with some small modifications, they' (i.e. Tycho Brahe and Christopher Rotman) 'have one and the self same opinion about the essence and matter of heavens; that it is not hard and impenetrable, as Peripateticks hold, transparent, of a _quinta essentia_, but that it is penetrable and soft as the ayre itself is, and that the planets move in it', (according to the older view each was fixed in its sphere) 'as birds in the ayre, fishes in the sea.' Burton, _Anat. of Melancholy_, part ii, sect. 2, Men. 3.
'Wind', says Donne elsewhere, 'is a mixt Meteor, to the making whereof, diverse occasions concurre with exhalations.' _Sermons_ 80. 31. 305.
The movement which Donne has in view is described by Du Bartas:
If heav'ns bright torches, from earth's Kidneys, sup Som somwhat dry and heatfull Vapours up, Th' ambitious lightning of their nimble Fire Would suddenly neer th' Azure Cirques aspire: But scarce so soon their fuming crest hath raught, Or toucht the Coldness of the middle Vault, And felt what force their mortall Enemy In Garrison keeps there continually; When down again towards their Dam they bear, Holp by the weight which they have drawn from her. But in the instant, to their aid arrives Another new heat, which their heart revives, Re-arms their hand, and having staied their flight, Better resolv'd brings them again to fight. Well fortifi'd then by these fresh supplies, More bravely they renew their enterprize: And one-while th' upper hand (with honor) getting, Another-while disgracefully retreating, Our lower Aire they tosse in sundry sort, As weak or strong their matter doth comport. This lasts not long; because the heat and cold, Equall in force and fortune, equall bold In these assaults; to end this sudden brall, Th' one stops their mounting, th' other stayes their fall: So that this vapour, never resting stound, Stands never still, but makes his motion round, Posteth from Pole to Pole, and flies amain From _Spain_ to _India_, and from _Inde_ to _Spain_. Sylvester, _Du Bartas_, First Week, Second Day.
l. 18. _prisoners, which lye but for fees_, i.e. the fees due to the gaoler. 'And as prisoners discharg'd of actions may lye for fees; so when,' &c.
_Deaths Duell_ (1632), p. 9. Thirty-three years after this poem was written, Donne thus uses the same figure in the last sermon he ever preached.
PAGE =176=, l. 38. _I, and the Sunne._ The 'Yea, and the Sunne' of _Q_ shows that 'I' here is probably the adverb, not the pronoun, though the passage is ambiguous. Modern editors have all taken 'I' as the pronoun.
ll. 49-50. _And do hear so Like jealous husbands, what they would not know._
Compare:
Crede mihi; nulli sunt crimina grata marito; Nec quemquam, quamvis audiat illa, iuvant. Seu tepet, indicium securas perdis ad aures; Sive amat, officio fit miser ille tuo. Culpa nec ex facili, quamvis manifesta, probatur: Iudicis illa sui tuta favore venit. Viderit ipse licet, credet tamen ipse neganti; Damnabitque oculos, et sibi verba dabit. Adspiciet dominae lacrimas; plorabit et ipse: Et dicet, poenas garrulus iste dabit. Ovid, _Amores_, II. ii. 51-60.
PAGE =177=, l. 60. _Strive._ Later editions and Chambers read 'strives', but 'ordinance' was used as a plural: 'The goodly ordinance which were xii great Bombardes of brasse', and 'these six small iron ordinance.' O.E.D. The word in this sense is now spelt 'ordnance'.
l. 66. _the'Bermuda_. It is probably unnecessary to change this to 'the'Bermudas.' The singular without the article is quite regular.
l. 67. _Darknesse, lights elder brother._ The 'elder' of the MSS. is grammatically more correct than the 'eldest' of the editions. 'We must return again to our stronghold, faith, and end with this, that this beginning was, and before it, nothing. It is elder than darkness, which is elder than light; and was before confusion, which is elder than order, by how much the universal Chaos preceded forms and distinctions.' _Essays in Divinity_ (ed. Jessop, 1855), p. 46.
PAGE =178=. THE CALME.
l. 4. _A blocke afflicts, &c._ Aesop's _Fables_. Sir Thomas Rowe recalled Donne's use of the fable, when he was Ambassador at the Court of the Mogul. Of Ibrahim Khan, the Governor of Surat after Zufilkhar Khan, he writes: 'He was good but soe easy that he does no good; wee are not lesse afflicted with a block then before with a storck.' _The Embassy, &c._ (Hakl. Soc.), i. 82.
l. 8. _thy mistresse glasse._ This poem, like the last, is _probably_ addressed to Christopher Brooke, but it is not so headed in any edition or MS. The Grolier Club editor ascribes the first heading to both.
l. 14. _or like ended playes._ This suggests that the Elizabethan stage was not so bare of furniture as used to be stated, and also that furniture was not confined to the curtained-off rear-stage. What Donne recalls is a stage deserted by the actors but cumbered with furniture and decorations.
l. 16. _a frippery_, i.e. 'A place where cast-off clothes are sold', O.E.D. 'Oh, ho, Monster; wee know what belongs to a frippery.' _Tempest_, IV. i. 225. Here the rigging has the appearance of an old-clothes shop.
l. 17. _No use of lanthornes._ The reference is to the lanterns in the high sterns of the ships, used to keep the fleet together. 'There is no fear now of our losing one another.' Each squadron of a fleet followed the light of its Admiral. Essex speaks of having lost, or missing, 'Sir Walter Raleigh with thirty sailes that in the night followed his light.' _Purchas_, xx. 24-5.
l. 18. _Feathers and dust._ 'He esteemeth John Done the first poet in the world for some things: his verses of the Lost Chaine he hath by heart; and that passage of the Calme, That dust and feathers doe not stirre, all was soe quiet. Affirmeth Donne to have written all his best peeces ere he was twenty-five yeares old.' _Jonson's Conversations with Drummond._ When Donne wrote _The Calme_ he was in his twenty-fifth year.
l. 21. _lost friends._ Raleigh and his squadron lost the main fleet while off the coast of Spain, before they set sail definitely for the Azores. He rejoined the fleet at the Islands. Donne's poem was probably written in the interval.
The reading of some MSS., 'lefte friends,' is quite a possible one. Carleton, writing from Venice to Chamberlain, says: 'Let me tell you, for your comfort (for I imagine what is mine is yours) that my last news from the left island ... took knowledge of my vigilancy and diligency.' The 'left island' is Great Britain, and Donne may mean no more than that 'we can neither get back to our friends nor on to our enemies.' There may be no allusion to Raleigh's ships.
l. 23. _the Calenture._ 'A disease incident to sailors within the tropics, characterized by delirium in which the patient, it is said, fancies the sea to be green fields, and desires to leap into it.' O.E.D. Theobald had the Calenture in mind when he conjectured that Falstaff 'babbled o' green fields'.
PAGE =179=, l. 33. _Like Bajazet encaged, &c._: an echo of Marlowe's _Tamburlaine_:
There whiles he lives shall Bajazet be kept; And where I go be thus in triumph drawn: . . . . . . . . This is my mind, and I will have it so. Not all the kings and emperors of the earth, If they would lay their crowns before my feet, Shall ransom him or take him from his cage: The ages that shall talk of Tamburlaine, Even from this day to Plato's wondrous year, Shall talk how I have handled Bajazet.
There are frequent references to this scene in contemporary literature.
ll. 35-6. _a Miriade Of Ants, &c._ 'Erat ei' (i.e. Tiberius) 'in oblectamentis serpens draco, quem ex consuetudine manu sua cibaturus, cum consumptum a formicis invenisset, monitus est ut vim multitudinis caveret.' Suetonius, _Tib._ 72.
l. 37. _Sea-goales_, i.e. sea-gaols. 'goale' was a common spelling. See next poem, l. 52, 'the worlds thy goale.' Strangely enough, neither the Grolier Club editor nor Chambers seems to have recognized the word here, in _The Calme_, though in the next poem they change 'goale' to 'gaol' without comment. The Grolier Club editor retains 'goales' and Chambers adopts the reading of the later editions, 'sea-gulls.' A gull would have no difficulty in overtaking the swiftest ship which ever sailed. Grosart takes the passage correctly. 'Sea-goales' is an accurate definition of the galleys.' Finny-chips' is a vivid description of their appearance. Compare:
One of these small bodies fitted so, This soul inform'd, and abled it to row Itselfe with finnie oars. _Progresse of the Soule_, I. 23.
Never again shall I with finny oar Put from, or draw unto the faithful shore. Herrick, _His Tears to Thamesis_.
l. 38. _our Pinnaces._ 'Venices' is the reading of _1633_ and most of the MSS., where, as in _1669_, the word is often spelt 'Vinices'. But I can find no example of the word 'Venice' used for a species of ship, and Mr. W. A. Craigie of the _Oxford English Dictionary_ tells me that he has no example recorded. The mistake probably arose in a confusion of P and V. The word 'Pinnace' is variously spelt, 'pynice', 'pinnes', 'pinace', &c., &c. The pinnaces were the small, light-rigged, quick-sailing vessels which acted as scouts for the fleet.
l. 48. _A scourge, 'gainst which wee all forget to pray._ The 'forgot' of _1669_ and several MSS. is tempting--'a scourge against which we all in setting out forgot to pray.' I rather think, however, that what Donne means is 'a scourge against which we all at sea always forget to pray, for to pray for wind at sea is generally to pray for cold under the poles, for heat in hell'. The 'forgot' makes the reference too definite. At the same time, 'forgot' is so obvious a reading that it is difficult to account for 'forget' except on the supposition that it is right.
ll. 51-4. _How little more alas, Is man now, then before he was? he was Nothing; for us, wee are for nothing fit; Chance, or ourselves still disproportion it._
Donne is here playing with an antithesis which apparently he owes to the rhetoric of Tertullian. 'Canst thou choose', says the poet in one of his later sermons, 'but think God as perfect now, at least as he was at first, and can he not as easily make thee up againe of nothing, as he made thee of nothing at first? _Recogita quid fueris antequam esses._ Think over thyselfe; what wast thou before thou wast anything? _Meminisses utique, si fuisses_: if thou had'st been anything than, surely thou would'st remember it now. _Qui non eras, factus es; cum iterum non eris, fies._ Thou that wast once nothing, wast made this that thou art now; and when thou shalt be nothing again, thou shalt be made better then thou art yet.' _Sermons_ 50. 14. 109. A note in the margin indicates that the quotations are from Tertullian, and Donne is echoing here the antithetical _Recogita quid fueris antequam esses_.
This echo is certainly made more obvious to the ear by the punctuation of _1669_, which Grosart, the Grolier Club editor, and Chambers all follow. The last reads:
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.
This may be right; but after careful consideration I have retained the punctuation of _1633_. In the first place, if the _1669_ text be right it is not clear why the poet did not preserve the regular order:
Is man now than he was before he was.
To place 'he was' at the end of the line was in the circumstances to court ambiguity, and is not metrically requisite. In the second place, the rhetorical question asked requires an answer, and that is given most clearly by the punctuation of _1633_. 'How little more, alas, is man now than [he was] before he was? He was nothing; and as for us, we are fit for nothing. Chance or ourselves still throw us out of gear with everything.' To be nothing and to be fit for nothing--there is all the difference. In the _1669_ version it is not easy to see the relevance of the rhetorical question and of the line which follows: 'Nothing for us, we are for nothing fit.' This seems to introduce a new thought, a fresh antithesis. It is not quite true. A breeze would fit them very well.
The use of 'for' in 'for us', as I have taken it, is quite idiomatic:
For me, I am the mistress of my fate. Shakespeare, _Rape of Lucrece_, 1021.
For the rest o' the fleet, they all have met again. Id., _The Tempest_, I. i. 232.
PAGE =180=. TO S^r HENRY WOTTON.
The occasion of this letter was apparently (see my article, _Bacon's Poem, The World: Its Date And Relation to Certain Other Poems_: _Mod. Lang. Rev._, April, 1911) a literary _débat_ among some of the wits of Essex's circle. The subject of the _débat_ was 'Which kind of life is best, that of Court, Country, or City?' and the suggestion came from the two epigrams in the Greek Anthology attributed to Posidippus and Metrodorus respectively. In the first ([Greek: Poiên tis biotoio tamê tribon?]) each kind of life in turn is condemned; in the second each is defended. These epigrams were paraphrased in _Tottel's Miscellany_ (1557) by Nicholas Grimald, and again in the _Arte of English Poesie_ (1589), attributed to George Puttenham. Stimulated perhaps by the latter version, in which the Court first appears as one of the principal spheres of life, or by Ronsard's French version in which also the 'cours des Roys', unknown to the Greek poet, are introduced, Bacon wrote his well-known paraphrase:
The world's a bubble: and the life of man Less than a span.
It is just possible too that he wrote a paraphrase, similar in verse, of the second epigram, which I have printed in the article referred to. A copy of _The World_ was found among Wotton's papers and was printed in the _Reliquiae Wottonianae_ (1651) signed 'Fra. Lord Bacon'. It had already been published by Thomas Farnaby in his _Florilegium Epigrammatum Graecorum &c._ (1629). Bacon probably gave Wotton a copy and he appears to have shown it to his friends. Among these was Thomas Bastard, who, to judge by the numerous epigrams he addressed to Essex, belonged to the same circle as Bacon, Donne, and Wotton,--if we may so describe it, but probably every young man of letters looked to Essex for patronage. Bastard's poem runs:
Ad Henricum Wottonum.
Wotton, the country, and the country swayne, How can they yeeld a Poet any sense? How can they stirre him up or heat his vaine? How can they feed him with intelligence? You have that fire which can a witt enflame In happy London Englands fayrest eye: Well may you Poets have of worthy name Which have the foode and life of Poetry. And yet the Country or the towne may swaye Or beare a part, as clownes do in a play.
Donne was one of those to whom Wotton showed Bacon's poem, and the result was the present letter which occasionally echoes Bacon's words. Wotton replied to it in some characteristic verses preserved in _B_ (Lord Ellesmere's MS.) and _P_ (belonging to Captain Harris). I print it from the former:
_To J: D: from M^r H: W:_
Worthie Sir: Tis not a coate of gray or Shepheards life, Tis not in feilds or woods remote to live, That adds or takes from one that peace or strife, Which to our dayes such good or ill doth give: It is the mind that make the mans estate 5 For ever happy or unfortunate.
Then first the mind of passions must be free Of him that would to happiness aspire; Whether in Princes Pallaces he bee, Or whether to his cottage he retire; 10 For our desires that on extreames are bent Are frends to care and traitors to content.
Nor should wee blame our frends though false they bee Since there are thousands false, for one that's true, But our own blindness, that we cannot see 15 To chuse the best, although they bee but few: For he that every fained frend will trust, Proves true to frend, but to himself unjust.
The faults wee have are they that make our woe, Our virtues are the motives of our joye, 20 Then is it vayne, if wee to desarts goe To seek our bliss, or shroud us from annoy: Our place need not be changed, but our Will, For every where wee may do good or ill.
But this I doe not dedicate to thee, 25 As one that holds himself fitt to advise, Or that my lines to him should precepts be That is less ill then I, and much more wise: Yet 'tis no harme mortality to preach, For men doe often learne when they do teach.
The date of the _débat_ is before April 1598, when Bastard's _Chrestoleros_ was entered on the Stationers' Register, probably 1597-8, the interval between the return of the Islands Expedition and Donne's entry into the household of Sir Thomas Egerton. Mr. Chambers has shown that during this interval Donne was occasionally employed by Cecil to carry letters to and from the Commanders of the English forces still in France. But it was not till about April 1598 that he found permanent employment.
l. 8. _Remoraes_; Browne doubts 'whether the story of the remora be not unreasonably amplified'. The name is given to any of the fish belonging to the family Echeneididae, which by means of a suctorial disk situated on the top of the head adhere to sharks, other large fishes, vessels, &c., letting go when they choose. The ancient naturalists reported that they could arrest a ship in full course. See Bartholomaeus Anglicus, Lib. xiii, _De Aqua et ejus Ornatu_.
l. 11. _the even line_ is the reading of all the MS. copies, and must have been taken from one of these by the 1669 editor. The use of the word is archaic and therefore more probably Donne's than an editor's emendation. Compare Chaucer's 'Of his stature he was of even length', i.e. 'a just mean between extremes, of proper magnitude or degree'. The 'even line' is, as the context shows, the exact mean between the 'adverse icy poles'. I suspect that 'raging' is an editorial emendation. There are several demonstrable errors in the 1633 text of this poem. The 'other' of _P_, and 'over' of _S_, are errors which point to 'even' rather than 'raging'.
l. 12. _th'adverse icy poles._ The 'poles' of most MSS. is obviously necessary if we are to have _two_ temperate regions. The expression is a condensed one for 'either of the adverse icy poles'. Compare:
He that at sea prayes for more winde, as well Under the poles may begge cold, heat in hell.
One cannot be under both the poles at once. One is 'under' the pole in Donne's cosmology because the poles are not the termini of the earth's axis but of the heavens'. 'For the North and Southern Pole, are the invariable terms of that Axis whereon the Heavens do move.' Browne, _Pseud. Epidem._ vi. 7.
Tristior illa Terra sub ambobus non iacet ulla polis. Ovid, _Pont._ ii. 7. 64.
l. 17. _Can dung and garlike, &c._ This is the text of the 1633 edition made consistent with itself, and it has the support of several MSS. Clearly if we are to read 'or' in one line we must do so in both, and adopt the _1635-69_ text. It is tempting at first sight to do so, but I believe the MSS. are right. What Donne means is, 'Can we procure a perfume, or a medicine, by blending opposite stenches or poisons?' This is his expansion of the question, 'Shall cities, built of both extremes, be chosen?' The change to 'or' obscures the exact metaphysical point. It would be an improvement perhaps to bracket the lines as parenthetical.
According to Donne's medical science the scorpion (probably its flesh) was an antidote to its own poison: 'I have as many Antidotes as the Devill hath poisons, I have as much mercy as the Devill hath malice; There must be scorpions in the world; _but the Scorpion shall cure the Scorpion_; there must be tentations; but tentations shall adde to mine and to thy glory, and _Eripiam_, I will deliver thee.' _Sermons_ 80. 52. 527. Obviously Donne could not ask in surprise, 'Can a Scorpion or Torpedo cure a man?' Each can; it is their combination he deprecates. In _Ignatius his Conclave_ he writes, 'and two Poysons mingled might do no harme.'
In speaking of scent made from dung Donne has probably the statement of Paracelsus in his mind to which Sir Thomas Browne also refers: 'And yet if, as Paracelsus encourageth, Ordure makes the best Musk, and from the most fetid substances may be drawn the most odoriferous Essences; all that had not Vespasian's nose, might boldly swear, here was a subject fit for such extractions.' _Pseudodoxia Epidemica_, iii. 26.
PAGE =181=, ll. 19-20. _Cities are worst of all three; of all three (O knottie riddle) each is worst equally._
This is the punctuation of _1633_ and of _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, and _W_. The later punctuation which Chambers has adopted and modernized, is not found to be an improvement if scrutinized. He reads:
Cities are worst of all three; of all three? O knotty riddle! each is worst equally.
The mark of interrogation after 'three' would be justifiable only if the poet were going to expatiate upon the badness of cities. 'Of all three? that is saying very little, &c., &c.' But this is not the tenor of the passage. From one thought he is led to another. 'Cities are worst of all three (i.e. Court, City, Country). Nay, each is equally the worst.' The interjected 'O knottie riddle' does not mean, 'Who is to say which is the worst?' but 'How can it come that each is worst? This is a riddle!' Donne here echoes Bacon:
And where's the citty from foul vice so free But may be term'd the worst of all the three?
ll. 25-6. _The country is a desert, &c._ The evidence for this reading is so overwhelming that it is impossible to reject it. I have modified the punctuation to bring out more clearly what I take it to mean. 'The country is a desert where no goodness is native, and therefore rightly understood. Goodness in the country is like a foreign language, a faculty not born with us, but acquired with pain, and never thoroughly understood and mastered.' Only Dr. Johnson could stigmatize in adequate terms so harsh a construction, but the _1635-54_ emendation is not less obscure. Does it mean that any good which comes there quits it with all speed, while that which is native and must stay is not understood? This is not a lucid or just enough thought to warrant departure from the better authorized text.
l. 27. _prone to more evills_; The reading 'mere evils' of several MSS., including _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, is tempting and _may_ be right. In that case 'meere' has the now obsolete meaning of 'pure, unadulterated', 'meere English', 'meere Irish', &c. in O.E.D., or more fully, 'absolute, entire, sheer, perfect, downright', as in 'Th'obstinacie, willfull disobedience, meere lienge and disceite of the countrie gentlemen,' _Hist. MSS. Com._ (1600), quoted in O.E.D.; 'the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet,' Shakespeare, _Othello_, II. ii. 3. Such a strong adjective would however come better after 'devills' in the next line. Placed here it disturbs the climax. What Donne says here is that men in the country become beasts, and more prone to evil than beasts because of their higher faculties:
If lecherous goats, if serpents envious Cannot be damn'd; Alas; why should I bee? Why should intent or reason, borne in mee, Make sinnes, else equall, in mee more heinous? _Holy Sonnets_, IX, p. 326.
And in this same letter, ll. 41-2, he develops the thought further.
PAGE =182=, ll. 59-62. _Only in this one thing, be no Galenist, &c._ The Galenists perceived in the living body four humours; hot, cold, moist, and dry, and held that in health these were present in fixed proportions. Diseases were due to disturbance of these proportions, and were to be cured by correction of the disproportion by drugs, these being used as they were themselves hot, cold, moist, or dry; to add to whichever humours were defective. The chymiques or school of Paracelsus, held that each disease had an essence which might be got rid of by being purged or driven from the body by an antagonistic remedy.
PAGE =183=. TO S^r HENRY GOODYERE.
Goodyere and Walton form between them the Boswell to whom we owe our fullest and most intimate knowledge of the life of Donne. To the former he wrote apparently a weekly letter in the years of his residence at Pyrford, Mitcham, and London. And Goodyere preserved his letters and his poems. Of the letters published by Donne's son in 1651-4, the greatest number, as well as the most interesting and intimate, are addressed to Goodyere. Some appeared with the first edition of the poems, and it is ultimately to Goodyere that we probably owe the generally sound text of that edition.
Sir Henry Goodyere was the son of Sir William Goodyere of Monks Kirby in Warwickshire, who was knighted by James in 1603, and was the nephew of Sir Henry Goodyere (1534-95) of Polesworth in Warwickshire. The older Sir Henry had got into trouble in connexion with one of the conspiracies on behalf of Mary, Queen of Scots, but redeemed his good name by excellent service in the Low Countries, where he was knighted by Leicester. He married Frances, daughter of Hugh Lowther of Lowther, Westmoreland, and left two daughters, Frances and Anne. The latter, who succeeded the Countess of Bedford as patroness to the poet Michael Drayton and as the 'Idea' of his sonnets, married Sir Henry Raynsford. The former married her cousin, the son of Sir William, and made him proprietor of Polesworth, to which repeated allusion is made in Donne's _Letters_. He was knighted, in 1599, in Dublin, by Essex. He is addressed as a knight by Donne in 1601, and appears as such in the earliest years of King James. (See Nichol's _Progresses of King James_.)
He was a friend of wits and poets and himself wrote occasional verses in rivalry with his friends. Like Donne he wrote satirical congratulatory verses for _Coryats Crudities_ (1611) and an elegy on Prince Henry for the second edition of Sylvester's _Lachrymae Lachrymarum_ (1613), and there are others in MS., including an _Epithalamium_ on Princess Elizabeth.
The estate which Goodyere inherited was apparently encumbered, and he was himself generous and extravagant. He was involved all his life in money troubles and frequently petitioned for relief and appointments. It was to him probably that Donne made a present of one hundred pounds when his own fortunes had bettered. The date of the present letter was between 1605 and 1608, when Donne was living at Mitcham. These were the years in which Goodyere was a courtier. In 1604-5 £120 was stolen from his chamber 'at Court', and in 1605 he participated in the jousting at the Barriers. Life at the dissolute and glittering Court of James I was ruinously extravagant, and the note of warning in Donne's poem is very audible. Sir Henry Goodyere died in March 1627-8.
Additional MS. 23229 (_A23_) contains the following:
Funerall Verses sett on the hearse } of Polesworth. of Henry Goodere knighte; late } [March 18. 1627/8 c.]
Esteemed knight take triumph over deathe, And over tyme by the eternal fame Of Natures workes, while God did lende thee breath; Adornd with witt and skill to rule the same. But what avayles thy gifts in such degrees Since fortune frownd, and worlde had spite at these.
Heaven be thy rest, on earth thy lot was toyle; Thy private loss, ment to thy countryes gayne, Bredde grief of mynde, which in thy brest did boyle, Confyning cares whereof the scarres remayne. Enjoy by death such passage into lyfe As frees thee quyte from thoughts of worldly stryfe.
Wm. Goodere.
WM. GOODERE.
Camden transcribes his epitaph:
An ill yeare of a Goodyere us bereft, Who gon to God much lacke of him here left; Full of good gifts, of body and of minde, Wise, comely, learned, eloquent and kinde.
The Epitaph is probably by the same author as the _Verses_, a nephew perhaps. Sir Henry's son predeceased him.
PAGE =183=, l. 1. It is not necessary to change 'the past' of _1633-54_ to 'last' with _1669_. 'The past year' is good English for 'last year'.
PAGE =184=, l. 27. _Goe; whither? Hence; &c._ My punctuation, which is that of some MSS., follows Donne's usual arrangement in dialogue, dividing the speeches by semicolons. Chambers's textual note misrepresents the earlier editions. He attributes to _1633-54_ the reading, 'Go whither? hence you get'. But they have all 'Goe, whither?', and _1633_ has 'hence;' _1635-54_ drop this semicolon. In _1669_ the text runs, 'Goe, whither. Hence you get,' &c. The semicolon, however, is better than the full stop after 'Hence', as the following clause is expansive and explanatory: 'Anywhere will do so long as it is out of this. In such cases as yours, to forget is itself a gain.'
l. 34. The modern editors, by dropping the comma after 'asham'd', have given this line the opposite meaning to what Donne intended. I have therefore, to avoid ambiguity, inserted one before. Sir Henry Goodyere is not to be asham'd to imitate his hawk, but is, _through shame_, to emulate that noble bird by growing more sparing of extravagant display. 'But the sporte which for that daie Basilius would principally shewe to Zelmane, was the mounting at a Hearne, which getting up on his wagling wings with paine ... was now growen to diminish the sight of himself, and to give example to greate persons, that the higher they be the lesse they should show.' Sidney's _Arcadia_, ii. 4.
Goodyere's fondness for hawking is referred to in one of Donne's prose letters, 'God send you Hawks and fortunes of a high pitch' (_Letters_, p. 204), and by Jonson in _Epigram LXXXV_.
l. 44. _Tables, or fruit-trenchers._ I have let the 'Tables' of _1633-54_ stand, although 'Fables' has the support of _all_ the MSS. T is easily confounded with F. In the very next poem _1633-54_ read 'Termers' where I feel sure that 'Farmers' (spelt 'Fermers') is the correct reading. Moreover, Donne makes several references to the 'morals' of fables:
The fable is inverted, and far more A block inflicts now, then a stork before. _The Calme_, ll. 4-5.
O wretch, that thy fortunes should moralize Aesop's fables, and make tales prophesies. _Satyre V._
If 'Tables' is the correct reading, Donne means, I take it, not portable memorandum books such as Hamlet carried (this is Professor Norton's explanation), but simply pictures (as in 'Table-book'), probably Emblems.
PAGE =185=. TO M^r ROWLAND WOODWARD.
Rowland Woodward was a common friend of Donne and Wotton. The fullest account of Woodward is given by Mr. Pearsall Smith (_The Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton_, 1907). Of his early life unfortunately he can tell us little or nothing. He seems to have gone to Venice with Wotton in 1604, at least he was there in 1605. This letter was, therefore, written probably before that date. One MS., viz. _B_, states that it was written 'to one that desired some of his papers'. It is quite likely that Woodward, preparing to leave England, had asked Donne for copies of his poems, and Donne, now a married man, and, if not disgraced, yet living in 'a retiredness' at Pyrford or Camberwell, was not altogether disposed to scatter his indiscretions abroad. He enjoins privacy in like manner on Wotton when he sends him some Paradoxes. Donne, it will be seen, makes no reference to Woodward's going abroad or being in Italy.
While with Wotton he was sent as a spy to Milan and imprisoned by the Inquisition. In 1607, while bringing home dispatches, he was attacked by robbers and left for dead. On Feb. 2, 1608, money was paid to his brother, Thomas Woodward (the T. W. of several of Donne's _Letters_), for Rowland's 'surgeons and diets'. In 1608 he entered the service of the Bishop of London. For subsequent incidents in his career see Pearsall Smith, op. cit. ii. 481. He died sometime before April 1636.
It is clear that the MSS. _Cy_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_ have derived this poem from a common source, inferior to that from which the _1633_ text is derived, which has the general support of the best MSS. These MSS. agree in the readings: 3 'holiness', but _O'F_ corrects, 10 'to use it,' 13 'whites' _Cy_, _O'F_, 14 'Integritie', but _O'F_ corrects, 33 'good treasure'. It is clear that a copy of this tradition fell into the hands of the _1635_ editor. His text is a contamination of the better and the inferior versions. The strange corruption of 4-6 began by the mistake of 'flowne' for 'showne'. In _O'F_ and the editions _1635-54_ the sense is adjusted to this by reading, 'How long loves weeds', and making the two lines an exclamation. The 'good treasure' (l. 33) of _1635-69_, which Chambers has adopted, comes from this source also. The reading at l. 10 is interesting; 'to use it', for 'to us, it', has obviously arisen from 'to use and love Poetrie' of the previous verse. In the case of 'seeme but light and thin' we have an emendation, even in the inferior version, made for the sake of the metre (which is why Chambers adopted it), for though _Cy_, _O'F_, and _P_ have it, _S96_ reads:
Thoughe to use it, seeme and be light and thin.
l. 2. _a retirednesse._ This reading of some MSS., including _W_, which is a very good authority for these Letters, is quite possibly authentic. It is very like Donne to use the article; it was very easy for a copyist to drop it. Compare the dropping of 'a' before 'span' in _Crucifying_ (p. 320), l. 8. The use of abstracts as common nouns with the article, or in the plural, is a feature of Donne's syntax. He does so in the next line: 'a chast fallownesse'. Again: 'Beloved, it is not enough to awake out of an ill sleepe of sinne, or of ignorance, or out of a good sleep, _out of a retirednesse_, and take some profession, if you winke, or hide your selves, when you are awake.' _Sermons_ 50. 11. 90. 'It is not that he shall have no adversary, nor that that adversary shall be able to doe him no harm, but that he should have a refreshing, a respiration, _In velamento alarum_, under the shadow of Gods wings.' _Sermons_ 80. 66. 670--where also we find 'an extraordinary sadnesse, a predominant melancholy, a faintnesse of heart, a chearlessnesse, a joylessnesse of spirit' (Ibid. 672). Donne does not mean to say that he is 'tied to retirednesse', a recluse. The letter was not written after he was in orders, but probably, like the preceding, when he was at Pyrford or Mitcham (1602-8). He is tied to a degree of retirednesse (compared with his early life) or a period of retiredness. He does not compare himself to a Nun but to a widow. Even a third widowhood is not necessarily a final state. 'So all retirings', he says in a letter to Goodyere, 'into a shadowy life are alike from all causes, and alike subject to the barbarousnesse and insipid dulnesse of the Country.' _Letters_, p. 63. But the phrase here applies primarily to the Nun and the widow.
l. 3. _fallownesse_; I have changed the full stop of _1633-54_ to a semicolon here because I take the next three lines to be an adverbial clause giving the reason why Donne's muse 'affects ... a chast fallownesse'. The full stop disguises this, and Chambers, by keeping the full stop here but changing that after 'sown' (l. 6), has thrown the reference of the clause forward to 'Omissions of good, ill, as ill deeds bee.'--not a happy arrangement.
ll. 16-18. _There is no Vertue, &c._ Donne refers here to the Cardinal Virtues which the Schoolmen took over from Aristotle. There are, Aquinas demonstrates, four essential virtues of human nature: 'Principium enim formale virtutis, de qua nunc loquimur, est rationis bonum. Quod quidem dupliciter potest considerari: uno modo secundum quod in ipsa consideratione consistit; et sic erit una virtus principalis, quae dicitur _prudentia_. Alio modo secundum quod circa aliquid ponitur rationis ordo; et hoc vel circa operationes, et sic est _justitia_; vel circa passiones, et sic necesse est esse duas virtutes. Ordinem enim rationis necesse est ponere circa passiones, considerata repugnantia ipsarum ad rationem. Quae quidem potest esse dupliciter: uno modo secundum quod passio impellit ad aliquid contrarium rationi; et sic necesse est quod passio reprimatur, et ab hoc denominatur _temperantia_; alio modo secundum quod passio retrahit ab eo quod ratio dictat, sicut timor periculorum vel laborum; et sic necesse est quod homo firmetur in eo quod est rationis, ne recedat; et ab hoc denominatur _fortitudo_.' _Summa, Prima Secundae_, 61. 2. Since the Cardinal Virtues thus cover the whole field, what place is reserved for the Theological Virtues, viz., Faith, Hope, and Charity? Aquinas's reply is quite definite: 'Virtutes theologicae sunt supra hominem ... Unde non proprie dicuntur virtutes _humanae_ sed _suprahumanae_, vel _divinae_.' Ibid., 61. 1. Donne here exclaims that the cardinal virtues themselves are non-existent without religion. They are, isolated from religion, habits which any one can assume who has the discretion to cover his vices. Religion not only gives us higher virtues but alone gives sincerity to the natural virtues. Donne is probably echoing St. Augustine, _De Civ. Dei_, xviiii. 25: '_Quod non possint ibi verae esse virtutes, ubi non est vera religio_. Quamlibet enim videatur animus corpori et ratio vitiis laudibiliter imperare, si Deo animus et ratio ipsa non servit, sicut sibi esse serviendum ipse Deus precepit, nullo modo corpori vitiisque recte imperat. Nam qualis corporis atque vitiorum potest esse mens domina veri Dei nescia nec eius imperio subjugata, sed vitiosissimis daemonibus corrumpentibus prostituta? Proinde virtutes quas habere sibi videtur per quas imperat corpori et vitiis, ad quodlibet adipiscendum vel tenendum rettulerit nisi ad Deum, etiam ipsae vitia sunt potius quam virtutes. Nam licet a quibusdam tunc verae atque honestae esse virtutes cum referentur ad se ipsas nec propter aliud expetuntur: etiam tunc inflatae et superbae sunt, et ideo non virtutes, sed vitia iudicanda sunt. Sicut enim non est a carne sed super carnem quod carnem facit vivere; sic non est ab homine sed super hominem quod hominem facit beate vivere: nec solum hominem, sed etiam quamlibet potestatem virtutemque caelestem.'
PAGE =186=, ll. 25-7. _You know, Physitians, &c._ Paracelsus refers more than once to the heat of horse-dung used in 'separations', e.g. _On the Separations of the Elements from Metals_ he enjoins that when the metal has been reduced to a liquid substance you must 'add to one part of this oil two parts of fresh _aqua fortis_, and when it is enclosed in glass of the best quality, set it in horse-dung for a month'.
l. 31. _Wee are but farmers of our selves._ The reading of _1633_ is 'termers', and as in 'Tables' 'Fables' of the preceding poem it is not easy to determine which is original. 'Termer' of course, in the sense of 'one who holds for a term' (see O.E.D.), would do. It is the more general word and would include 'Farmer'. A farmer generally is a 'termer' in the land which he works. I think, however, that the rest of the verse shows that 'farmer' is used in a more positive sense than would be covered by 'termer'. The metaphor includes not only the terminal occupancy but the specific work of the farmer--stocking, manuring, uplaying.
Donne's metaphor is perhaps borrowed by Benlowes when he says of the soul:
She her own farmer, stock'd from Heav'n is bent To thrive; care 'bout the pay-day's spent. Strange! she alone is farmer, farm, and stock, and rent.
Donne in a sermon for the 5th of November speaks of those who will have the King to be 'their Farmer of his Kingdome.' _Sermons_ 50. 43. 403.
It must be remembered that in MS. 'Fermer' and 'Termer' would be easily interchanged.
l. 34. _to thy selfe be approv'd._ There is no reason to prefer the _1669_ 'improv'd' here. To be 'improv'd to oneself' is not a very lucid phrase. What Donne bids Woodward do is to seek the approval of his own conscience. His own conscience is contrasted with 'vaine outward things'. Donne has probably Epictetus in mind: 'How then may this be attained?--Resolve now if never before, to approve thyself to thyself; resolve to show thyself fair in God's sight; long to be pure with thine own pure self and God.' _Golden Sayings_, lxxvi., trans. by Crossley.
PAGE =187=. TO S^r HENRY WOOTTON.
The date of this letter is given in two MSS. as July 20, 1598. Its tone is much the same as that of the previous letter (p. 180) and of both the fourth and fifth _Satyres_. The theme of them all is the Court.
l. 2. _Cales or St Michaels tale._ The point of this allusion was early lost and has been long in being recovered. The spelling 'Calis' is a little misleading, as it was used both for Calais and for Cadiz. In Sir Francis Vere's _Commentaries_ (1657) he speaks of 'The Calis-journey' and the 'Island voiage'. I have taken 'Cales' from some MSS. as less ambiguous. All the modern editors have printed 'Calais', and Grosart considers the allusion to be to the Armada, Norton to the 'old wars with France'. The reference is to the Cadiz expedition and the Island voyage: 'Why should I tell you what we both know?' In speaking of 'St. Michaels tale' Donne may be referring to the attack on that particular island, which led to the loss of the opportunity to capture the plate-fleet. But the 'Islands of St. Michael' was a synonym for the Azores. 'Thus the ancient Cosmographers do place the division of the East and Western Hemispheres, that is, the first term of longitude, in the _Canary_ or fortunate Islands; conceiving these parts the extreamest habitations Westward: But the Moderns have altered that term, and translated it unto the _Azores_ or Islands of St Michael; and that upon a plausible conceit of the small or insensible variation of the Compass in those parts,' &c. Browne, _Pseud. Epidem._ vi. 7.
ll. 10-11. _Fate, (Gods Commissary)_: i.e. God's Deputy or Delegate. Compare:
Fate, which God made, but doth not control. _The Progresse of the Soule_, p. 295, l. 2.
Great Destiny the Commissary of God That hast mark'd out a path and period For every thing ... Ibid., p. 296, ll. 31 f.
The idea that Fate or Fortune is the deputy of God in the sphere of external goods ([Greek: ta ektos agatha], i beni del mondo) is very clearly expressed by Dante in the _Convivio_, iv. 11, and in the _Inferno_, vi. 67 f.: '"Master," I said to him, "now tell me also: this Fortune of which thou hintest to me; what is she, that has the good things of the world thus within her clutches?" And he to me, "O foolish creatures, how great is this ignorance that falls upon ye! Now I wish thee to receive my judgement of her. He whose wisdom is transcendent over all, made the heavens" (i.e. the nine moving spheres) "and gave them guides" (Angels, Intelligences); "so that every part may shine to every part equally distributing the light. In like manner, for worldly splendours, he ordained a general minister and guide (ministro e duce); to change betimes the vain possessions, from people to people, and from one kindred to another, beyond the hindrance of human wisdom. Hence one people commands, another languishes; obeying her sentence, which is hidden like the serpent in the grass. Your knowledge cannot withstand her. She provides, judges, and maintains her kingdom, as the other gods do theirs. Her permutations have no truce. Necessity makes her be swift; so oft come things requiring change. This is she, who is so much reviled, even by those who ought to praise her, when blaming her wrongfully, and with evil words. But she is in bliss, and hears it not. With the other Primal Creatures joyful, she wheels her sphere, and tastes her blessedness."' Dante finds in this view the explanation of the want of anything like distributive justice in the assignment of wealth, power, and worldly glory. Dante speaks here of Fortune, but though in its original conception at the opposite pole from Fate, Fortune is ultimately included in the idea of Fate. 'Necessity makes her be swift.' 'Sed talia maxime videntur esse contingentia quae Fato attribuuntur.' Aquinas. The relation of Fate or Destiny to God or Divine Providence is discussed by Boethius, _De Cons. Phil._ IV. _Prose_ III, whom Aquinas follows, _Summa_, I. cxvi. Ultimately the immovable Providence of God is the cause of all things; but viewed in the world of change and becoming, accidents or events are ascribed to Destiny. 'Uti est ad intellectum ratiocinatio; ad id quod est, id quod gignitur; ad aeternitatem, tempus; ad punctum medium, circulus; ita est fati series mobilis ad Providentiae stabilem simplicitatem.' Boethius. This is clearly what Donne has in view when he calls Destiny the Commissary of God or declares that God made but doth not control her. The idea of Fate in Greek thought which Christian Philosophy had some difficulty in adjusting to its doctrines of freedom and providence came from the astronomico-religious ideas of the Chaldaeans. The idea of Fate 'arose from the observation of the regularity of the sidereal movements'. Franz Cumont, _Astrology and Religion among the Greeks and Romans_, 1912, pp. 28, 69.
l. 14. _wishing prayers._ This may be a phrase corresponding to 'bidding prayers', but 'wishing' is comma'd off as a noun in some MSS. and 'wishes' may be the author's correction.
PAGE =188=, l. 24. _dull Moralls of a game at Chests._ The comparison of life and especially politics to a game of chess is probably an old one. Sancho Panza develops it with considerable eloquence.
PAGE =188=. H: W: IN HIBER: BELLIGERANTI.
This poem is taken from the Burley MS., where it is found along with a number of poems some of which are by Donne, viz.: the _Satyres_, one of the _Elegies_, and several of the _Epigrams_. Of the others this alone has the initials 'J. D.' added in the margin. There can be little doubt that it is by Donne,--a continuation of the correspondence of the years 1597-9 to which the last letter and 'Letters more than kisses' belong. In _Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton_ Mr. Pearsall Smith prints what he takes to be a reply to this letter and the charge of indolence. 'Sir, It is worth my wondering that you can complain of my seldom writing, when your own letters come so fearfully as if they tread all the way upon a bog. I have received from you a few, and almost every one hath a commission to speak of divers others of their fellows, like you know who in the old comedy that asks for the rest of his servants. But you make no mention of any of mine, yet it is not long since I ventured much of my experience unto you in a long piece of paper, and perhaps not of my credit; it is that which I sent you by A. R., whereof till you advertise me I shall live in fits or agues.' After referring to the malicious reports in circulation regarding the Irish expedition he concludes in the style of the previous letters: 'These be the wise rules of policy, and of courts, which are upon earth the vainest places.'
l. 11. _yong death_: i.e. early death, death that comes to you while young.
ll. 13-15. These lines are enough of themselves to prove Donne's authorship of this poem. Compare _To S^r Henry Goodyere_, p. 183, ll. 17-20.
PAGE =189=. TO THE COUNTESSE OF BEDFORD.
Lucy, Countess of Bedford, occupies the central place among Donne's noble patrons and friends. No one was more consistently his friend; to none does he address himselfe in terms of sincerer and more respectful eulogy.
The eldest child of John Harington, created by James first Baron Harington of Exton, was married to Edward, third Earl of Bedford, in 1594 and was a lady in waiting under Elizabeth. She was one of the group of noble ladies who hastened north on the death of the Queen to welcome, and secure the favour of, James and Anne of Denmark. Her father and mother were granted the tutorship of the young Princess Elizabeth, and she herself was admitted at once as a Lady of the Chamber. Her beauty and talent secured her a distinguished place at Court, and in the years that Donne was a prisoner at Mitcham the Countess was a brilliant figure in more than one of Ben Jonson's masques. 'She was "the crowning rose" in that garland of English beauty which the Spanish ambassador desired Madame Beaumont, the Lady of the French ambassador, to bring with her to an entertainment on the 8th of December, 1603: the three others being Lady Rich, Lady Susan Vere, and Lady Dorothy (Sidney); "and", says the Lady Arabella Stewart, "great cheer they had."' Wiffen, _Historical Memoirs of the House of Russell_, 1833. She figured also in Daniel's Masque, _The Vision of the Twelve Goddesses_, which was published (1604) with an explanatory letter addressed to her. In praising her beauty Donne is thus echoing 'the Catholic voice'. The latest Masque in which she figured was the _Masque of Queens_, 2nd of February, 1609-10.
In Court politics the Countess of Bedford seems to have taken some part in the early promotion of Villiers as a rival to the Earl of Somerset; and in 1617 she promoted the marriage of Donne's patron Lord Hay to the youngest daughter of the Earl of Northumberland, against the wish of the bride's father. Match-making seems to have been a hobby of hers, for in 1625 she was an active agent in arranging the match between James, Lord Strange, afterwards Earl of Derby, and Lady Charlotte de la Trémouille, the heroic Countess of Derby who defended Lathom House against the Roundheads.
An active and gay life at Court was no proof of the want of a more serious spirit. Lady Bedford was a student and a poet, and the patron of scholars and poets. Sir Thomas Roe presented her with coins and medals; and Drayton, Daniel, Jonson, and Donne were each in turn among the poets whom she befriended and who sang her praises. She loved gardens. One of Donne's finest lyrics is written in the garden of Twickenham Park, which the Countess occupied from 1608 to 1617; and the laying out of the garden at Moore Park in Hertfordshire, where she lived from 1617 to her death in 1627, is commended by her successor in that place, Sir William Temple.
Donne seems to have been recommended to Lady Bedford by Sir Henry Goodyere, who was attached to her household. He mentions the death of her son in a letter to Goodyere as early as 1602, but his intimacy with the Countess probably began in 1608, and most of his verse letters were written between that date and 1614. Donne praises her beauty and it may be that in some of his lyrics he plays the part of the courtly lover, but what his poems chiefly emphasize is the religious side of her character. If my conjecture be right that she herself wrote 'Death be not proud', her religion was probably of a simpler, more pietistic cast than Donne's own was in its earlier phase.
In 1612 the Countess had a serious illness which began on November 22-3 (II. p. 10). She recovered in time to take part in the ceremonies attending the wedding of the Princess Elizabeth (Feb. 14, 1612/3), but Chamberlain in his letters to Carleton notes a change in her behaviour. After mentioning an accident to the Earl of Bedford he continues: 'His lady who should have gone to the Spa but for lack of money, shows herself again in court, though in her sickness she in a manner vowed never to come there; but she verifies the proverb, _Nemo ex morbo melior_. Marry, she is somewhat reformed in her attire, and forbears painting, which, they say, makes her look somewhat strangely among so many vizards, which together with their frizzled, powdered hair, makes them look all alike, so that you can scant know one from another at the first view.' Birch, _The Court and Times of James the First_, i. 262. Donne makes no mention of this illness, but it seems to me probable that the first two of these letters, with the emphasis which they lay on beauty, were written before, the other more serious and pious verses after this crisis.
See notes on _Twicknam Garden_ and the _Nocturnall on St. Lucies Day_.
PAGE =189=, ll. 4-5. _light ... faire faith._ I have retained the 'light' and 'faire faith' of the editions, but the MS. readings 'sight' and 'farr Faith' are quite possibly correct. There is not much to choose between 'light' and 'sight', but 'farr' is an interesting reading. Indeed at first sight 'fair' is a rather otiose epithet, a vaguely complimentary adjective. There is, however, probably more in it than that. 'Fair' as an epithet of 'Faith' is probably an antithesis to the 'squint ungracious left-handedness' of understanding. If 'farr' be the right reading, then Donne is contrasting faith and sight: 'Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.' Heb. xi. 1. The use of 'far' as an adjective is not uncommon: 'Pulling far history nearer,' Crashaw; 'His own far blood,' Tennyson; 'Far travellers may lie by authority,' Gataker (1625), are some examples quoted in the O.E.D. But there is no parallel to Donne's use of 'far faith' for 'faith that lays hold on things at a distance'. 'These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off', Heb. xi. 13, is probably the source of the phrase. Such a condensed elliptical construction is quite in Donne's manner. Compare 'Neere death', p. 28, l. 63. Both versions may be original. The variants in l. 19 point to some revision of the poem.
PAGE =190=, l. 22. _In every thing there naturally grows, &c._ 'Every thing hath in it as, as Physicians use to call it, _Naturale Balsamum_, a naturall Balsamum, which, if any wound or hurt which that creature hath received, be kept clean from extrinseque putrefaction, will heal of itself. We are so far from that naturall Balsamum, as that we have a naturall poyson in us, Originall sin:' &c. _Sermons_ 80. 32. 313.
'Now Physitians say, that man hath in his Constitution, in his Complexion, a naturall Vertue, which they call _Balsamum suum_, his owne Balsamum, by which, any wound which a man could receive in his body, would cure itself, if it could be kept cleane from the annoiances of the aire, and all extrinseque encumbrances. Something that hath some proportion and analogy to this Balsamum of the body, there is in the soul of man too: The soule hath _Nardum suum_, her Spikenard, as the Spouse says, _Nardus mea dedit odorem suum_, she hath a spikenard, a perfume, a fragrancy, a sweet savour in her selfe. For _virtutes germanius attingunt animam, quam corpus sanitas_, vertuous inclinations, and disposition to morall goodness, is more naturall to the soule of man, and nearer of kin to the soule of man, then health is to the body. And then if we consider bodily health, _Nulla oratio, nulla doctrinae formula nos docet morbum odisse_, sayes that Father: There needs no Art, there needs no outward Eloquence, to persuade a man to be loath to be sick: _Ita in anima inest naturalis et citra doctrinam mali evitatio_, sayes he: So the soule hath a naturall and untaught hatred, and detestation of that which is evill,' &c. _Sermons_ 80. 51. 514.
Paracelsus has a great deal to say about this natural balsam, though he declares that 'the spirit is _most_ truly the life and balsome of all Corporeal things'. It was to supply the want of this balsam that mummy was used as a medicine. Of a man suddenly slain Paracelsus says: 'His whole body is profitable and good and may be prepared into a most precious Mummie. For, although the spirit of life went out of such a Body, yet the Balsome, in which lies the Life, remains, which doth as Balsome preserve other mens.'
l. 27. _A methridate_: i.e. an antidote. See note to p. 255, l. 127.
ll. 31-2. _The first good Angell, &c._ 'Our first consideration is upon the persons; and those we finde to be Angelicall women and Evangelicall Angels: ... And to recompense that observation, that never good Angel appeared in the likenesse of woman, here are good women made Angels, that is, Messengers, publishers of the greatest mysteries of our Religion.' _Sermons_ 80. 25. 242.
ll. 35-6. _Make your returne home gracious; and bestow This life on that; so make one life of two._
'Make a present of this life to the next, by living now as you will live then; and so make this life and the next one'--or, as another poet puts it:
And so make life, death, and that vast forever One grand, sweet song.
This I take to be Donne's meaning. The 'This' of _1635-69_ and the MSS., which Chambers also has adopted, seems required by the antithesis. If one recalls that 'this' is very commonly written 'thys', and that final 's' is little more than a tail, it is easy to account for 'Thy' in _1633_. The meaning too is not clear at a glance, and 'Thy' might seem to an editor to make it easier. The thought is much the same as in the _Obsequies to the Lord Harrington_, p. 279.
And I (though with paine) Lessen our losse, to magnifie thy gaine Of triumph, when I say, It was more fit, That all men should lacke thee, then thou lack it.
Compare also: 'Sir, our greatest businesse is more in our power then the least, and we may be surer to meet in heaven than in any place upon earth.' _Letters_, p. 188. And see the quotation in note to p. 112, l. 44, 'this and the next are not two worlds,' &c.
PAGE =191=. TO THE COUNTESSE OF BEDFORD.
ll. 1-6. The sense of this verse, carefully and correctly printed in the 1633 edition, was obscured if not corrupted by the insertion of a semicolon after 'Fortune' in the later editions. The correct punctuation was restored in 1719, which was followed in subsequent editions until Grosart returned to that of the 1635-39 editions (which the Grolier Club editor also adopts), and Chambers completed the confusion by printing the lines thus,
You have refined me, and to worthiest things-- Virtue, art, beauty, fortune.
Even Mr. Gosse has been misled into quoting this truncated and enigmatical compliment to Lady Bedford, regarding it, I presume, as of the same nature as Shakespeare's lines,
Spirits are not finely touch'd, But to fine issues.
But this has a meaning; what meaning is there in saying that a man is refined to 'beauty and fortune'? Poor Donne was not likely to boast of either at this time. What he says is something quite different, and strikes the key-note of the poem. 'You have refined and sharpened my judgement, and now I see that the worthiest things owe their value to rareness or use. Value is nothing intrinsic, but depends on circumstances.' This, the next two verses add, explains why at Court it is your virtue which transcends, in the country your beauty. To Donne the country is always dull and savage; the court the focus of wit and beauty, though not of virtue. On the relative nature of all goodness he has touched in the _Progresse of the Soule_, p. 316, ll. 518-20:
There's nothing simply good nor ill alone; Of every quality Comparison The only measure is, and judge, Opinion.
With the sentiment regarding Courts compare: 'Beauty, in courts, is so necessary to the young, that those who are without it, seem to be there to no other purpose than to wait on the triumphs of the fair; to attend their motions in obscurity, as the moon and stars do the sun by day; or at best to be the refuge of those hearts which others have despised; and by the unworthiness of both to give and take a miserable comfort.' Dryden, Dedication of the _Indian Emperor_.
ll. 8-9. (_Where a transcendent height, (as lownesse mee) Makes her not be, or not show_)
I have completed the enclosure of (Where ... show) in brackets which _1633_ began but forgot to carry out. The statement is parenthetical, and it is of the essence of Donne's wit to turn aside in one parenthesis to make another, dart from one distracting thought to a further, returning at the end to the main track. He has left the Countess for a moment to explain why the Court 'is not Vertues clime'. She is too transcendent to be, or at any rate to be seen there, as I (he adds, quite irrelevantly) am too low. Then taking up again the thought of the first line he continues: 'all my rhyme is claimed there by your vertues, for _there_ rareness gives them value. I am the comment on what _there_ is a dark text; the usher who announces one that is a stranger.'
For brackets within brackets compare: 'And yet it is imperfect which is taught by that religion which is most accommodate to sense (I dare not say to reason (though it have appearance of that too) because none may doubt but that that religion is certainly best which is reasonablest) That all mankinde hath one protecting Angel; all Christians one other, all English one other, all of one Corporation and every civill coagulation or society one other; and every man one other.' _Letters_, p. 43.
l. 13. _To this place_: i.e. Twickenham. _O'F_ heads the poem _To the Countesse of Bedford, Twitnam_. The poem is written to welcome her home. See l. 70.
The development of Donne's subtle and extravagant conceits is a little difficult. The Countess is the sun which exhales the sweetness of the country when she comes thither (13-18). Apparently the Countess has returned to Twickenham in Autumn, perhaps arriving late in the evening. When she emerges from her chariot it is the breaking of a new day, the beginning of a new year or new world. Both the Julian and the Gregorian computations are thus falsified (19-22). It shows her truth to nature that she will not suffer a day which begins at a stated hour, but only one that begins with the actual appearance of the light (23-4: a momentary digression). Since she, the Sun, has thus come to Twickenham, the Court is made the Antipodes. While the 'vulgar sun' is an Autumnal one, this Sun which is in Spring, receives our sacrifices. Her priests, or instruments, we celebrate her (25-30). Then Donne draws back from the religious strain into which he is launching. He will not sing Hymns as to a Deity, but offer petitions as to a King, that he may view the beauty of this Temple, and not as Temple, but as Edifice. The rest of the argument is simpler.
l. 60. _The same thinge._ The singular of the MSS. seems to be required by 'you cannot two'. The 's' of the editions is probably due to the final 'e'. But 'things' is the reading of _Lec_, the MS. representing most closely that from which _1633_ was printed.
ll. 71-2. _Who hath seene one, &c._ 'Who hath seen one, e.g. Twickenham, which your dwelling there makes a Paradise, would fain see you too, as whoever had been in Paradise would not have failed to seek out the Cherubim.' The construction is elliptical. Compare:
Wee'had had a Saint, have now a holiday.
P. 286, l. 44.
The Cherubim are specially mentioned (although the Seraphim are the highest order) because they are traditionally the beautiful angels: 'The Spirit of Chastity ... in the likenesse of a faire beautifull Cherubine.' Bacon, _New Atlantis_ (1658), 22 (O.E.D.).
PAGE =193=. TO S^r EDWARD HERBERT. AT IULYERS.
Edward Herbert, first Baron of Cherbury (1563-1648), the eldest son of Donne's friend Mrs. Magdalen Herbert, had not long returned from his first visit to France when he set out again in 1610 with Lord Chandos 'to pass to the city of Juliers which the Prince of Orange resolved to besiege. Making all haste thither we found the siege newly begun; the Low Country army assisted by 4,000 English under the command of Sir Edward Cecil. We had not long been there when the Marquis de la Chartre, instead of Henry IV, who was killed by that villain Ravaillac, came with a brave French army thither'. _Autobiography_, ed. Sidney Lee. The city was held by the Archduke Leopold for the Emperor. The Dutch, French, and English were besieging the town in the interest of the Protestant candidates, the Elector of Brandenburg, and the Palatine of Neuburg. The siege marked the beginning of the Thirty Years' War. Herbert was a man of both ability and courage but of a vanity which outweighed both. Donne's letter humours both his Philosophical pose and his love of obscurity and harshness in poetry. His own poems with a few exceptions are intolerably difficult and unmusical, and Jonson told Drummond that 'Donne said to him he wrote that Epitaph upon Prince Henry, _Look to me Faith_, to match Sir Ed. Herbert in obscureness'. (Jonson's _Conversations_, ed. Laing.) The poems have been reprinted by the late Professor Churton Collins. In 1609 when Herbert was in England he and Donne both wrote Elegies on Mistress Boulstred.
l. 1. _Man is a lumpe, &c._ The image of the beasts Donne has borrowed from Plato, _The Republic_, ix. 588 B-E.
PAGE =194=, ll. 23-6. A food which to chickens is harmless poisons men. Our own nature contributes the factor which makes a food into a poison either corrosive or killing by intensity of heat or cold: 'Et hic nota quod tantus est ordo naturae, ut quod est venenosum et inconveniens uni est utile et conveniens alteri; sicut jusquiamus qui est cibus passeris licet homini sit venenosus; et sicut napellus interficit hominem solum portatus, et mulierem praegnantem non laesit manducatus, teste Galieno; et mus qui pascitur napello est tiriaca contra napellum.' Benvenuto on Dante, _Div. Comm._: _Paradiso_, i. The plants here mentioned are henbane and aconite. Concerning hemlock the O.E.D. quotes Swan, _Spec. M._ vi. § 4 (1643), 'Hemlock ... is meat to storks and poison to men.' Donne probably uses the word 'chickens' as equivalent to 'young birds', not for the young of the domestic fowl. For the cold of the hemlock see Persius, _Sat._ v. 145; Ovid, _Amores_, iii. 7. 13; and Juvenal, _Sat._ vii. 206, a reference to Socrates' gift from the Athenians of 'gelidas ... cicutas'.
ll. 31-2. _Thus man, that might be'his pleasure, &c._ These lines are condensed and obscure. The 'his' must mean 'his own'. 'Man who in virtue of that gift of reason which makes him man might be to himself a source of joy, becomes instead, by the abuse of reason, his own rod. Reason which should be the God directing his life becomes the devil which misleads him.' Chambers prints 'His pleasure', 'His rod', referring 'his' to God--which seems hardly possible.
ll. 34-8. _wee'are led awry, &c._ Chambers's punctuation of this passage is clearly erroneous:
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;
This must mean that we are led astray by those who, in their abridgement of man, still show him to us greater than he really is. But this is the opposite of what Donne says. 'Greater than due' goes with 'no form'. Compare:
'And therefore the Philosopher draws man into too narrow a table, when he says he is _Microcosmos_, an Abridgement of the world in little: _Nazianzen_ gives him but his due, when he calls him _Mundum Magnum_, a world to which all the rest of the world is but subordinate: For all the world besides, is but God's Foot-stool; Man sits down upon his right-hand,' &c. _Sermons_ 26. 25. 370.
'It is too little to call Man a little world; Except God, Man is a diminutive to nothing. Man consists of more pieces, more parts, than the world; than the world doth, nay than the world is.' _Devotions upon Emergent Occasions, &c._ (1624), p. 64.
On the other hand the Grolier Club editor has erroneously followed _1635-69_ in altering the full stop after 'chaw' to a comma; and has substituted a semicolon for the comma after 'fill' (l. 39), reading:
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;
But 'All that is fill'd,' &c. is not _object_ to 'can draw'. It is _subject_ (in apposition with 'All the round world') to 'is but a pill'.
PAGE =195=, l. 47. _This makes it credible._ I have changed the comma after 'credible' to a semicolon to avoid the misapprehension, into which the Grolier Club editor seems to have fallen, that what is credible is 'that you have dwelt upon all worthy books'. It is because Lord Herbert has dwelt upon all worthy books that it is credible that he knows man.
PAGE =195=. TO THE COUNTESSE OF BEDFORD.
l. 1. _T'have written then, &c._ This is one of the most difficult of Donne's poems. With his usual strain of extravagant compliment Donne has interwoven some of his deepest thought and most out-of-the-way theological erudition and scientific lore. Moreover the poem is one of those for which the MS. resembling _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ was not available. The text of _1633_ was taken from a MS. belonging to the group _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_, and contains several errors. Some of these were corrected in _1635_ from _O'F_ or a MS. resembling it, but in the most vital case what was a right but difficult reading in _1633_ was changed for an apparently easier but erroneous reading.
The emendations which I have accepted from _1635_ are--
l. 5. 'debt' for 'doubt'.
l. 7. '_nothings_' for '_nothing_'.
l. 20. 'or all It; You.' for 'or all, in you.' There is not much to choose between the two, but 'the world's best all' is not a very logical expression. But the _1633_ reading may mean 'the world's best part, or the world's all,--you.' The alteration of _1635_ is not necessary, but looks to me like the author's own emendation.
l. 4. _Then worst of civill vices, thanklessenesse._ 'Naturall and morall men are better acquainted with the duty of gratitude, of thankesgiving, before they come to the Scriptures, then they are with the other duty of repentance which belongs to Prayer; for in all _Solomons_ bookes, you shall not finde halfe so much of the duty of thankefulnesse, as you shall in _Seneca_ and in _Plutarch_. No book of Ethicks, of moral doctrine, is come to us, where there is not, almost in every leafe, some detestation, some Anathema against ingratitude.' _Sermons_ 80. 55. 550.
PAGE =197=, l. 54. _Wee (but no forraine tyrants could) remove._ Following the hint of _O'F_, I have bracketed all these words to show that the verb to 'Wee' is 'remove', not 'could remove'.
ll. 57-8. _For, bodies shall from death redeemed bee, Soules but preserved, not naturally free._
Here the later editions change 'not' to 'borne', and the correction has been accepted by Grosart and Chambers. But _1633_ is right. If 'not' be changed, the force of the antithesis is lost. What is 'borne free' does not need to be preserved. What Donne expresses is a form of the doctrine of conditional immortality. In a sermon on the Penitential Psalms (_Sermons_ 80. 53. 532) he says: 'We have a full cleerenesse of the state of the soule after this life, not only above those of the old Law, but above those of the Primitive Christian Church, which, in some hundreds of years, came not to a cleere understanding in that point, whether the soule were immortall by nature, or but by preservation, whether the soule could not die or only should not die,' &c. Here the antithesis between 'being preserved' and 'being naturally free' (i.e. immortal) is presented as sharply as in this line of the verse _Letter_. But Donne states the doctrine tentatively 'because that perchance may be without any constant cleerenesse yet'. Elsewhere he seems to accept it: 'And for the Immortality of the Soule, it is safelier said to be immortall by preservation, then immortal, by nature; That God keepes it from dying, then, that it cannot dye.' _Sermons_ 80. 27. 269. This makes the correct reading of the line quite certain.
The tenor of Donne's thought seems to me to be as follows: He is speaking of the soul's eclipse by the body (ll. 40-2), by the body which should itself be an organ of the soul's life, of prayer as well as labour (ll. 43-8). He returns in ll. 49-52 to the main theme of the body's corrupting influence, and this leads him to a new thought. It is not only the soul which suffers by this absorption in the body, but the body itself:
What hate could hurt our bodies like our love?
By this descent of the soul into the body we deprive the latter of its proper dignity, to be the Casket, Temple, Palace of the Soul. Then Donne turns aside to enforce the dignity of the Body. It will be redeemed from death, and the Soul is only preserved. No more than the Body is the Soul naturally immortal. These lines are almost a parenthesis. The poet returns once more to his main theme, the degradation of the soul by our exclusive regard for the body.
Thus the deepest thought of Donne's poetry, his love poetry and his religious poetry, emerges here again. He will not accept the antithesis between soul and body. The dignity of the body is hardly less than that of the soul. But we cannot exalt the body at the expense of the soul. If we immerse the soul in the body it is not the soul alone which suffers but the body also. In the highest spiritual life, as in the fullest and most perfect love, body and soul are complementary, are merged in each other; and after death the life of the soul is in some measure incomplete, the end for which it was created is not obtained until it is reunited to the body. 'Yet have not those Fathers, nor those Expositors, who have in this text, acknowledged a Resurrection of the soule, mistaken nor miscalled the matter. Take _Damascens_ owne definition of Resurrection: _Resurrectio est ejus quod cecidit secunda surrectio_: A Resurrection is a second rising to that state, from which anything is formerly fallen. Now though by death, the soule do not fall into any such state, as that it can complaine, (for what can that lack, which God fils?) yet by death, the soule fals from that, for which it was infused, and poured into man at first; that is to be the forme of that body, the King of that Kingdome; and therefore, when in the generall Resurrection, the soule returns to that state, for which it was created, and to which it hath had an affection, and a desire, even in the fulnesse of the Joyes of Heaven, then, when the soule returns to her office, to make up the man, because the whole man hath, therefore the soule hath a Resurrection: not from death, but from a deprivation of her former state; that state which she was made for, and is ever enclined to.' _Sermons_ 80. 19. 189.
Here, as before, Donne is probably following St. Augustine, who combats the Neo-Platonic view (to which mediaeval thought tended to recur) that a direct source of evil was the descent of the soul into the body. The body is not essentially evil. It is not the body as such that weighs down the soul (aggravat animam), but the body corrupted by sin: 'Nam corruptio corporis ... non peccati primi est causa, sed poena; nec caro corruptibilis animam peccatricem, sed anima peccatrix fecit esse corruptibilem carnem.' In the Resurrection we desire not to escape from the body but to be clothed with a new body,--'nolumus corpore exspoliari, sed ejus immortalitate vestiri.' Aug. _De Civ. Dei_, xiv. 3, 5. He cites St. Paul, 2 Cor. v. 1-4.
l. 59. _As men to our prisons, new soules to us are sent, &c._: 'new' is the reading of _1633_ only, 'now' followed or preceded by a comma of the other editions and the MSS. It is difficult to decide between them, but Donne speaks of 'new souls' elsewhere: 'The Father creates new souls every day in the inanimation of Children, and the Sonne creates them with him.' _Sermons_ 50. 12. 100. 'Our nature is Meteorique, we respect (because we partake so) both earth and heaven; for as our bodies glorified shall be capable of spirituall joy, so our souls demerged into those bodies, are allowed to partake earthly pleasure. Our soul is not sent hither, only to go back again; we have some errand to do here; nor is it sent into prison, because it comes innocent; and he which sent it, is just.' _Letters_ (1651), p. 46.
l. 68. _Two new starres._ See Introductory Note to _Letters_.
PAGE =198=, l. 72. _Stand on two truths_: i.e. the wickedness of the world and your goodness. You will believe neither.
PAGE =198=. TO THE COUNTESSE OF BEDFORD.
On New-Yeares Day.
ON NEW-YEARES DAY.
l. 3. _of stuffe and forme perplext_: i.e. whose matter and form are a perplexed, intricate, difficult question:
Whose _what_, and _where_ in disputation is.
Donne cannot mean that the matter and form are 'intricately intertwined or intermingled', using the words as in Bacon: 'The formes of substances (as they are now by compounding and transplanting multiplied) are so perplexed.' Bacon, _Adv. Learn._ ii. 7. § 5. The question of meteors in all their forms was one of great interest and great difficulty to ancient science. Seneca, who gathers up most of what has been said before him, recurs to the subject again and again. See the _Quaestiones Naturales_, i. 1, and elsewhere. Aristotle, he says, attributes them to exhalations from the earth heated by the sun's rays. They are at any rate not falling stars, or parts of stars, but 'have their origin below the stars, and--being without solid foundation or fixed abode--quickly perish'. But there was great uncertainty as to their _what_ and _where_. Donne compares himself to them in the uncertainty of his position and worldly affairs. 'Wind is a mixt Meteor, to the making whereof divers occasions concurre with exhalations.' _Sermons_ 80. 31. 305.
PAGE =199=, l. 19. _cherish, us doe wast._ The punctuation of _1633_ is odd at the first glance, but accurate. If with all the later editions one prints 'cherish us, doe wast', the suggestion is that 'wast' is intransitive--'in cherishing us they waste themselves,' which is not Donne's meaning. It is us they waste.
PAGE =200=, l. 44. _Some pitty._ I was tempted to think that Lowell's conjecture of 'piety' for 'pitty' must be right, the more so that the spelling of the two words was not always differentiated. But it is improbable that Donne would say that 'piety' in the sense of piety to God could ever be out of place. What he means is probably that at Court pity, which elsewhere is a virtue, may not be so if it induces a lady to lend a relenting ear to the complaint of a lover.
Beware faire maides of musky courtiers oathes Take heed what giftes and favors you receive, . . . . . . . . . Beleeve not oathes or much protesting men, Credit no vowes nor no bewayling songs. Joshua Sylvester (_attributed to_ Donne).
What follows is ambiguous. As punctuated in _1633_ the lines run:
some vaine disport, On this side, sinne: with that place may comport.
This must mean, practically repeating what has been said: 'Some vain amusements which, on this side of the line separating the cloister from the Court, would be sin; are on that side, in the Court, becoming--amusements, sinful in the cloister, are permissible at Court.' The last line thus contains a sharp antithesis. But can 'on this side' mean 'in the cloister'? Donne is not writing from the cloister, and if he had been would say 'In this place'. 'Faith', he says elsewhere, 'is not on this side Knowledge but beyond it.' _Sermons_ 50. 36. 325. This is what he means here, and I have so punctuated it, following _1719_ and subsequent editions: 'Some vain disport, so long as it falls short of actual sin, is permissible at Court.'
l. 48. _what none else lost_: i.e. innocence. Others never had it.
PAGE =201=. TO THE COUNTESSE OF HUNTINGDON.
Elizabeth Stanley, daughter of Ferdinando, fifth Earl of Derby, married Henry Hastings, fifth Earl of Huntingdon, in 1603. Her mother's second husband was Sir Thomas Egerton, whom Lady Derby married in 1600. Donne was then Egerton's secretary, and in lines 57-60 he refers to his early acquaintance with her, then Lady Alice Stanley. If the letter in _Appendix A_, p. 417, 'That unripe side', &c., be also by Donne, and addressed to the Countess of Huntingdon, it must have been written earlier than this letter, which belongs probably to the period immediately before Donne's ordination.
l. 13. _the Magi._ The MSS. give _Magis_, and in _The First Anniversary_ (l. 390) Donne writes, 'The Aegyptian Mages'. The argument of the verse is: 'As such a miraculous star led the Magi to the infant Christ, so may the beams of virtue transmitted by your fame guide fit souls to the knowledge of virtue; and indeed none are so bad that they may not be thus led. Your light can illumine and guide the darkest.'
l. 18. _the Sunnes fall._ In Autumn? or does Donne refer to the fall of the sun to the centre in the new Astronomy? In the _Letters_, p. 102, he says that 'Copernicisme in the Mathematiques hath carried earth farther up from the stupid Center; and yet not honoured it, because for the necessity of appearances, it hath carried heaven so much higher from it'. Compare _An Anatomie of the World_, l. 274.
PAGE 202, l. 25. _She guilded us: But you are gold, and Shee;_ The _1633_ reading is the more pregnant, and therefore the more characteristic of Donne. 'She guilded us, but you she changed into _her own_ substance.' The _1635_ reading implies transubstantiation, but does not indicate so clearly the identity of the new substance with virtue's own essence.
ll. 33-6. _Else being alike pure, &c._ This verse follows in the closest way on what has gone before, and should not be separated from it by a full stop as in Chambers and Grolier. The last line of this stanza concludes the whole argument which began at l. 29. 'The high grace of virginity indeed is not yours, because virtue, having made you one with herself, wished in you to reveal herself. Virtue and Virginity are each too pure for earthly vision. As air and aqueous vapour are each invisible till both are changed into thickened air or cloud, so virtue becomes manifest in you as mother and wife. It is for _our_ sake you take these low names.'
ll. 41-4. _So you, as woman, one doth comprehend, &c._ 'One, your husband, comprehends your being. To others it is revealed, but under the veil of kindred; to still others of friendship; to me, who stand more remote, under the relationship of prince to subject.'
l. 47. _I, which doe soe._ The edition of 1633 reads, 'I, which to you', making a logical and grammatical construction of the sentence impossible. The editor has failed to note that the personal reference of 'owe' is supplied in l. 45, 'To whom'. 'I, which doe so' means 'I, who contemplate you'.
PAGE =203=. TO M^r T. W.
_To M^r T. W._ The group of letters which begins with this I have arranged according to the order in which they are found in _W_, Mr. Gosse's Westmoreland MS. In this MS. a better text of these poems is given than that of _1633_; lines are supplied which have been dropped, and a few whole letters. The series contains also a reply to one of Donne's letters. For these reasons it seems to me preferable to follow an order which _may_ correspond to the order of composition.
In _1633_, which follows _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_, the letters are headed M. T. W., M. R. W., &c., 'M' standing, as often, for 'Mr.' Seeing, however, that 'Mr.' is the general form in _W_, I have used it as clearer.
The first of the letters has been headed hitherto To M. I. W., and Mr. Chambers conjectured that the person addressed _might_ be Izaak Walton. It is clear from the other MSS. that _A18_, _N_, _TC_, which _1633_ follows, is wrong and that I. W. should be T. W., Thomas Woodward. The T and I of this MS. are very similar, though distinguishable. Unfortunately we know nothing more of Thomas Woodward than that he was Rowland's brother and Donne's friend. The 'sweet Poet' must not be taken too seriously. Donne and his friends were corresponding with one another in verse, and complimenting each other in the polite fashion of the day.
PAGE =204=, ll. 13-16. _But care not for me, &c._ These lines form a crux in the textual criticism of Donne's poetry. I shall print them as they stand in _W_:
But care not for mee: I y^t ever was In natures & in fortunes guifts alas Before thy grace got in the Muses schoole A monster & a begger, am now a foole.
Some copies of the 1633 edition (including those used by myself and by the Grolier Club editor) print these words, but obscure the meaning by bracketing 'alas ... schoole'. Other copies (e.g. that used by Chambers) insert after 'Before' a 'by', which the Grolier Club editor also does as a conjecture. The 1635 editor, probably following _O'F_, resorted to another device to clear up the sense and changed 'Before' to 'But for', which Grosart and Chambers follow. The majority of the MSS., however, agree with _W_, and the case illustrates well the difficulties which beset an eclectic use of the editions.
If the bracket in _1633_ is dropt, or rearranged as in the text, the reading is correct and intelligible. The printers and editors have been misled by Donne's phrase, 'In Natures, and in Fortunes gifts'. They took this to go with 'A monster and a beggar': 'I that ever was a monster and a beggar in Natures and in Fortunes gifts.' This is a strange expression, taken, I suppose, to mean that Donne never enjoyed the blessings either of Nature or of Fortune. But what Donne says is somewhat different. The phrase 'I that ever was in Natures and in Fortunes gifts' means 'I that ever was the Almsman of Nature and Fortune'. Donne is using metaphorically a phrase of which the O.E.D. quotes a single instance: 'I live in Henry the 7th's Gifts' (i.e. his Almshouses). T. Barker, _The Art of Angling_ (1651). The whole sentence might be paraphrased thus: 'I, who was ever the Almsman of Nature and Fortune, am now a fool.' Parenthetically he adds, 'Till thy grace begot me, a monster and a beggar, in the Muses' school'. Possibly 'and a beggar' should be left outside the brackets and taken with 'In Natures and in Fortunes gifts': 'I, that _was_ an almsman and beggar, was by you begotten a poet, though a monstrous one;' ('monster' goes properly with 'got') 'and am now a fool'--possibly the last allusion is to his rash marriage. Donne's prose and verse of the years following 1601 are full of this melancholy depreciation of himself and his lot. Daniel calls himself the
Orphan of Fortune, borne to be her scorne. _Delia_, 26.
Compare also:
O I am fortune's fool. Shakespeare, _Romeo and Juliet_, III. i. 129.
Let your study Be to content your lord, who hath received you At fortune's alms. Shakespeare, _King Lear_, I. i. 277-9.
So shall I clothe me in a forced content, And shut myself up in some other course, To fortune's alms. Shakespeare, _Othello_, III. iv. 120-2.
In _W_ 'All haile sweet Poet' is followed at once by these lines, presumably written by Thomas Woodward and possibly in reply to the above. They are found standing by themselves in _B_, _O'F_, _P_, _S96_. In these they are apparently ascribed to Donne. I print from _W_:
TO M^r J. D.
Thou sendst me prose and rimes, I send for those Lynes, which, being neither, seem or verse or prose. They'are lame and harsh, and have no heat at all But what thy Liberall beams on them let fall. The nimble fyre which in thy braynes doth dwell Is it the fyre of heaven or that of hell? It doth beget and comfort like Heavens eye, And like hells fyre it burnes eternally. And those whom in thy fury and judgment Thy verse shall skourge like hell it will torment. Have mercy on mee and my sinfull Muse Which rub'd and tickled with thine could not chuse But spend some of her pith, and yeild to bee One in that chaste and mistique Tribadree. Bassaes adultery no fruit did Leave, Nor theirs, which their swollen thighs did nimbly weave, And with new armes and mouths embrace and kiss, Though they had issue was not like to this. Thy muse, Oh strange and holy Lecheree Being a mayde still, gott this song on mee.
l. 25. _Now if this song, &c._ By interchanging the stops at 'evill' and at 'passe' the old editions have obscured these lines. Mr. Chambers, accepting the full stop at 'evill', prints:--
If thou forget the rhyme as thou dost pass, Then write;
The reason for writing is not clear. 'If thou forget,' &c. explains ''Twill be good prose'. 'Read this without attending to the rhymes and you will find it good prose.' If we drop the epithet 'good', this criticism will apply to a considerable portion of metaphysical poetry.
PAGE =205=, l. 30. _thy zanee_, i.e. thy imitator, as the Merry-Andrew imitates the Mountebank:
He's like the Zani to a tumbler That tries tricks after him to make men laugh. Jonson, _Every Man out of his Humour_, IV. i.
PAGE =205=. TO M^r T. W.
l. 1. _Haste thee, &c._ By the lines 5-6, supplied from _W_, this poem is restored to the compass of a sonnet, though a very irregular one in form. The letter is evidently written from London, where the plague is prevalent. The letter is to be (l. 14) Donne's pledge of affection if he lives, his testament if he dies.
PAGE =206=. TO M^r T. W.
l. 5. _hand and eye_ is the reading of all the MSS., including _W_. It is written in the latter with a contraction which could easily be mistaken for 'or'.
TO M^r T. W.
l. 3. _I to the Nurse, they to the child of Art._ The 'Nurse of Art' is probably Leisure, 'I to my soft still walks':
And add to these retired Leisure, That in trim gardens takes his pleasure.
According to Aristotle, all the higher, more intellectual arts, as distinct from those which supply necessities or add to the pleasures of life, are the fruits of leisure: 'At first he who invented any art that went beyond the common perceptions of man was naturally admired by men, not only because there was something useful in the inventions, but because he was thought wise and superior to the rest. But as more arts were invented, and some were directed to the necessities of life, others to its recreation, the inventors of the latter were naturally always regarded as wiser than the inventors of the former, because their branches of knowledge did not aim at utility. Hence when all such inventions were already established, the sciences which do not aim at giving pleasure or at the necessities of life were discovered, and first in the places where men first began to have leisure. This is why the mathematical arts were founded in Egypt; for there the priestly caste was allowed to be at leisure.' _Met._ A. 981^b (translated by W. D. Ross).
l. 12. _a Picture, or bare Sacrament._ The last word would seem to be used in the legal sense: 'The _sacramentum_ or pledge which each of the parties deposited or became bound for before a suit.' O.E.D. The letter is a picture of his mind or pledge of his affection.
PAGE =207=. TO M^r R. W.
_Muse not that by, &c._ l. 7. _a Lay Mans Genius_: i.e. his Guardian Angel. The 'Lay Man' is opposed to the 'Poet'. Donne is very familiar with the Catholic doctrine of Guardian Angels and recurs to it repeatedly. Compare Shakespeare, _Macbeth_, III. i. 55.
l. 11. _Wright then._ The version of this poem in _W_ is probably made from Donne's autograph. One of his characteristic spellings is 'wright' for 'write'. The _Losely Manuscripts_ (ed. Kempe, 1836), in which some of Donne's letters are printed from the originals, show this spelling on every page. It is perhaps worth noting that the irregular past participle similarly spelt, i.e. 'wrought', has occasionally misled editors by its identity of form with the past participle of the verb 'work', which has 'gh' legitimately. Thus Mr. Beeching (_A Selection from the Poetry of Samuel Daniel and Michael Drayton_, 1899) prints:
Read in my face a volume of despairs, The wailing Iliads of my tragic woe, Drawn with my blood, and painted with my cares, Wrought by her hand that I have honoured so.
Here 'wrought' should be 'wrote', used, as frequently, for 'written'. In Professor Saintsbury's _Patrick Carey_ (Caroline Poets, II.) we read:
Who writ this song would little care Although at the end his name were wrought.
i.e. 'wrote'.
See also Donne's _The Litanie_, i. p. 342, l. 112.
PAGE =208=. TO M^r C. B.
Pretty certainly Christopher Brooke, to whom _The Storme_ and _The Calme_, are addressed. Chambers takes 'the Saint of his affection' to be Donne's wife, and dates the letter after 1600. But surely the last two lines would not have been written of a wife. They are in the conventional tone of the poet to his cruel Mistress. If Ann More is the 'Saint' referred to, she was not yet Donne's wife. Possibly it is some one else. Writing from Wales in 1599, Wotton says (in a letter which Mr. Pearsall Smith thinks is addressed to Donne, but this is not at all certain), 'May I after these, kiss that fair and learned hand of your mistress, than whom the world doth possess nothing more virtuous.' (_Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton_, i. 306.)
l. 10. _Heavens liberall and earths thrice fairer Sunne._ I prefer the _1633_ and _1669_ reading, amended from _W_ which reads 'fairer', to that of the later editions, 'the thrice faire Sunne', which Chambers adopts. There are obviously _two_ suns in question--the Heavens' liberal sun, and the earth's thrice-fairer one, i.e. the lady. Exiled from both, Donne carries with him sufficient fire to melt the ice of the wintry regions he must visit--not 'that which walls her heart'. Commenting on a similar conceit in Petrarch:
Ite caldi sospiri al freddo core, Rompete il ghiaccio, che pietà contende,
Tassoni tells how while writing he found himself detained at an Inn by a severe frost, and that sighs were of little use to melt it. _Considerazioni, &c._ (1609), p. 228.
TO M^r E. G.
Gosse conjectures that the person addressed is Edward Guilpin, or Gilpin, author of _Skialetheia_ (1598), a collection of epigrams and satires. Guilpin imitates one of Donne's _Satyres_, which may imply acquaintance. He makes no traceable reference to Donne in his works, and we know so little of Guilpin that it is impossible to affirm anything with confidence. Whoever is meant is in Suffolk. There were Gilpins of Bungay there in 1664. It is worth noting that Sir Henry Goodyere begins one of his poems (preserved in MS. at the Record Office, _State Papers Dom._, 1623) with the line: 'Even as lame things thirst their perfection.' Goodyere's poem was written before the issue of Donne's poems in 1633, and that edition does not contain this letter. One suspects that E. G. may be a Goodyere.
ll. 5-6. _oreseest ... overseene._ Donne is probably punning: 'Thou from the height of Parnassus lookest down upon London; I in London am too much overlooked, disregarded.' But it is not clear. He may mean 'am too much in men's eye, or kept too strictly under observation'. The first meaning seems to me the more probable.
PAGE =209=. TO M^r R. W.
l. 3. _brother._ _W_ reads 'brethren', and Morpheus _had_ many brothers; but of these only two had with himself the power of assuming what form they would, and of these two Phantasus took forms that lack life. Donne, therefore, probably means Phobetor, but a friend copying the poem thought to amend his mythology. See Ovid, _Metam._ xi. 635-41.
PAGE =210=. TO M^r R. W.
l. 18. _Guyanaes harvest is nip'd in the spring._ See introductory note to the _Letters_.
l. 23. _businesse._ The use of 'businesse' as a trisyllable with plural meaning is quite legitimate: 'Idle and discoursing men, that were not much affected, how businesse went, so they might talke of them.' _Sermon_, Judges XX. 15. p. 7.
PAGE =211=. TO M^r S. B.
Probably Samuel Brooke, the brother of Christopher. He officiated at Donne's marriage and was imprisoned. He was later Chaplain to Prince Henry, to James I, and to Charles I; professor of Divinity at Gresham College (1612-29) and Master of Trinity College, Cambridge, 1629. He wrote Latin plays, poems, and religious treatises. The tone of Donne's letter implies that he is a student at Cambridge. It was written therefore before 1601, probably, like several of these letters, while Donne was Egerton's secretary, and living in chambers with Christopher Brooke. A poem by Samuel Brooke, _On Tears_, is printed in Hannah's _Courtly Poets_.
PAGE =212=. TO M^r J. L.
Of the J. L. of this and the letter which follows the next, nothing has been unearthed. He clearly belonged to the North of England, beyond the Trent.
TO M^r B. B.
Grosart conjectures that this was Basil Brooke (1576-1646?), a Catholic, who was knighted in 1604. In 1644 he was committed to the Tower by Parliament and in 1646 imprisoned in the King's Bench. He translated _Entertainments for Lent_ from the French. He was not a brother of Christopher and Samuel. The identification is only a conjecture. The tenor of the poem is very similar to that addressed to Mr. S. B.
PAGE =213=, l. 18. _widowhed._ _W_ here clearly gives us the form which Donne used. The rhyme requires it and the poet has used it elsewhere:
And call chast widowhead Virginitie. _The Litanie_, xii. 108.
ll. 19-22. As punctuated in the old editions these lines are somewhat ambiguous:
My Muse, (for I had one) because I'am cold, Divorc'd her self, the cause being in me, That I can take no new in Bigamye, Not my will only but power doth withhold.
Chambers and the Grolier Club editor, by putting a full stop or semi-colon after 'the cause being in me', connect these words with what precedes. This makes the first two lines verbose ('the cause being in me' repeating 'because I'am cold') and the last two obscure. I regard 'the cause being in me' as an explanatory participial phrase qualifying what follows. 'My Muse divorc'd me because of my coldness. The cause of this divorce, coldness, being in me, the divorced one, I lack not only the will but the power to contract a new marriage'. I have therefore, following _W_, placed a colon after 'selfe'.
PAGE =213=. TO M^r I. L.
l. 2. _My Sun is with you._ Here, as in the letter 'To Mr. C. B.' (p. 208), reference is made to some lady whose 'servant' Donne is. See the note to that poem and the quotation from Sir Henry Wotton. It seems to me most probable that the person referred to was neither Ann More nor any predecessor of her in Donne's affections, but some noble lady to whom the poet stood in the attitude of dependence masking itself in love which Spenser occupied towards Lady Carey, and so many other poets towards their patronesses. But in regard to all the references in these letters we can only grope in darkness. As Professor Saintsbury would say, we do not _really know_ to whom one of the letters was addressed.
PAGE =214=, ll. 11-12. These lines from _W_ make the sense more complete and the transition to the closing invocation less abrupt. 'Sacrifice my heart to that beauteous Sunne; and since being with her you are in Paradise where joy admits of no addition, think of me at the sacrifice'; and then begins the prayer to his friend as an interceding saint. See note to p. 24, l. 22.
The lines seem to have been dropped, not in printing, but at some stage in transcription, for I have found them in no MS. but _W_.
l. 20. _Thy Sonne ne'r Ward_: i.e. 'May thy son never become a royal ward, to be handed over to the guardianship of some courtier who will plunder his estate.' Sir John Roe's father, in his will, begs his wife to procure the wardship of his son that he be not utterly ruined.
The series of letters which this to Mr. I. L. closes was probably written during the years 1597 to 1608 or 1610. Donne's first Letters were _The Storme_ and _The Calme_. These were followed by Letters to Wotton before and after he went to Ireland, and this series continues them during the years of Donne's secretaryship and his subsequent residence at Pyrford and Mitcham. They are written to friends of his youth, some still at college. Clearly too, what we have preserved is Donne's side of a mutual correspondence. Of Letters to Donne I have printed one, probably from Thomas Woodward. Chance has preserved another probably in the form in which it was sent. Mr. Gosse has printed it (_Life, &c._, i, p. 91). I reproduce it from the original MS., Tanner 306, in the Bodleian Library:
To my ever to be respected friend M^r John Done secretary to my Lord Keeper give these.
As in tymes past the rusticke shepheards sceant Thir Tideast lambs or kids for sacrefize Vnto thir gods, sincear beinge thir intent Thoughe base thir gift, if that shoulde moralize thir loves, yet noe direackt discerninge eye Will judge thir ackt but full of piety. Soe offir I my beast affection Apparaled in these harsh totterd rimes. Think not they want love, though perfection or that my loves noe truer than my lyens Smothe is my love thoughe rugged be my years Yet well they mean, thoughe well they ill rehears.
What tyme thou meanst to offir Idillnes Come to my den for heer she always stayes; If then for change of howers you seem careles Agree with me to lose them at the playes. farewell dear freand, my love, not lyens respeackt, So shall you shewe, my freandship you affeckt.
Yours William Cornwaleys.
The writer is, Mr. Gosse says, Sir William Cornwallis, the eldest son of Sir Charles Cornwallis of Beeston-in-Sprouston, Norfolk. Like Wotton, Goodyere, Roe, and others of Donne's circle he followed Essex to Ireland and was knighted at Dublin in 1599. The letter probably dates from 1600 or 1601. I have reproduced the original spelling, which is remarkable.
This letter and that to Mr. E. G. show that Donne was a frequenter of the theatre in these interesting years, 1593 to 1610, the greatest dramatic era since the age of Pericles. Sir Richard Baker, in his _Chronicle of the Kings of England_ (1730, p. 424), recalls his 'Old Acquaintance ... Mr. John Dunne, who leaving Oxford, liv'd at the Inns of Court, not dissolute but very neat: a great Visiter of Ladies, a great Frequenter of Plays, a great Writer of conceited Verses'. But of the Elizabethan drama there is almost no echo in Donne's poetry. The theatres are an amusement for idle hours: 'Because I am drousie, I will be kept awake with the obscenities and scurrilities of a Comedy, or the drums and ejulations of a Tragedy.' _Sermons_ 80. 38. 383.
PAGE =214=. TO SIR H. W. AT HIS GOING AMBASSADOR TO VENICE.
On July 8 O.S., 1604, Wotton was knighted by James, and on the 13th sailed for Venice. 'He is a gentleman', the Venetian ambassador reported, 'of excellent condition, wise, prudent, able. Your serenity, it is to be hoped, will be very well pleased with him.' Mr. Pearsall Smith adds, 'It is worth noting that while Wotton was travelling to Venice, Shakespeare was probably engaged in writing his great Venetian tragedy, _Othello_, which was acted before James I in November of this year.'
PAGE =215=, ll. 21-4. _To sweare much love, &c._ The meaning of this verse, accepting the 1633 text, is: 'Admit this honest paper to swear much love,--a love that will not change until with your elevation to the peerage (or increasing eminence) it must be called _honour_ rather than _love_.' (We _honour_, not _love_, those who are high above us.) 'But when that time comes I shall not more honour your fortune, the rank that fortune gives you, than I have honoured your honour ["nobleness of mind, scorn of meanness, magnanimity" (Johnson)], your high character, magnanimity, without it, i.e. when yet unhonoured.' Donne plays on the word 'honour'.
Walton's version, and the slight variant of this in _1635-69_, give a different thought, and this is perhaps the correct reading, more probably either another (perhaps an earlier) version of the poet or an attempt to correct due to a failure to catch the meaning of the rather fanciful phrase 'honouring your honour'. The meaning is, 'I shall not then more honour your fortune than I have your wit while it was still unhonoured, or (_1635-69_) unennobled.' The 1633 version seems to me the more likely to be the correct or final form of the text, because a reference to character rather than 'wit' or intellectual ability is implied by the following verse:
But 'tis an easier load (though both oppresse) To want then governe greatnesse, &c.
This stress on character, too, and indifference to fortune, is quite in the vein of Donne's and Wotton's earlier verse correspondence and all Wotton's poetry.
For the distinction between love and honour compare Lyly's _Endimion_, V. iii. 150-80:
'_Cinthia._ Was there such a time when as for my love thou did'st vow thyself to death, and in respect of it loth'd thy life? Speake Endimion, I will not revenge it with hate ...
_Endimion._ My unspotted thoughts, my languishing bodie, my discontented life, let them obtaine by princelie favour that, which to challenge they must not presume, onelie wishing of impossibilities: with imagination of which I will spend my spirits, and to myselfe that no creature may heare, softlie call it love. And if any urge to utter what I whisper, then will I name it honor....
... _Cinthia._ Endimion, this honourable respect of thine, shalbe christened love in thee, and my reward for it favor.'
With the lines,
Nor shall I then honour your fortune, &c.,
compare in the same play:
'O Endimion, Tellus was faire, but what availeth Beautie without wisdom? Nay, Endimion, she was wise, but what availeth wisdom without honour? She was honourable, Endimion, belie her not. I, but how obscure is honour without fortune?' II. iii. 11-17.
The antithesis here between 'honour' and 'fortune' is exactly that which Donne makes.
If we may accept 'noble-wanting-wit' as Donne's own phrase (and Walton's authority pleads for it) and interpret it as 'wit that yet wants ennoblement' it forms an interesting parallel to a phrase of Shakespeare's in _Macbeth_, when Banquo addresses the witches:
My noble partner You greet with present grace and great prediction, Of noble having and of royal hope. _Macbeth_, I. iii. 55-7.
Some editors refer 'present grace' to the first salutation, 'Thane of Glamis'. This is unlikely as there is nothing startling in a salutation to which Macbeth was already entitled. The Clarendon Press editors refer the line, more probably, to the two prophecies, 'thane of Cawdor' and 'that shalt be King hereafter'. The word 'having' is then not _quite_ the same as in the phrases 'my having is not great', &c., which these editors quote, but is simply opposed to 'hope'. You greet him with 'nobility in possession', with 'royalty in expectation', as being already thane of Cawdor, as to be king hereafter. Shakespeare's 'noble having' is the opposite of Donne's 'noble wanting'.
One is tempted to put, as Chambers does, an emphasizing comma after 'honour' as well as 'fortune'; but the antithesis is between 'fortune' and 'honour wanting fortune'.
'Sir Philip Sidney is none of this number; for the greatness which he affected was built upon true Worth, esteeming Fame more than Riches, and Noble actions far above Nobility it self.' Fulke Greville's _Life of Sidney_, c. iii. p. 38 (_Tudor and Stuart Library_).
PAGE =216=. TO M^{rs} M. H.
I.e. Mrs. Magdalen Herbert, daughter of Sir Richard Newport, mother of Sir Edward Herbert (Lord Herbert of Cherbury), and of George Herbert the poet. For her friendship with Donne, see Walton's _Life of Mr. George Herbert_ (1670), Gosse's _Life and Letters of John Donne_, i. 162 f., and what is said in the _Introduction_ to this volume and the Introductory Note to the _Elegies_. In 1608 she married Sir John Danvers. Her funeral sermon was preached by Donne in 1627.
PAGE =217=, l. 27. _For, speech of ill, and her, thou must abstaine._ The O.E.D. gives no example of 'abstain' thus used without 'from' before the object, and it is tempting with _1635-69_ and all the MSS. to change 'For' to 'From'. But none of the MSS. has great authority textually, and the 'For' in _1633_ is too carefully comma'd off to suggest a mere slip. Probably Donne wrote the line as it stands. One does not miss the 'from' so much when the verb comes so long after the object. 'Abstain' acquires the sense of 'forgo'.
ll. 31-2. _And since they'are but her cloathes, &c._ Compare:
For he who colour loves and skinne, Loves but their oldest clothes. _The Undertaking_, p. 10.
PAGE =218=. TO THE COUNTESSE OF BEDFORD.
l. 13. _Care not then, Madam,'how low your praysers lye._ I cannot but think that the 'praysers' of the MSS. is preferable to the 'prayses' of the editions. It is difficult to construe or make unambiguous sense of 'how low your prayses lie'. Donne does not wish to suggest that the praise is poor in itself, but that the giver is a 'low person'. The word 'prayser' he has already used in a letter to the Countess (p. 200), and there also it has caused some trouble to editors and copyists.
ll. 20-1. _Your radiation can all clouds subdue; But one, 'tis best light to contemplate you._
Grosart and the Grolier Club editor punctuate these lines so as to connect 'But one' with what precedes.
Your radiation can all clouds subdue But one; 'tis best light to contemplate you.
I suppose 'death' in this reading is to be regarded as the one cloud which the radiation of the Countess cannot dispel. There is no indication, however, that this is the thought in Donne's mind. As punctuated (i.e. with a comma after 'subdue', which I have strengthened to a semicolon), 'But one' goes with what follows, and refers to God: 'Excepting God only, you are the most illuminating object we can contemplate.'
PAGE =219=, l. 27. _May in your through-shine front your hearts thoughts see._ All the MSS. agree in reading 'your hearts thoughts', which is obviously correct. _N_, _O'F_, and _TCD_ give the line otherwise exactly as in the editions. _B_ drops the 'shine' after 'through'; and _S96_ reads:
May in you, through your face, your hearts thoughts see.
Donne has used 'through-shine' already in '_A Valediction: of my name in the window_':
'Tis much that glasse should bee As all confessing, and through-shine as I, 'Tis more that it shewes thee to thee, And cleare reflects thee to thine eye. But all such rules, loves magique can undoe, Here you see mee, and I am you.
If there were any evidence that Donne was, as in this lyric, playing with the idea of the identity of different souls, there would be reason to retain the 'our hearts thoughts' of the editions; but there is no trace of this. He is dwelling simply on the thought of the Countess's transparency. Donne is fond of compounds with 'through'. Other examples are 'through-light', 'through-swome', 'through-vaine', 'through-pierc'd'.
ll. 36-7. _They fly not, &c._ Chambers and the Grolier Club editor have here injured the sense by altering the punctuation. 'Nature's first lesson' does not complete the previous statement about the relation of the different souls, but qualifies 'discretion'. 'Just as the souls of growth and sense do not claim precedence of the rational soul, so the first lesson taught us by Nature, viz. _discretion_, must not grudge a place to zeal.' 'Anima rationalis est perfectior quam sensibilis, et sensibilis quam vegetabilis,' Aquinas, _Summa_, ii. 57. 2.
PAGE =220=, l. 46. _In those poor types, &c._ The use of the circle as an emblem of infinity is very old. 'To the mystically inclined the perpendicular was the emblem of unswerving rectitude and purity; but the circle, "the foremost, richest, and most perfect of curves" was the symbol of completeness and eternity, of the endless process of generation and renascence in which all things are ever becoming new.' W. B. Frankland, _The Story of Euclid_, p. 70. God was described by St. Bonaventura as 'a circle whose centre is everywhere, whose circumference nowhere'. See also supplementary note.
PAGE =221=. A LETTER TO THE LADY CAREY, AND M^{rs} ESSEX RICHE, FROM AMYENS.
Probably written when Donne was abroad with Sir Robert Drury in 1611-12. 'The two ladies', Mr. Chambers says, 'were daughters of Robert, third Lord Rich, by Penelope Devereux, daughter of Walter, Earl of Essex, the Stella of Sidney's _Astrophel and Stella_.' Lady Rich abandoned her husband after five years' marriage and declared that the true father of her children was Charles Blount, Earl of Devonshire, to whom, after her divorce in 1605, she was married by Laud. Lettice, the eldest daughter, married Sir George Carey, of Cockington, Devon. Essex, the younger, was married, subsequently to this letter, to Sir Thomas Cheeke, of Pirgo, Essex.
ll. 10-12. _Where, because Faith is in too low degree, &c._ Donne refers to the Catholic doctrine of good works as necessary to salvation in opposition to the Protestant doctrine of Justification by Faith. He is fond of the antithesis. Compare:
My faith I give to Roman Catholiques; All my good workes unto the Schismaticks Of Amsterdam;... Thou Love taughtst mee, by making mee Love her that holds my love disparity, Onely to give to those that count my gifts indignity. _The Will_, p. 57.
PAGE =222=, l. 14. _where no one is growne or spent._ Like the stars in the firmament your virtues neither grow nor decay. According to Aquinas the heavenly bodies are neither temporal nor eternal; not temporal because they are subject neither to growth nor decay; not eternal because they change their position. They are 'Aeonical', their life is measured by ages.
l. 19. _humilitie_ has such general support that the 'humidity' of _1669_ seems to be merely a conjecture.
PAGE =224=. TO THE COUNTESSE OF SALISBURY. 1614.
Catharine Howard, daughter of Thomas, first Earl of Suffolk, married in 1608 William Cecil, second Earl of Salisbury, son of the greater earl and grandson of Burghley, 'whose wisdom and virtues died with them, and their children only inherited their titles'. Clarendon.
It is not impossible, considering the date of this letter, that the Countess of Salisbury may be 'the Countesse' referred to in Donne's letter to Goodyere quoted in my introduction on the canon of Donne's poems. There is a difficulty in applying to the Countess of Huntingdon the words 'that knowledge which she hath of me, was in the beginning of a graver course, then of a Poet'. _Letters, &c._, p. 103. Donne made the acquaintance of Lady Elizabeth Stanley when he was Sir Thomas Egerton's secretary. She must have known him as a wit before his graver days. Nor would he have apologized for writing to such an old friend whose prophet he had been in her younger days.
The punctuation of this poem repays careful study. The whole is a fine example of that periodic style, drawn out from line to line, and forming sonorous and impressive verse-paragraphs, in which Donne more than any other poet anticipated Milton. The first sentence closes only at the thirty-sixth line. The various clauses which lead up to the close are separated from one another by the full-stop (ll. 8, 24), the colon (ll. 2, 7 (sonnets:), 34), and the semicolon (ll. 18, 21, 30 where the old edition had a colon), all with distinct values. The only change I have made (and recorded) is at l. 30 (fantasticall), where a careful consideration of the punctuation throughout shows that a semicolon is more appropriate than a colon. The clause which begins with 'Since' in l. 25 does not close till l. 34, 'understood'.
In the rest of the poem the punctuation is also careful. The only changes I have made are--ll. 42 'that day;' and 46 'yesterday;' (a semi-colon for a colon in each case), 61 'mee:' (a colon for a full stop), and 63 'good;' (a semicolon for a comma).
PAGE =227=. TO THE LADY BEDFORD.
l. 1. _You that are she and you, that's double shee_: The old punctuation suggests absurdly that the clause 'and you that's double she' is an independent co-ordinate clause.
l. 7. _Cusco._ I note in a catalogue, 'South America, a very early Map, with view of Cusco, the capital of Peru'.
l. 44. _of Iudith._ 'There is not such a woman from one end of the earth to the other, both for beauty of face and wisdom of words.' Judith xi. 21.
AN ANATOMIE OF THE WORLD.
The _Anatomie of the World_ and _Of The Progresse of the Soule_ were the first poems published in Donne's lifetime. The former was issued in 1611. It is exceedingly rare. The copy preserved in Lord Ellesmere's library at Bridgewater House is a small octavo volume of 26 pages (_Praise of the Dead, &c._ 3 pp., _Anatomy_ 19 pp., and _Funerall Elegie_ 4 pp., all unnumbered), with title-page as given on the page opposite.
In 1612 the poem was reissued along with the _Second Anniversary_. A copy of this rare volume was sold at the Huth sale on the thirteenth of June this year. With the kind permission of Mr. Edward Huth and Messrs. Sotheby, Mr. Godfrey Keynes made a careful collation for me, the results of which are embodied in my notes. The separate title-pages of the two poems which the volume contains are here reproduced.
Mr. Keynes supplies the following description of the volume: _A_ first title, _A-A4 To the praise of the Dead_ (in italics), _A5-D2_ (pp. 1-44) _The First Anniversary_ (in roman), _D3-D7_ (pp. 45-54) _A funerall Elegie_ (in italics), _D8_ blank except for rules in margins; _E1_ second title, _E2-E4_ recto _The Harbinger_ (in italics), _E4_ verso blank, _E5-H5_ recto (pp. 1-49) _The Second Anniversarie_ (in roman), _H5_ verso--_H6_ blank except for rules in margins. A fresh title-page introduces the second poem.
In 1611 the introductory verses entitled _To the praise of the Dead, and the Anatomy_, and the _Anatomy_ itself, are printed in italic, _A Funerall Elegie_ following in roman type. This latter arrangement was reversed in 1612. In the second part, only the poem entitled _The Harbinger to the Progresse_ is printed throughout in italic. Donne's own poem is in roman type.
The reason of the variety of arrangement is, I suppose, this: The _Funerall Elegie_ was probably, as Chambers suggests, the first part of the poem, composed probably in 1610. When it was published in 1611 with the _Anatomie_, the latter was regarded as introductory and subordinate to the _Elegie_, and accordingly was printed in italic. Later, when the idea of the Anniversary poems emerged, and _Of The Progresse of the Soule_ was written as a complement to _An Anatomy of the World_, these became the prominent parts of the whole work in honour of Elizabeth Drury, and the _Funerall Elegie_ fell into the subordinate position.
The edition of 1612 does not strike one as a very careful piece of printing. It was probably printed while Donne was on the Continent. It supplies only two certain emendations of the later text.
The reprints of this volume made in 1621 and 1625 show increasing carelessness. They were issued after Donne took orders and probably without his sanction. The title-pages of the editions are here reproduced.
[Illustration: title encapsulated in Doric frame:]
_AN_ ANATOMY of the World.
Wherein, By Occasion Of
WHEREIN, BY OCCASION OF the vntimely death of Mistris
Elizabeth Drvry
ELIZABETH DRVRY the frailty and the decay of this whole world is represented.
LONDON, Printed for _Samuel Macham_. and are to be solde at his shop in Paules Church-yard, at the signe of the Bul-head.
AN. DOM. 1611.
[Illustration of title page, containing:]
_The First Anniuersarie._
An Anatomie
AN ANATOMIE of the VVorld.
_Wherein_,
By Occasion Of
BY OCCASION OF _the vntimely death of Mistris_ ELIZABETH DRVRY, the frailtie and the decay of this whole World is represented.
[Illustration]
LONDON,
Printed by _M. Bradwood_ for _S. Macham_, and are to be sold at his shop in Pauls Church-yard at the signe of the Bull-head. 1612.
[Illustration of title page, containing:]
_The Second Anniuersarie._
Of The Progres
OF THE PROGRES of the Soule.
_Wherein_:
By Occasion Of The Religious Death of Mistris
ELIZABETH DRVRY,
the incommodities of the Soule _in this life and her exaltation in_ the next, are Contem- _plated_.
LONDON,
Printed by M. _Bradwood_ for _S. Macham_, and are to be sould at his shop in Pauls Church-yard at the signe of the Bull-head.
1612.
The above title is not an exact facsimile.
[Illustration of title page, containing:]
_The First Anniuersarie._
AN ANATOMIE of the World.
_Wherein_,
BY OCCASION OF _the vntimely death of Mistris_
ELIZABETH DRVRY,
the frailtie and the decay of this whole World is represented.
[Illustration]
LONDON,
Printed by _A. Mathewes_ for _Tho: Dewe_, and are to be sold at his shop in Saint _Dunstons_ Church-yard in Fleetestreete. 1621.
[Illustration of title page, containing:]
_The Second Anniuersarie._
OF THE PROGRES of the Soule.
_Wherein_,
BY OCCASION OF
_the Religious death of Mistris_
ELIZABETH DRVRY,
the incommodities of the Soule _in this life, and her exaltation in_ the next, are Contem- _plated_.
[Illustration]
LONDON,
Printed by _A. Mathewes_ for _Tho: Dewe_, and are to be sold at his shop in Saint _Dunstons_ Church-yard in Fleetestreete. 1621.
[Illustration of title page, containing:]
An Anatomie Of The
AN ANATOMIE OF THE _World._
Wherein,
WHEREIN,
_By occasion of the vn_- timely death of Mistris Elizabeth Drvry, _the frailtie and the decay_ of this whole World is _represented_.
The first Anniuersarie.
LONDON
Printed by _W. Stansby_ for _Tho. Dewe_, and are to be sold in S. _Dunstanes_ Church-yard. 1625
[Illustration of title page, containing:]
OF THE PROGRES of the _SOVLE_
WHEREIN,
_By occasion of the_ Re- ligious death of Mistris ELIZABETH DRVRY, the incommodities of the _Soule_ in this life, and her exaltation in the _next, are Contemplated_.
The second Anniuersarie.
LONDON
Printed by _W. Stansby_ for _Tho. Dewe_, and are to be sold in S. _Dunstanes_ Church-yard. 1625.
The symbolic figures in the title-pages of 1625 probably represent the seven Liberal Arts. A feature of the editions of _1611_, _1612,_ and _1625_ is the marginal notes. These are reproduced in _1633_, but a little carelessly, for some copies do not contain them all. They are omitted in the subsequent editions.
The text of the _Anniversaries_ in _1633_ has been on the whole carefully edited. It is probable, judging from several small circumstances (e.g. the omission of the first marginal note even in copies where all the rest are given), that _1633_ was printed from _1625_, but it is clear that the editor compared this with earlier editions, probably those of _1611-12_, and corrected or amended the punctuation throughout. My collation of _1633_ with _1611_ has throughout vindicated the former as against _1621-5_ on the one hand and the later editions on the other.[1] Of mistakes other than of punctuation I have noted only three: l. 181, thoughts _1611-12_; thought _1621-33_. This was corrected, from the obvious sense, in later editions (_1635-69_), and Grosart, Chambers, and Grolier make no note of the error in _1621-33_. l. 318, proportions _1611-12_; proportion _1621_ and all subsequent editions without comment. l. 415, Impressions _1611_; Impression _1612-25_: impression _1633_ and all subsequent editions. All three cases are examples of the same error, the dropping of final 's'.
In typographical respects _1611_ shows the hand of the author more clearly than the later editions. Donne was fastidious in matters of punctuation and the use of italics and capital letters, witness the _LXXX Sermons_ (1640), printed from MSS. prepared for the press by the author. But the printer had to be reckoned with, and perfection was not obtainable. In a note to one of the separately published sermons Donne says: 'Those Errors which are committed in mispointing, or in changing the form of the Character, will soone be discernd, and corrected by the Eye of any deliberate Reader'. The _1611_ text shows a more consistent use in certain passages of emphasizing capitals, and at places its punctuation is better than that of _1633_. My text reproduces _1633_, corrected where necessary from the earlier editions; and I have occasionally followed the typography of _1611_. But every case in which _1633_ is modified is recorded.
Of the _Second Anniversarie_, in like manner, my text is that of _1633_, corrected in a few details, and with a few typographical features borrowed, from the edition of _1612_. The editor of _1633_ had rather definite views of his own on punctuation, notably a predilection for semicolons in place of full stops. The only certain emendations which _1612_ supplies are in the marginal note at p. 234 and in l. 421 of the _Second Anniversarie_ 'this' for 'his'. The spelling is less ambiguous in ll. 27 and 326.
[Footnote 1: _1621-25_ abound in misplaced full stops which are not in _1611_ and are generally corrected in _1633_. The punctuation of the later editions (_1635-69_) is the work of the printer. Occasionally a comma is dropped or introduced with advantage to the sense, but in general the punctuation grows increasingly careless. Often the correction of one error leads to another.]
The subject of the _Anniversaries_ was the fifteen-year-old Elizabeth Drury, who died in 1610. Her father, Sir Robert Drury, of Hawsted in the county of Suffolk, was a man of some note on account of his great wealth. He was knighted by Essex when about seventeen years old, at the siege of Rouen (1591-2). He served in the Low Countries, and at the battle of Nieuport (1600) brought off Sir Francis Vere when his horse was shot under him. He was courtier, traveller, member of Parliament, and in 1613 would have been glad to go as Ambassador to Paris when Sir Thomas Overbury refused the proffered honour and was sent to the Tower. Lady Drury was the daughter of Sir Nicholas Bacon, the eldest son of Queen Elizabeth's Lord Keeper. She and her brother, Sir Edmund Bacon, were friends and patrons of Joseph Hall, Donne's rival as an early satirist. From 1600 to 1608 Hall was rector of Hawsted, and though he was not very kindly treated by Sir Robert he dedicated to him his _Meditations Morall and Divine_. This tie explains the fact, which we learn from Jonson's conversations with Drummond, that Hall is the author of the _Harbinger to the Progresse_. As he wrote this we may infer that he is also responsible for _To the praise of the dead, and the Anatomie_.
Readers of Donne's _Life_ by Walton are aware of the munificence with which Sir Robert rewarded Donne for his poems, how he opened his house to him, and took him abroad. Donne's letters, on the other hand, reveal that the poem gave considerable offence to the Countess of Bedford and other older patrons and friends. In his letters to Gerrard he endeavoured to explain away his eulogies. In verse-letters to the Countess of Bedford and others he atoned for his inconstancy by subtle and erudite compliments.
_The Funerall Elegie_ was doubtless written in 1610 and sent to Sir Robert Drury. He and Donne may already have been acquainted through Wotton, who was closely related by friendship and marriage with Sir Edmund Bacon. (See Pearsall Smith, _Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton_ (1907). _The Anatomie of the World_ was composed in 1611, _Of the Progresse of the Soule_ in France in 1612, at some time prior to the 14th of April, when he refers to his _Anniversaries_ in a letter to George Gerrard.
Ben Jonson declared to Drummond 'That Donnes Anniversaries were profane and full of blasphemies: that he told Mr. Done if it had been written of the Virgin Marie it had been something; to which he answered that he described the Idea of a Woman, and not as she was'. This is a better defence of Donne's poems than any which he advances in his letters, but it is not a complete description of his work. Rather, he interwove with a rapt and extravagantly conceited laudation of an ideal woman two topics familiar to his catholic and mediaeval learning, and developed each in a characteristically subtle and ingenious strain, a strain whose occasional sceptical, disintegrating reflections belong as obviously to the seventeenth century as the general content of the thought is mediaeval.
The burden of the whole is an impassioned and exalted _meditatio mortis_ based on two themes common enough in mediaeval devotional literature--a _De Contemptu Mundi_, and a contemplation of the Glories of Paradise. A very brief analysis of the two poems, omitting the laudatory portions, may help a reader who cannot at once see the wood for the trees, and be better than detailed notes.
_The Anatomie of the World._
_l. 1._ The world which suffered in her death is now fallen into the worse lethargy of oblivion. _l. 60._ I will anatomize the world for the benefit of those who still, by the influence of her virtue, lead a kind of glimmering life. _l. 91._ There is no health in the world. We are still under the curse of woman. _l. 111._ How short is our life compared with that of the patriarchs! _l. 134._ How small is our stature compared with that of the giants of old! _l. 147._ How shrunken of soul we are, especially since her death! _l. 191._ And as man, so is the whole world. The new learning or philosophy has shattered in fragments that complete scheme of the universe in which we rested so confidently, and (_l. 211_) in human society the same disorder prevails. _l. 250._ There is no beauty in the world, for, first, the beauty of proportion is lost, alike in the movements of the heavenly bodies, and (_l. 285_) in the earth with its mountains and hollows, and (_l. 302_) in the administration of justice in society. _l. 339._ So is Beauty's other element, Colour and Lustre. _l. 377._ Heaven and earth are at variance. We can no longer read terrestrial fortunes in the stars. But (_l. 435_) an Anatomy can be pushed too far.
_The Progresse of the Soule._
_l. 1._ The world's life is the life that breeds in corruption. Let me, forgetting the rotten world, meditate on death. _l. 85._ Think, my soul, that thou art on thy death-bed, and consider death a release. _l. 157._ Think how the body poisoned the soul, tainting it with original sin. Set free, thou art in Heaven in a moment. _l. 250._ Here all our knowledge is ignorance. The new learning has thrown all in doubt. We sweat to learn trifles. In Heaven we know all we need to know. _l. 321._ Here, our converse is evil and corrupting. There our converse will be with Mary; the Patriarchs; Apostles, Martyrs and Virgins (compare _A Litany_). Here in the perpetual flux of things is no essential joy. Essential joy is to see God. And even the accidental joys of heaven surpass the essential joys of earth, were there such joys here where all is casual:
Only in Heaven joys strength is never spent, And accidental things are permanent.
One of the most interesting strands of thought common to the twin poems is the reflection on the disintegrating effect of the New Learning. Copernicus' displacement of the earth, and the consequent disturbance of the accepted mediaeval cosmology with its concentric arrangement of elements and heavenly bodies, arrests and disturbs Donne's imagination much as the later geology with its revelation of vanished species and first suggestion of a doctrine of evolution absorbed and perturbed Tennyson when he wrote _In Memoriam_ and throughout his life. No other poet of the seventeenth century known to me shows the same sensitiveness to the consequences of the new discoveries of traveller, astronomer, physiologist and physician as Donne.
To The Praise Of The Dead.
TO THE PRAISE OF THE DEAD.
PAGE =231=, l. 43. _What high part thou bearest in those best songs._ The contraction of 'bearest' to 'bear'st' in the earliest editions (_1611-25_) led to the insertion of 'of' after 'best' in the later ones (_1633-69_).
AN ANATOMIE OF THE WORLD.
PAGE =235=, ll. 133-6. Chambers alters the punctuation of these lines in such a way as to connect them more closely:
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.
But the punctuation of _1633_ is careful and correct. A new paragraph begins with 'And as in lasting, so, &c.' From length of years Donne passes to physical stature. The full stop is at 'lives', the semicolon at 'span'. Grosart and the Grolier Club editor punctuate correctly.
l. 144. _We'are scarce our Fathers shadowes cast at noone_: Compare:
But now the sun is just above our head, We doe those shadowes tread; And to brave clearnesse all things are reduc'd. _A Lecture upon the Shadowe._
PAGE =236=, l. 160. _And with new Physicke_: i.e. the new mineral drugs of the Paracelsians.
PAGE =237=, l. 190. _Be more then man, or thou'rt lesse then an Ant._ Compare _To M^r Rowland Woodward_, p. 185, ll. 16-18 and note.
l. 205. _The new Philosophy calls all in doubt, &c._ The philosophy of Galileo and Copernicus has displaced the earth and discredited the concentric arrangement of the elements,--earth, water, air, fire. Norton quotes: 'The fire is an element most hot and dry, pure, subtill, and so clear as it doth not hinder our sight looking through the same towards the stars, and is placed next to the Spheare of the Moon, under the which it is turned about like a celestial Spheare'. _M. Blundeville His Exercises_, 1594.
When the world was formed from Chaos, then--
Earth as the Lees, and heavie dross of All (After his kinde) did to the bottom fall: Contrariwise, the light and nimble Fire Did through the crannies of th'old Heap aspire Unto the top; and by his nature, light No less than hot, mounted in sparks upright: But, lest the Fire (which all the rest imbraces) Being too near, should burn the Earth to ashes; As Chosen Umpires, the great All-Creator Between these Foes placed the Aire and Water: For, one suffiz'd not their stern strife to end. Water, as Cozen did the Earth befriend: Aire for his Kinsman Fire, as firmly deals &c. Du Bartas, _The second Day of the first Week_ (trans. Joshua Sylvester).
Burton, in the _Anatomy of Melancholy_, Part 2, Sect. 2, Mem. 3, tells how the new Astronomers Tycho, Rotman, Kepler, &c. by their new doctrine of the heavens are 'exploding in the meantime that element of fire, those fictitious, first watry movers, those heavens I mean above the firmament, which Delrio, Lodovicus Imola, Patricius and many of the fathers affirm'. They have abolished, that is to say, the fire which surrounded the air, as that air surrounded the water and the earth (all below the moon); and they have also abolished the Crystalline Sphere and the Primum Mobile which were supposed to surround the sphere of the fixed stars, or the firmament.
PAGE =238=, l. 215. _Prince, Subject, Father, Sonne are things forgot._ Donne has probably in mind the effect of the religious wars in Germany, France, the Low Countries, &c.
l. 217. _that then can be._ This is the reading of all the editions before _1669_, and there is no reason to change 'then' to 'there': 'Every man thinks he has come to be a Phoenix (preferring private judgement to authority) and that then comparison ceases, for there is nothing of the same kind with which to compare himself. There is nothing left to reverence.'
PAGE =239=, l. 258. _It teares The Firmament in eight and forty sheires._
Norton says that in the catalogue of Hipparchus, preserved in the Almagest of Ptolemy, the stars were divided into forty-eight constellations.
l. 260. _New starres._ Norton says: 'It was the apparition of a new star in 1572, in the constellation of Cassiopeia, that turned Tycho Brahe to astronomy: and a new bright star in Ophiuchus, in 1604, had excited general wonder, and afforded Galileo a text for an attack on the Ptolemaic system'.
At p. 247, l. 70, Donne notes that the 'new starres' went out again.
PAGE =240=, l. 286. _a Tenarif, or higher hill._ 'Tenarif' is the _1611_ spelling, 'Tenarus' that of _1633-69_. Donne speaks of 'Tenarus' elsewhere, but it is not the same place.
It is not probable that Donne ever saw the Peak of Teneriffe, although biographers speak of this line as a descriptive touch drawn from memory. The Canary Isles are below the 30th degree of latitude. The fleet that made the Islands Exhibition was never much if at all further south than 43 degrees. After coasting off Corunna 43° N. 8° W., and some leagues south of that port, the fleet struck straight across to the Azores, 37° N. 25° W. Donne was somewhat nearer in the previous year when he was at Cadiz, 36° N. 6° W., but too far off to descry the Peak. His description, though vivid, is 'metaphysical', like that of Hell which follows: 'The Pike of Teneriff, how high is it? 79 miles or 52, as Patricius holds, or 9 as Snellius demonstrates in his Eratosthenes'. Burton, _Anatomy of Melancholy_, Part 2, Sec. 2, Mem. 3.
On the other side, Satan, alarm'd, Collecting all his might, dilated stood, Like Teneriff or Atlas, unremov'd. Milton, _Par. Lost_, iv. 985-7.
ll. 295 f. _If under all, a Vault infernall bee, &c._ Hell, according to mediaeval philosophy, was in the middle of the earth. 'If this be true,' says Donne, 'and if at the same time the Sea is in places bottomless, then the earth is neither solid nor round. We use these words only approximately. But you may hold, on the other hand, that the deepest seas we know are but pock-holes, the highest hills but warts, on the face of the solid earth. Well, even in that case you must admit that in the moral sphere at any rate the world's proportion is disfigured by the want of all proportioning of reward and punishment to conduct.' The sudden transition from the physical to the moral sphere is very disconcerting. Compare: 'Or is it the place of hell, as Virgil in his Aeneides, Plato, Lucian, Dante, and others poetically describe it, and as many of our divines think. In good earnest, Antony Rusca, one of the society of that Ambrosian college in Millan, in his great volume _de Inferno_, lib. i, cap. 47, is stiffe in this tenent.... Whatsoever philosophers write (saith Surius) there be certaine mouthes of Hell, and places appointed for the punishment of mens souls, as at Hecla in Island, where the ghosts of dead men are familiarly seen, and sometimes talk with the living. God would have such visible places, that mortal men might be certainly informed, that there be such punishments after death, and learn hence to fear God,' &c. Burton, _Anat. of Melancholy_, Part 2, Sec. 2, Mem. 3.
ll. 296-8. _Which sure is spacious, &c._ 'Franciscus Ribera will have hell a materiall and locall fire in the centre of the earth, 200 Italian miles in diameter, as he defines it out of those words _Exivit sanguis de terra ... per stadia mille sexcenta, &c._ But Lessius (lib. 13, _de moribus divinis_, cap. 24) will have this locall hell far less, one Dutch mile in diameter, all filled with fire and brimstone; because, as he there demonstrates, that space, cubically multiplied, will make a sphere able to hold eight hundred thousand millions of damned bodies (allowing each body six foot square); which will abundantly suffice, '_cum certum sit, inquit, facta subductione, non futuros centies mille milliones damnandorum_.' Burton, _Anat. of Melancholy_, _ut sup._ Eschatology was the 'dismal science' of those days and was studied with astonishing gusto and acumen. 'For as one Author, who is afraid of admitting too great a hollownesse in the Earth, lest then the Earth might not be said to be solid, pronounces that Hell cannot possibly be above three thousand miles in compasse, (and then one of the torments of Hell will be the throng, for their bodies must be there in their dimensions, as well as their soules) so when the Schoole-men come to measure the house in heaven (as they will measure it, and the Master, God, and all his Attributes, and tell us how Allmighty, and how Infinite he is) they pronounce that every soule in that house shall have more roome to it selfe, then all this world is.' _Sermons_ 80. 73. 747. The reference in the margin is to Munster.
l. 311. _that Ancient, &c._ 'Many erroneous opinions are about the essence and originall of it' (i.e. the rational soul), 'whether it be fire, as Zeno held; harmony, as Aristoxenus; number, as Xenocrates,' &c. Burton, _Anat. of Melancholy_, Part i, Sec. 1, Mem. 2, Subsec. 9. Probably Donne has the same 'Ancient' in view. It is from Cicero (_Tusc. Disp._ i. 10) that we learn that Aristoxenus held the soul to be a harmony of the body. Though a Peripatetic, Aristoxenus lived in close communion with the latest Pythagoreans, and the doctrine is attributed to Pythagoras as a consequence of his theory of numbers. Simmias, the disciple of the Pythagorean Philolaus, maintains the doctrine in Plato's _Phaedo_, and Socrates criticizes it. Aristotle states and examines it in the _De Anima_, 407b. 30. Two classes of thinkers, Bouillet says (Plotinus, _Fourth Ennead_, _Seventh Book_, note), regarded the soul as a harmony, doctors as Hippocrates and Galen, who considered it a harmony of the four elements--the hot, the cold, the dry and the moist (as the definition of health Donne refers to this more than once, e.g. _The good-morrow_, l. 19, and _The Second Anniversary_, ll. 130 f.); and musicians like Aristoxenus, who compared the soul to the harmony of the lyre. Donne leaves the sense in which he uses the word quite vague; but l. 321 suggests the medical sense.
l. 312. _at next._ This common Anglo-Saxon construction is very rare in later English. The O.E.D. cites no instance later than 1449, Pecock's _Repression_. The instance cited there is prepositional in character rather than adverbial: 'Immediatli at next to the now bifore alleggid text of Peter this proces folewith.' Donne's use seems to correspond exactly to the Anglo-Saxon: 'Johannes ða ofhreow þaēre mēden and ðaera licmanna drēorignysse, and āstrehte his licaman tō eorðan on langsumum gebēde, and ða _aet nēxtan_ āras, and eft upahafenum handum langlice baed.' Aelfric (Sweet's _Anglo-Saxon Reader_, 1894, p. 67). But 'at next' in the poem possibly does not mean simply 'next', but 'immediately', i.e. 'the first thing he said would have been ...'
l. 314. _Resultances_: i.e. productions of, or emanations from, her. 'She is the harmony from which proceeds that harmony of our bodies which is their soul.' Donne uses the word also in the sense of 'the sum or gist of a thing': 'He speakes out of the strength and resultance of many lawes and Canons there alleadged.' _Pseudo-martyr_, p. 245; and Walton says that Donne 'left the resultance of 1400 Authors, most of them abridged and analysed with his own hand.' _Life_ (1675), p. 60. He is probably using Donne's own title.
PAGE =241=, l. 318. _That th'Arke to mans proportions was made._ The following quotation from St. Augustine will show that the plural of _1611-12_ is right, and what Donne had in view. St. Augustine is speaking of the Ark as a type of the Church: 'Procul dubio figura est peregrinantis in hoc seculo Civitatis Dei, hoc est Ecclesiae, quae fit salva per lignum in quo pependit Mediator Dei et hominum, homo Iesus Christus. (1 Tim. ii. 5.) Nam et mensurae ipsae longitudinis, altitudinis, latitudinis eius, significant corpus humanum, in cuius veritate ad homines praenuntiatus est venturus, et venit. Humani quippe corporis longitudo a vertice usque ad vestigia sexies tantum habet, quam latitudo, quae est ab uno latere ad alterum latus, et decies tantum, quam altitudo, cuius altitudinis mensura est in latere a dorso ad ventrem: velut si iacentem hominem metiaris supinum, seu pronum, sexies tantum longus est a capite ad pedes, quam latus a dextra in sinistram, vel a sinistra in dextram, et decies, quam altus a terra. Unde facta est arca trecentorum in longitudine cubitorum, et quinquaginta in latitudine, et triginta in altitudine.' _De Civitate Dei_, XV. 26.
PAGE =242=, ll. 377-80. _Nor in ought more, &c._ 'The father' is the Heavens, i.e. the various heavenly bodies moving in their spheres; 'the mother', the earth:
As the bright Sun shines through the smoothest Glasse The turning Planets influence doth passe Without impeachment through the glistering Tent Of the tralucing (_French_ diafane) Fiery Element, The Aires triple Regions, the transparent Water; But not the firm base of this faire Theater. And therefore rightly may we call those Trines (Fire, Aire and Water) but Heav'ns Concubines: For, never Sun, nor Moon, nor Stars injoy The love of these, but only by the way, As passing by: whereas incessantly The lusty Heav'n with Earth doth company; And with a fruitfull seed which lends All life, With childes each moment, his own lawfull wife; And with her lovely Babes, in form and nature So divers, decks this beautiful Theater. Sylvester, _Du Bartas, Second Day, First Week._
PAGE =243=, l. 389. _new wormes_: probably serpents, such as were described in new books of travels.
l. 394. _Imprisoned in an Hearbe, or Charme, or Tree._ Compare _A Valediction: of my name, in the window_, p. 27, ll. 33-6:
As all the vertuous powers which are Fix'd in the starres, are said to flow Into such characters, as graved bee When these starres have supremacie.
l. 409. _But as some Serpents poyson, &c._ Compare: 'But though all knowledge be in those Authors already, yet, as some poisons, and some medicines, hurt not, nor profit, except the creature in which they reside, contribute their lively activitie and vigor; so, much of the knowledge buried in Books perisheth, and becomes ineffectuall, if it be not applied, and refreshed by a companion, or friend. Much of their goodnesse hath the same period which some Physicians of _Italy_ have observed to be in the biting of their _Tarentola_, that it affects no longer, then the flie lives.' _Letters_, p. 107.
PAGE =245=, l. 460. _As matter fit for Chronicle, not verse._ Compare _The Canonization_, p. 15, ll. 31-2:
And if no peece of Chronicle wee prove We'll build in sonnets pretty roomes ...
God's 'last, and lasting'st peece, a song' is of course Moses' song in Deuteronomy xxxii: 'Give ear, O ye heavens, and I will speak,' &c.
l. 467. _Such an opinion (in due measure) made, &c._ The bracket of _1611_ makes the sense less ambiguous than the commas of _1633_:
Such an opinion, in due measure, made.
According to the habits of old punctuation, 'in due measure' thus comma'd off might be an adjunct of 'made me ... invade'. The bracket shows that the phrase goes with 'opinion'. 'Such an opinion (with all due reverence spoken),' &c. Donne finds that he is attributing to himself the same thoughts as God.
A Funerall Elegie.
A FUNERALL ELEGIE.
l. 2. _to confine her in a marble chest._ The 'Funerall Elegie' was probably the first composed of these poems. Elizabeth Drury's parents erected over her a very elaborate marble tomb.
PAGE =246=, l. 41. _the Affrique Niger._ Grosart comments on this: 'A peculiarity generally given to the Nile; and here perhaps not spoken of our Niger, but of the Nile before it is so called, when, according to Pliny (_N. H._ v. 9), after having twice been underground, and the second time for twenty days' journey, it issues at the spring Nigris.' Probably Donne had been reading 'A Geographical Historie of Africa written in Arabicke by John Leo a More, borne in Granada, and brought up in Barbarie ... Translated and collected by Iohn Porie, late of Gonevill and Caius College in Cambridge, 1600.' Of the Niger he says: 'This land of Negros hath a mighty river, which taking his name of the region is called Niger: this river taketh his originall from the east out of a certain desert called by the foresaide Negros _Sen_ ... Our Cosmographers affirme that the said river of Niger is derived out of Nilus, which they imagine for some certaine space to be swallowed up of the earth, and yet at last to burst forth into such a lake as is before mentioned.' Pory is mentioned occasionally in Donne's correspondence.
PAGE =247=, l. 50. _An Angell made a Throne, or Cherubin._ See _Elegy XI_, ll. 77-8 and note. Donne, like Shakespeare, uses 'Cherubin' as a singular. There can be no doubt that the lines in _Macbeth_, I. vii. 21-3, should read:
And pity, like a naked new-born babe Striding the blast, or heavens cherubins horsed Upon the sightless couriers of the air, &c.
It is an echo of:
He rode upon the cherubins and did fly; He came flying upon the wings of the wind. Psalm xviii. 10.
'Cherubin' is a singular in Shakespeare, and 'cherubim' as a plural he did not know.
l. 73. _a Lampe of Balsamum_, i.e. burning balsam instead of ordinary oil: 'And as _Constantine_ ordained, that upon this day' (Christmas Day), 'the Church should burne no Oyle, but Balsamum in her Lamps, so let us ever celebrate this day, with a thankfull acknowledgment, that Christ who is _unctus Domini_, The Anointed of the Lord, hath anointed us with the Oyle of gladnesse above our fellowes.' _Sermons_ 80. 7. 72.
ll. 75-7. _Cloath'd in, &c._ Chambers's arrangement of these lines is ingenious but, I think, mistaken because it alters the emphasis of the sentences. The stress is not laid by Donne on her purity, but on her early death: 'She expir'd while she was still a virgin. She went away before she was a woman.' Line 76:
For marriage, though it doe not staine, doth dye.
is a sudden digression. Dryden filches these lines:
All white, a Virgin-Saint, she sought the skies For Marriage, tho' it sullies not, it dies.
_The Monument of a Faire Maiden Lady._
PAGE =248=, l. 83. _said History_ is a strange phrase, but it has the support of all the editions which can be said to have any authority.
l. 92. _and then inferre._ Compare: 'That this honour might be inferred on some one of the blood and race of their ancient king.' Raleigh (O.E.D.). Donne's sense of 'commit', 'entrust', is not far from Raleigh's of 'confer', 'bestow', and both are natural extensions of the common though now obsolete sense, 'bring on, occasion, cause':
Inferre faire Englands peace by this Alliance. Shakespeare, _Rich. III_, IV. iv. 343.
l. 94. _thus much to die._ To die so far as this life is concerned.
Of The Progresse Of The Soule. The Second Anniversarie.
OF THE PROGRESSE OF THE SOULE.
THE SECOND ANNIVERSARIE.
PAGE =252=, l. 43.
_These Hymnes thy issue, may encrease so long, As till Gods great Venite change the song_.
This is the punctuation of the editions _1612_ to _1633_. Grosart, Chambers, and the Grolier Club editor follow the later editions, _1635-69_, in dropping the comma after 'issue', which thus becomes object to 'encrease'. 'These hymns may encrease thy issue so long, &c.' This does not seem to me to harmonize so well with l. 44 as the older punctuation of l. 43. 'These Hymns, which are thy issue, may encrease'(used intransitively, as in the phrase 'increase and multiply') 'so long as till, &c.' This suggests that the Hymns themselves will live and sound in men's ears, quickening in them virtue and religion, till they are drowned in the greater music of God's _Venite_. The modern version is compatible with the death of the hymns, but the survival of their issue.
l. 48. _To th'only Health, to be Hydroptique so._ Here again Grosart, Chambers, and the Grolier Club editor have agreed in following the editions _1625-69_ against the earlier ones, _1612_ and _1621_. These have connected 'to be Hydroptic so' with what follows:
to be hydroptic so, Forget this rotten world ...
But surely the full stop after 'so' in _1612_ is right, and 'to be Hydroptique so' is Donne's definition of 'th'only Health'. 'Thirst is the symptom of dropsy; and a continual thirst for God's safe-sealing bowl is the best symptom of man's spiritual health.'
'Gods safe-sealing bowl' is of course the Eucharist: 'When thou commest to this seal of thy peace, the Sacrament, pray that God will give thee that light, that may direct and establish thee, in necessary and fundamentall things: that is the light of faith to see, that the Body and Blood of Christ is applied to thee in that action; But for the manner, how the Body and Bloud of Christ is there, wait his leisure if he have not yet manifested that to thee.' _Sermons, &c._
PAGE =253=, l. 72. _Because shee was the forme, that made it live_: i.e. the soul of the world. Aquinas, after discussion, accepts the Aristotelian view that the soul is united to the body as its form, that in virtue of which the body lives and functions. 'Illud enim quo primo aliquid operatur, est forma eius cui operatio attribuitur ... Manifestum est autem quod primum quo corpus vivit, est anima. Et cum vita manifestetur secundum diversas operationes, in diversis gradibus viventium, id quo primo operamur unumquodque horum operum vitae, est anima. Anima enim est primum quo nutrimur, et sentimus, et movemur secundum locum, et similiter quo primo intelligimus. Hoc ergo principium quo primo intelligimus, sive dicatur intellectus, sive anima intellectiva, est forma corporis. Et haec est demonstratio Aristotelis in 2 de Anima, text. 24.' Aquinas goes on to show that any other relation as of part to whole, or mover to thing moved, is unthinkable, _Summa_ I. lxxvi. i. Elizabeth Drury in like manner was the form of the world, that in virtue of which it lived and functioned.
PAGE =254=, l. 92. _Division_: a series of notes forming one melodic sequence:
and streightway she Carves out her dainty voice as readily, Into a thousand sweet distinguish'd Tones, And reckons up in soft divisions Quicke volumes of wild Notes. Crashaw, _Musicks Duell_.
l. 102. _Satans Sergeants_, i.e. bailiffs, watching to arrest for debt. Compare:
as this fell Sergeant, Death, Is strict in his arrest. Shakespeare, _Hamlet_, V.
l. 120. _but a Saint Lucies night._ Compare p. 44. 'Saint Lucies night' is the longest in the year, yet it too passes, is only a night. Death is a long sleep, yet a sleep from which we shall awaken. So the Psalmist compares life to 'a watch in the night', which _seems_ so long and _is_ so short.
ll. 123-6. _Shee whose Complexion, &c._: i.e. 'in whose temperaments the humours were in such perfect equilibrium that no one could overgrow the others and bring dissolution':
What ever dyes, was not mixt equally. _The good-morrow._
And see the note to p. 182, ll. 59-62.
PAGE =255=, l. 127. _Mithridate_: a universal antidote or preservative against poison and infectious diseases, made by the compounding together of many ingredients. It was also known as 'Theriaca' and 'triacle': 'As it is truly and properly said, that there are more ingredients, more simples, more means of restoring in our dram of triacle or mithridate then in an ounce of any particular syrup, in which there may be 3 or 4, in the other perchance, so many hundred.' _Sermons_ 26. 20. 286-7. Vipers were added to the other ingredients by Andromachus, physician to the Emperor Nero, whence the name 'theriaca' or 'triacle': 'Can an apothecary make a sovereign triacle of Vipers and other poysons, and cannot God admit offences and scandalls into his physick.' _Sermons_ 50. 17. 143. See _To S^r Henry Wotton_, p. 180, l. 18 and note.
ll. 143-6. Compare p. 269, ll. 71-6.
l. 152. _Heaven was content, &c._ 'And from the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force.' Matthew xi. 12.
l. 158. _wast made but in a sinke._ Compare: 'Formatus est homo ... de spurcissimo spermate.' Pope Innocent, _De Contemptu Mundi_; and
With Goddes owene finger wroght was he, And nat begeten of mannes sperme unclene. Chaucer, _Monkes Tale_.
PAGE =256=, ll. 159-62. _Thinke that ... first of growth._ According to Aquinas, who follows Aristotle, the souls of growth, of sense, and of intelligence are not in man distinct and (as Plato had suggested) diversely located in the liver, heart, and brain, but are merged in one: 'Sic igitur anima intellectiva continet in sua virtute quidquid habet anima sensitiva brutorum et nutritiva plantarum,' _Summa_ I. lxxvi. 3. He cites Aristotle, _De Anima_, ii. 30-1.
l. 190. _Meteors._ See note to _The Storme_, l. 13. A meteor was regarded as due to the effect of the air's cold region on exhalations from the earth:
If th'Exhalation hot and oily prove, And yet (as feeble) giveth place above To th'Airy Regions ever-lasting Frost, Incessantly th'apt-tinding fume is tost Till it inflame: then like a Squib it falls, Or fire-wing'd shaft, or sulphry Powder-Balls. But if this kind of Exhalation tour Above the walls of Winters icy bowr 'T-inflameth also; and anon becomes A new strange Star, presaging wofull dooms. Sylvester's _Du Bartas. Second Day of the First Weeke._
i.e. a Meteor below the middle region, it becomes a Comet above.
l. 189 to PAGE =257=, l. 206. Donne summarizes in these lines the old concentric arrangement of the Universe as we find it in Dante. Leaving the elements of earth and water the soul passes through the regions of the air (including the central one where snow and hail and meteors are generated), and through the element of fire to the Moon, thence to Mercury, the Sun, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and the Firmament of the fixed stars. He has already indicated (p. 237, ll. 205 f.) how this arrangement is being disturbed by 'the New Philosophy'.
l. 192. _Whether th'ayres middle region be intense._ Compare:
th'ayres middle marble roome. _The Storme_, p. 175, l. 14.
PAGE =257=, ll. 219-20. _This must, my Soule, &c._ This is the punctuation of _1612-25_: _1633_ and all the later editions change as in the note. Chambers and Grolier follow suit. It is clearly a corruption. The 'long-short Progresse' is the passage to heaven which has been described. A new thought begins with 'T'advance these thoughts'. Grosart puts a colon after (l. 219) 'bee', but as he also places a semicolon after (l. 220) 'T'advance these thoughts' it is not quite clear how he reads the lines. The mistake seems to have arisen from forgetting that the 'she' whose progress has been described is not Elizabeth Drury but the poet's own soul emancipated by death.
PAGE =258=, ll. 236-40. _The Tutelar Angels, &c._ 'And it is as imperfect which is taught by that religion which is most accommodate to sense ... That all mankinde hath one protecting Angel; all Christians one other, all English one other, all of one Corporation and every civill coagulation of society one other; and every man one other.' _Letters_, p. 43. Aquinas insists (_Summa_ I. cxiii) on the assignment of a guardian angel to every individual. He mentions also, following St. Gregory, the guardian angel assigned to the Kingdom of the Persians (Dan. x. 13).
l. 242. _Her body was the Electrum._ 'The ancient Electrum', Bacon says, 'had in it a fifth of silver to the Gold.' Her body, then, is not pure gold, but an alloy in which are many degrees of gold. In Paracelsus' works, Electrum is the middle substance between ore and metal, neither wholly perfect nor altogether imperfect. It is on the way to perfection. _The Hermetic and Alchemical Writings of ... Paracelsus_, Arthur E. Waite, 1894. 'Christ is not that Spectrum that _Damascene_ speaks of, nor that Electrum that _Tertullian_ speakes of ... a third metall made of two other metals.' Donne, _Sermons_ 80. 40. 397.
PAGE =259=, l. 270. _breake._ Here--as at p. 260, l. 326, 'choose'--I have reverted to the spelling of _1612_.
l. 292. _by sense, and Fantasie_: i.e. by sense and the phantasmata which are conveyed by the senses to the intellect to work upon. See Aristotle, _De Anima_, iii. and Aquinas, _Summa_ I. lxxxv. i. Angels obtain their knowledge of material things through immaterial, i.e. through Ideas. Their knowledge is immediate, not as ours mediate, by sense and ratiocination, 'collections'.
PAGE =261=, l. 342. _Joy in not being that, which men have said_ 'Joy in not being "sine labe concepta", for then she would have had no virtue in being good.' Norton. Her own goodness has gained for her a higher exaltation than the adventitious honour of being the Mother of God.
ll. 343-4. _Where she is exalted more for being good, Then for her interest of Mother-hood._
'Scriptum est in Evangelio, quod mater et fratres Christi, hoc est consanguinei carnis eius, cum illi nuntiati fuissent, et foris exspectarent, quia non possent eum adire prae turba, ille respondit: _Quae est mater mea, aut qui sunt fratres mei? Et extendens manum super discipulos suos, ait: Hi sunt fratres mei; et quicumque fecerit voluntatem Patris mei, ipse mihi frater, et mater, et soror est_ (Matt. xii. 46-50). Quid aliud nos docens, nisi carnali cognationi genus nostrum spirituale praeponere; nec inde beatos esse homines, si iustis et sanctis carnis propinquitate iunguntur, sed si eorum doctrinae ac moribus obediendo atque imitando cohaerescunt? _Beatior ergo Maria percipiendo fidem Christi, quam concipiendo carnem Christi._ Nam et dicenti cuidam, _Beatus venter qui te portavit_; ipse respondit, _Imo beati qui audiunt verbum Dei, et custodiunt_' (Luc. xi. 27, 28), Augustini _De Sancta Virginitate_, I. 3. (Migne, 40. 397-8.) If a Protestant in the previous two lines, Donne is here as sound a Catholic as St. Augustine.
l. 354. _joyntenants with the Holy Ghost._ 'We acknowledge the Church to be the house _onely_ of God, and that we admit no Saint, no Martyr, to be a _Iointenant_ with him.' _Sermons_ 50. 21. 86.
l. 360. _royalties_: i.e. the prerogatives, rights, or privileges pertaining to the sovereign. Donne here enumerates them as the power to make war and conclude peace, uncontrolled authority ('the King can do no wrong'), the administration of justice, the dispensing of pardon, coining money, and the granting of protection against legal arrest.
PAGE =262=, l. 369. _impressions._ The plural of the first edition must, I think, be accepted. Her stamp is set upon each of our acts as the impression of the King's head on a coin: 'Ignoraunce maketh him unmeete metall for the impressions of vertue.' Fleming, _Panopl. Epist._ 372 (O.E.D.).
Your love and pitty doth th'impression fill, Which vulgar scandall stampt upon my brow. Shakespeare, _Sonnets_ cxii.
ll. 397-9. _So flowes her face, and thine eyes, neither now That Saint, nor Pilgrime, which your loving vow Concern'd, remaines ..._
I have kept the comma after 'eyes' of _1621_ (_1612_ seems to have no stop) rather than change it with later and modern editions to a semicolon, because I take it that the clauses are _not_ co-ordinate; the second is a subordinate clause of degree after 'so'. 'Her face and thine eyes so flow that now neither that Saint nor that Pilgrim which your loving vow concern'd remains--neither you nor the lady you adore remain the same.' The lady is the Saint, the lover the Pilgrim, as in _Romeo and Juliet_:
_Rom._ If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this, My lips two blushing pilgrims ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
_Jul._ Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers kiss.
Punctuated as the sentence is in modern editions 'so' must mean 'in like manner', referring back to the statement about the river.
PAGE =263=, l. 421. _this Center_, is the reading of the first edition and is doubtless correct, the 't' having been dropped accidentally in _1621_ and so in all subsequent editions. 'This Center' is 'this Earth.' The Earth could neither support such a tower nor provide material with which to build it. Compare:
The Heavens themselves, the Planets, and this Center, Observe degree, priority, and place. Shakespeare, _Troil. and Cress._ I. iii. 85.
As far remov'd from God and light of Heav'n As from the Center thrice to th' utmost Pole. Milton, _Par. Lost_, i. 74.
PAGE =264=, l. 442. _For it is both the object and the wit._ God, the Idea of Good, is the source of both being and knowing--the ultimate object of knowledge and the source of the knowledge by which Himself is known.
ll. 445-6. _'Tis such a full, and such a filling good; Had th' Angels once look'd on him they had stood._
After discussion Aquinas concludes (I. lxiii. 5) that the devil was not evil through fault of his own will in the first instant of his creation, because this would make God the cause of evil: 'Illa operatio quae simul incipit cum esse rei est ei ab agente a quo habet esse ... Agens autem quod Angelos in esse produxit, scilicet Deus, non potest esse causa peccati.' He then considers whether there was any delay between his creation and his fall, and concludes that the most probable conclusion and most consonant with the words of the Saints is that there was none, otherwise by his first good act he would have acquired the merit whose reward is the happiness which comes from the sight of God and is enduring: 'Si diabolus in primo instanti, in gratiâ creatus, meruit, statim post primum instans _beatitudinem_ accepisset, nisi statim impedimentum praestitisset peccando.' This 'beatitudo' is the sight of God: 'Angeli beati sunt per hoc quod Verbum vident.' And endurance is of the essence of this blessedness: 'Sed contra de ratione beatitudinis est stabilitas, sive confirmatio in bono.' Thus, as Donne says, 'Had th' Angells,' &c. _Summa_ lxii. 1, 5; lxiii. 6.
PAGE =265=, l. 479. _Apostem_: i.e. Imposthume, deep-seated abscess.
PAGE =266=, l. 509. _Long'd for, and longing for it, &c._ So Dante of Beatrice:
Angelo chiama in divino intelletto, E dice: 'Sire, nel mondo si vede Meraviglia nell' atto, che procede Da un' anima, che fin quassù risplende. Lo cielo, che non have altro difetto Che d'aver lei, al suo Signor la chiede, E ciascun santo ne grida mercede.'
An Angel, of his blessed knowledge, saith To God: 'Lord, in the world that Thou hast made, A miracle in action is display'd By reason of a soul whose splendors fare Even hither: and since Heaven requireth Nought saving her, for her it prayeth Thee, Thy Saints crying aloud continually.'
and again:
Madonna è desiata in l'alto cielo.
My lady is desired in the high Heaven.
Donne, one thinks, must have read the _Vita Nuova_ as well as the _Divina Commedia_. It is possible that in the eulogy of Elizabeth Drury he is following its transcendental manner without fully appreciating the transfiguration through which Beatrice passed in Dante's mind.
ll. 511-18. _Here in a place, &c._ These lines show that _The Second Anniversary_ was written while Donne was in France with Sir Robert and Lady Drury. Compare _A Letter to the Lady Carey, &c._, p. 221:
Here where by All All Saints invoked are, &c.
EPICEDES AND OBSEQUIES, &c.
Of all Donne's poems these are the most easy to date, at least approximately. The following are the dates of the deaths which called forth the poems, arranged in chronological order:
Lady Markham (p. 279), May 4, 1609. Mris Boulstred (pp. 282, 284), Aug. 4, 1609. Prince Henry (p. 267), Nov. 6, 1612. Lord Harington (p. 271), Feb. 27, 1614. Marquis Hamilton (p. 288), March 22, 1625.
Those about whose date and subject there is uncertainty are that entitled in 1635 _Elegie on the L. C._ and that headed _Death_. If with Chambers and Norton we assume that the former poem is an Elegy on the death of the Lord Chancellor, Baron Ellesmere, it will have been written in 1617. The conjecture is a natural one and may be correct, but there are difficulties, (1) This title is affixed to _Elegie_ in _1635_ for the first time. The poem bears no such heading in _1633_ or in any MS. in which I have found it. Probably 'L. C.' stands for Lord Chancellor (though this is not certain); but on what authority was the poem given this reference? (2) The position which it occupies in _1633_ is due to its position in the MS. from which it was printed. Now in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, and in _W_, it is included among the _Elegies_, i.e. Love Elegies. But in the last of these, _W_, it appears with a collection of poems (Satyres, Elegies, the Lincoln's Inn Epithalamium, and a series of letters to Donne's early friends) which has the appearance of being, or being derived from, an early collection, a collection of poems written between 1597 and 1608 to 1610 at the latest. (3) The poem is contained, but again without any title, in _HN_, the Hawthornden MS. in Edinburgh. Now we know that Drummond was in London in 1610, and there is no poem, of those which he transcribed from a collection of Donne's, that is demonstrably later than 1609, though the two _Obsequies_, 'Death, I recant' and 'Language, thou art too narrowe and too weak', must have been written in that year. Drummond _may_ have been in London at some time between 1625 and 1630, during which years his movements are undetermined (David Masson: _Drummond of Hawthornden_, ch. viii), but if he had made a collection of Donne's poems at this later date it would have been more complete, and would certainly have contained some of the religious poems. At a later date he seems to have been given a copy of the _Hymn to the Saints and to Marquesse Hamylton_, for a MS. of this poem is catalogued among the books presented to the Edinburgh University Library by Drummond. Unfortunately it has disappeared or was never actually handed over. Most probably, Drummond's small collection of poems by Donne, Pembroke, Roe, Hoskins, Rudyerd, and other 'wits' of King James's reign, now in the library of the Society of Antiquaries, was made in 1610.
All this points to the _Elegie_ in question being older than 1617. It is very unlikely that a poem on the death of his great early patron would have been allowed by him to circulate without anything to indicate in whose honour it was written. Egerton was as great a man as Lord Harington or Marquis Hamilton, and if hope of reward from the living was the efficient cause of these poems quite as much as sorrow for the dead, Lord Ellesmere too left distinguished and wealthy successors. Yet the MS. of Donne's poems which belonged to the first Earl of Bridgewater contains this poem without any indication to whom it was addressed.
In 1610 Donne sent to the Lord Chancellor a copy of his _Pseudo-Martyr_, and the following hitherto unpublished letter shows in what high esteem he held him:
'As Ryvers though in there Course they are content to serve publique uses, yett there end is to returne into the Sea from whence they issued. So, though I should have much Comfort that thys Booke might give contentment to others, yet my Direct end in ytt was, to make it a testimony of my gratitude towards your Lordship and an acknowledgement that those poore sparks of Vnderstandinge or Judgement which are in mee were derived and kindled from you and owe themselves to you. All good that ys in ytt, your Lordship may be pleased to accept as yours; and for the Errors I cannot despayre of your pardon since you have long since pardond greater faults in mee.'
If Donne had written an _Elegie_ on the death of Lord Ellesmere it would have been as formally dedicated to his memory as his Elegies to Lord Harington and Lord Hamilton. But by 1617 he was in orders. His Muse had in the long poem on Lord Harington, brother to the Countess of Bedford, 'spoke, and spoke her last'. It was only at the express instance of Sir Robert Carr that he composed in 1625 his lines on the death of the Marquis of Hamilton, and he entitled it not an Elegy but _A Hymn to the Saints and to Marquesse Hamylton_.
It seems to me probable that the _Elegie_, 'Sorrow, who to this house', was an early and tentative experiment in this kind of poetry, on the death of some one, we cannot now say whom, perhaps the father of the Woodwards or some other of his earlier correspondents and friends.
The _Elegie_ headed _Death_ is also printed in a somewhat puzzling fashion. In _1633_ it follows the lyrics abruptly with the bald title _Elegie_. It is not in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, nor was it in the MS. resembling this which _1633_ used for the bulk of the poems. In _HN_ also it bears no title indicating the subject of the poem. The other MSS. all describe it as an _Elegie upon the death of M^{ris} Boulstred_, and from _1633_ and several MSS. it appears that it was sent to the Countess of Bedford with the verse _Letter_ (p. 227), 'You that are shee and you, that's double shee'. It is possible that the MSS. are in error and that the dead friend is not Miss Bulstrode but Lady Markham, for the closing line of the letter compares her to Judith:
Yet but of _Judith_ no such book as she.
But Judith was, like Lady Markham, a widow. The tone of the poem too supports this conclusion. The Elegy on Miss Bulstrode lays stress on her youth, her premature death. In this and the other Elegy (whose title assigns it to Lady Markham) the stress is laid on the saintliness and asceticism of life becoming a widow.
PAGE =267=. ELEGIE UPON ... PRINCE HENRY.
The death of Prince Henry (1594-1612) evoked more elegiac poetry Latin and English than the death of any single man has probably ever done. See Nichols's _Progresses of James I_, pp. 504-12. He was the hope of that party, the great majority of the nation, which would fain have taken a more active part in the defence of the Protestant cause in Europe than James was willing to venture upon. Donne's own _Elegie_ appeared in a collection edited by Sylvester: '_Lachrymae Lachrymarum, or The Spirit of Teares distilled from the untimely Death of the Incomparable Prince Panaretus_. By Joshua Sylvester. The Third Edition, with Additions of His Owne and Elegies. 1613. Printed by Humphrey Lownes.' Sylvester's own poem is followed by poems in Latin, Italian, and English by Joseph Hall and others, and then by a separate title-page: _Sundry Funerall Elegies ... Composed by severall Authors_. The authors are G. G. (probably George Gerrard), Sir P. O., Mr. Holland, Mr. Donne, Sir William Cornwallis, Sir Edward Herbert, Sir Henry Goodyere, and Henry Burton. Jonson told Drummond 'That Done said to him, he wrott that Epitaph on Prince Henry _Look to me, Faith_ to match Sir Ed: Herbert in obscurenesse' (Drummond's _Conversations_, ed. Laing). Donne's elegy was printed with some carelessness in the _Lachrymae Lachrymarum_. The editor of _1633_ has improved the punctuation in places.
The obscurity of the poem is not so obvious as its tasteless extravagance: 'The death of Prince Henry has shaken in me both Faith and Reason, concentric circles or nearly so (l. 18), for Faith does not contradict Reason but transcend it.' See _Sermons_ 50. 36. 'Our Faith is shaken because, contemplating his greatnesse and its influence on other nations, we believed that with him was to begin the age of peace:
Ultima Cumaei venit iam carminis aetas, Magnus ab integro saeclorum nascitur ordo.
But by his death this faith becomes heresy. Reason is shaken because reason passes from cause to effect. Miracle interrupts this progress, and the loss of him is such a miracle as brings all our argument to a standstill. We can predict nothing with confidence.' In his over-subtle, extravagant way Donne describes the shattering of men's hopes and expectations.
At the end he turns to her whom the Prince loved,
The she-Intelligence which mov'd this sphere.
Could he but tell who she was he would be as blissful in singing her praises as they were in one another's love.
A short epitaph on Prince Henry by Henry King (1592-1669), the friend and disciple of Donne, bears marks of being inspired by this poem. It is indeed ascribed to 'J. D.' in _Le Prince d'Amour_ (1660), but is contained in King's _Poems, Elegies, Paradoxes and Sonnets_ (1657).
PAGE =269=, ll. 71-6. These lines are printed as follows in the _Lachrymae Lachrymarum_:
If faith have such a chaine, whose diverse links Industrious man discerneth, as hee thinks When Miracle doth joine; and to steal-in A new link Man knowes not where to begin: At a much deader fault must reason bee, Death having broke-off such a linke as hee.
But compare _The Second Anniversary_, p. 255, ll. 143-6.
PAGE =271=. OBSEQUIES TO THE LORD HARRINGTON, &c.
The MS. from which _1633_ printed this poem probably had the title as above. It stands so in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_. By a pure accident it was changed to _Obsequies to the Lord Harringtons brother. To the Countesse of Bedford._ There was no Lord Harington after the death of the subject of this poem.
John Harington, the first Baron of Exton and cousin of Sir John Harington the translator of the _Orlando Furioso_, died at Worms in 1613, when returning from escorting the Princess Elizabeth to her new home at Heidelberg. His children were John, who succeeded him as Second Baron of Exton, and Lucy, who had become Countess of Bedford in 1594. The young Baron had been an intimate friend of Prince Henry. In 1609 he visited Venice and was presented to the Doge as likely to be a power in England when Henry should succeed. 'He is learned', said Wotton, 'in philosophy, has Latin and Greek to perfection, is handsome, well-made as any man could be, at least among us.' His fate was as sudden and tragic as that of his patron. Travelling in France and Italy in 1613 he grew ill, it was believed he had been poisoned by accident or design, and died at his sister's house at Twickenham on the 27th of February, 1614.
There is not much in Donne's ingenious, tasteless poem which evinces affection for Harington or sorrow for his tragic end, nor is there anything of the magnificent poetry, 'ringing and echoing with music,' which in _Lycidas_ makes us forgetful of the personality of King. Donne's poem was written to please Lady Bedford:
And they who write to Lords rewards to get, Are they not like singers at dores for meat?
Apparently it served its purpose, for in a letter written a year or two later Donne says to Goodyere: 'I am almost sorry, that an Elegy should have been able to move her to so much compassion heretofore, as to offer to pay my debts; and my greater wants now, and for so good a purpose, as to come disingaged into that profession, being plainly laid open to her, should work no farther but that she sent me £30,' &c. _Letters, &c._, p. 219.
Of Harington, Wiffen, in his _Historical Memoirs of the House of Russell_, says: 'Whilst he devoted much of his time to literary study he is reported to have uniformly begun and closed the day with prayer ... and to have been among the first who kept a diary wherein his casual faults and errors were recorded, for his surer advancement in happiness and virtue.' Wiffen's authority is probably _The Churches Lamentation for the losse of the Godly Delivered in a Sermon at the funerals of that truly noble, and most hopefull young Gentleman Iohn Lord Harington, Baron of Exton, Knight of the noble order of the Bath etc. by R. Stock_. 1614. To this verses Latin and English by I. P., F. H. D. M., and Sir Thomas Roe are appended. The preacher gives details of Harington's religious life. The D. N. B. speaks of two memorial sermons. This is a mistake.
l. 15. _Thou seest me here at midnight, now all rest;_ Chambers by placing a semicolon after 'midnight' makes 'now all rest' an independent, rhetorical statement:
Thou seest me here at midnight; now all rest;
The Grolier Club editor varies it:
Thou seest me here at midnight now, all rest;
But surely as punctuated in the old editions the line means 'at midnight, now when all rest', 'the time when all rest'. 'I watch, while others sleep.'
Donne's description of his midnight watch recalls that of Herr Teufelsdroeckh: 'Gay mansions, with supper rooms and dancing rooms are full of light and music and high-swelling hearts, but in the Condemned Cells the pulse of life beats tremulous and faint, and bloodshot eyes look out through the darkness which is around and within, for the light of a stern last morning,' &c. _Sartor Resartus_, i. 3.
PAGE =272=, l. 38. _Things, in proportion fit, by perspective._ It is by an accident, I imagine, that _1633_ drops the comma after 'fit', and I have restored it. The later punctuation, which Chambers adopts, is puzzling if not misleading:
Things, in proportion, fit by perspective.
It is with 'proportion' that 'fit' goes. Deeds of good men show us by perspective things in a proportion fitted to our comprehension. They bring the goodness or essence of things, which is seen aright only in God, down to our level. The divine is most clearly revealed to _us_ in the human.
PAGE =274=, l. 102. _Sent hither, this worlds tempests to becalme._ I have adopted the reading to which the MSS. point in preference to that of the editions. Both the chief groups read 'tempests', and 'this' (for 'the') has still more general support. Now if the 's' in 'tempests' were once dropped, 'this' would be changed to 'the', the emphasis shifting from 'this' to 'world'. I think the sense is better. If but one tempest is contemplated, then either so many 'lumps of balm' are not needed, or they fail sadly in their mission. They come rather to allay the storms with which human life is ever and again tormented. Moreover, in Donne's cosmology 'this world' is frequently contrasted with other and better worlds. Compare _An Anatomie of the World_, pp. 225 et seq.
l. 110. _Which the whole world, or man the abridgment hath._ The comma after 'man' in _1633_ gives emphasis. The absence of a comma, however, after 'abridgment' gives a reader to-day the impression that it is object to 'hath'. I have, therefore, with _1635-69_, dropped the comma after 'man'. The omission of commas in appositional phrases is frequent. 'Man the abridgment' means of course 'Man the microcosm': 'the Macrocosme and Microcosme, the Great and the Lesser World, man extended in the world, and the world contracted and abridged into man.' _Sermons_ 80. 31. 304.
ll. 111-30. _Thou knowst, &c._ The circles running parallel to the equator are all equally circular, but diminish in size as they approach the poles. But the circles which cut these at right angles, and along which we measure the distance of any spot from the equator, from the sun, are all of equal magnitude, passing round the earth through the poles, i.e. meridians are great circles, their planes passing through the centre of the earth.
Harington's life would have been a Great Circle had it completed its course, passing through the poles of youth and age. In that case we should have had from him lessons for every phase of life, medicines to cure every moral malady.
In _The Crosse_ Donne writes:
All the Globes frame and spheares, is nothing else But the Meridians crossing Parallels.
And in the _Anatomie of the World_, p. 239, ll. 278-80:
For of Meridians, and Parallels, Man hath weav'd out a net, and this net throwne Upon the Heavens, and now they are his owne.
PAGE =275=, l. 133. _Whose hand, &c._ The singular is the reading of all the MSS., and is pretty certainly right. The minute and second hands were comparatively rare at the beginning of the seventeenth century. See the illustrations in F. J. Britten's _Old Clocks and Watches and their Makers, &c._ (1904); and compare: 'But yet, as he that makes a Clock, bestowes all that labour upon the severall wheeles, that thereby the Bell might give a sound, and that thereby the hand might give knowledge to others how the time passes,' &c. _Sermons_ 80. 55. 550.
PAGE =276=, l. 154. _And great Sun-dyall to have set us All._ Compare:
The lives of princes should like dyals move, Whose regular example is so strong, They make the times by them go right or wrong. Webster, _White Devil_, I. ii. 313.
PAGE =279=, l. 250. _French soldurii._ The reading of the editions is a misprint. The correct form is given in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, and is used by Donne elsewhere: 'And we may well collect that in Caesars time, in France, for one who dyed naturally, there dyed many by this devout violence. For hee says there were some, whom hee calls _Devotos_, and _Clientes_ (the latter Lawes call them _Soldurios_) which enjoying many benefits, and commodities, from men of higher ranke, alwaies when the Lord dyed, celebrated his Funerall with their owne. And Caesar adds, that in the memorie of man, no one was found that ever refused it.' _Biathanatos_, Part I, Dist. 2, Sect. 3. The marginal note calls them 'Soldurii', and refers to Caes., _Bell. Gall._ 3, and _Tholosa. Sym._ lib. 14, cap. 10, N. 14.
PAGE =279=. ELEGIE ON THE LADY MARCKHAM.
The wife of Sir Anthony Markham, of Sedgebrook in the county of Notts. She was the daughter of Sir James Harington, younger brother of John, first Baron Harington of Exton. See note to last poem. She was thus first cousin to Lucy, Countess of Bedford, and died at her home at Twickenham on May 4, 1609. On her tombstone it is recorded that she was 'inclytae Luciae Comitissae de Bedford sanguine (quod satis) sed et amicitia propinquissima'. It is probably to this friendship of a great patroness of poets that she owes this and other tributes of verse. Francis Beaumont wrote one which is found in several MS. collections of Donne's poems, sometimes with his, sometimes with Beaumont's initials. In it he frankly confesses that he never knew Lady Markham. I quote a few lines:
As unthrifts grieve in strawe for their pawnd Beds, As women weepe for their lost Maidenheads (When both are without hope of Remedie) Such an untimelie Griefe, have I for thee. I never sawe thy face; nor did my hart Urge forth mine eyes unto it whilst thou wert, But being lifted hence, that which to thee Was Deaths sad dart, prov'd Cupids shafte to me.
The taste of Beaumont's poem is execrable. Elegies like this, and I fear Donne's among them, were frankly addressed not so much to the memory of the dead as to the pocket of the living.
According to two MSS.(_RP31_ and _H40_) the _Elegie_, 'Death be not proud', was written by Lady Bedford herself on the death of her cousin. It is much simpler and sincerer in tone than Donne's or Beaumont's, but the tenor of the thought seems to connect it with the _Elegie on M^{ris} Boulstred_, 'Death I recant'. The same MSS. contain the following _Epitaph uppon the Ladye Markham_, which shows that she was a widow when she died:
A Mayde, a Wyfe shee liv'd, a Widdowe dy'd: Her vertue, through all womans state was varyed. The widdowes Bodye which this vayle doth hide Keepes in, expecting to bee justlie [highly _H40_] marryed, When that great Bridegroome from the cloudes shall call And ioyne, earth to his owne, himself to all.
l. 7. _Then our land waters, &c._ 'That hand which was wont _to wipe all teares from all our eyes_, doth now but presse and squeaze us as so many spunges, filled one with one, another with another cause of teares. Teares that can have no other banke to bound them, but the declared and manifested _will of God_: For, till our teares flow to that heighth, that they might be called a _murmuring_ against the declared will of God, it is against our Allegiance, it is _Disloyaltie_, to give our teares any stop, any termination, any measure.' _Sermons_ 50. 33. 303: _On the Death of King James_.
PAGE =280=, l. 11. _And even these teares, &c._: i.e. the
Teares which our Soule doth for her sins let fall,
which are the waters _above_ our firmament as opposed to the _land_ or _earthly_ waters which are the tears of passion. The 'these' of the MSS. seems necessary for clearness of references: 'For, _Lacrymae sunt sudor animae maerentis_, Teares are the sweat of a labouring soule, ... Raine water is better then River water; The water of Heaven, teares for offending thy God, are better then teares for worldly losses; But yet come to teares of any kinde, and whatsoever occasion thy teares, _Deus absterget omnem lacrymam_, there is the largeness of his bounty, _He will wipe all teares from thine eyes_; But thou must have teares first: first thou must come to this weeping, or else God cannot come to this wiping; God hath not that errand to thee, to wipe teares from thine eyes, if there be none there; If thou doe nothing for thy selfe, God finds nothing to doe for thee.' _Sermons_ 80. 54. 539-40.
The waters above the firmament were a subject of considerable difficulty to mediaeval philosophy--so difficult indeed that St. Augustine has to strengthen himself against sceptical objections by reaffirming the authority of Scripture: _Maior est Scripturae huius auctoritas quam omnis humani ingenii capacitas. Unde quoquo modo et qualeslibet aquae ibi sint, eas tamen ibi esse, minime dubitamus._ Aquinas, who quotes these words from Augustine, comes to two main conclusions, himself leaning to the last. If by the firmament be meant either the firmament of fixed stars, or the ninth sphere, the _primum mobile_, then, since heavenly bodies are not made of the elements of which earthly things are made (being incorruptible, and unchangeable except in position), the waters above the firmament are not of the same _kind_ as those on earth (_non sunt eiusdem speciei cum inferioribus_). If, however, by the firmament be meant only the upper part of the air where clouds are condensed, called firmament because of the thickness of the air in that part, then the waters above the firmament are simply the vaporized waters of which rain is formed (_aquae quae vaporabiliter resolutae supra aliquam partem aeris elevantur, ex quibus pluviae generantur_). _Above_ the firmament waters are generated, _below_ they rest. _Summa_ I. 68.
If I follow him, Donne to some extent blends or confounds these views. Tears shed for our sins differ in _kind_ from tears shed for worldly losses, as the waters above from those below. But the extract from the sermon identifies the waters above the firmament with rain-water. 'Rain water is better than River-water.' It is purer; but it does _not_ differ from it in kind.
l. 12. _Wee, after Gods Noe, drowne our world againe._ I think the 'our' of the majority of the MSS. must be correct. From the spelling and punctuation both, it is clear that the source from which _1633_ printed closely resembled _D_, _H49_, _Lec_, which read 'our'. The change to 'the' was made in the spirit which prompted the grosser error of certain MSS. which read 'Noah'. Donne has in view the 'microcosm' rather than the 'macrocosm'. There is, of course, an allusion to the Flood and the promise, but the immediate reference is to Christ and the soul. 'After Christ's work of redemption and his resurrection, which forbid despair, we yet yield to the passion of sorrow.' We drown not _the_ world but _our_ world, the world within us, or which each one of us is. This sense is brought out more clearly in _Cy_'s version, which is a paraphrase rather than a version:
Wee after Gods mercy drowne our Soules againe.
l. 22. _Porcelane, where they buried Clay._ 'We are not thoroughly resolved concerning _Porcelane_ or _China_ dishes, that according to common belief they are made of Earth, which lieth in preparation about an hundred years under ground; for the relations thereof are not only divers, but contrary, and Authors agree not herein.' Browne, _Vulgar Errors_, ii. 5. Browne quotes some of the older opinions and then points out that a true account of the manufacture of porcelain had been furnished by Gonzales de Mendoza, Linschoten, and Alvarez the Jesuit, and that it was confirmed by the Dutch Embassy of 1665. The old physical theories were retained for literary purposes long after they had been exploded.
l. 29. _They say, the sea, when it gaines, loseth too._ 'But we passe from the circumstance of the time, to a second, that though Christ thus despised by the _Gergesens_, did, in his Justice, depart from them; yet, as the sea gaines in one place, what it loses in another, his abundant mercy builds up more in _Capernaum_, then his Justice throwes downe among the _Gergesens_: Because they drave him away, in Judgement he went from them, but in Mercy he went to the others, who had not intreated him to come.' _Sermons_ 80. 11. 103.
'They flatly say that he eateth into others dominions, as the sea doth into the land, not knowing that in swallowing a poore Iland as big as Lesbos he may cast up three territories thrice as big as Phrygia: for what the sea winneth in the marshe, it looseth in the sand.' Lyly, _Midas_ v. 2. 17.
Compare also Burton's _Anatomy of Melancholy_, Part 2, Sect 2, Mem. 3.
Pope has borrowed the conceit from Donne in _An Essay on Criticism_, ll. 54-9:
As on the land while here the ocean gains, In other parts it leaves wide sandy plains; Thus in the soul while memory prevails, The solid power of understanding fails; Where beams of warm imagination play, The memory's soft figures melt away.
l. 34. _For, graves our trophies are, and both deaths dust._ The modern printing of this as given in the Grolier Club edition makes this line clearer--'both Deaths' dust.' 'Graves are our trophies, their dust is not our dust but the dust of the elder and the younger death, i.e. sin and the physical or carnal death which sin brought in its train.' Chambers's 'death's dust' means, I suppose, the same thing, but one can hardly speak of 'both death'.
PAGE =281=, ll. 57-8. _this forward heresie, That women can no parts of friendship bee._
Montaigne refers to the same heresy in speaking of 'Marie de Gournay le Jars, ma fille d'alliance, et certes aymée de moy beaucoup plus que paternellement, et enveloppée en ma retraitte et solitude comme l'une des meilleures parties de mon propre estre. Je ne regarde plus qu'elle au monde. Si l'adolescence peut donner presage, cette ame sera quelque jour capable des plus belles choses et entre autres de la perfection de _cette tressaincte amitié ou nous ne lisons point que son sexe ait pu monter encores_: la sincerité et la solidité de ses moeurs y sont desja bastantes.' _Essais_ (1590), ii. 17.
PAGE =282=. ELEGIE ON M^{ris} BOULSTRED.
Cecilia Boulstred, or Bulstrode, was the daughter of Hedgerley Bulstrode, of Bucks. She was baptized at Beaconsfield, February 12, 1583/4, and died at the house of her kinswoman, Lady Bedford, at Twickenham, on August 4, 1609. So Mr. Chambers, from Sir James Whitelocke's _Liber Famelicus_ (Camden Society). He quotes also from the Twickenham Registers: 'M^{ris} Boulstred out of the parke, was buried ye 6th of August, 1609.' In a letter to Goodyere Donne speaks of her illness: 'but (by my troth) I fear earnestly that Mistresse Bolstrod will not escape that sicknesse in which she labours at this time. I sent this morning to aske of her passage this night, and the return is, that she is as I left her yesternight, and then by the strength of her understanding, and voyce, (proportionally to her fashion, which was ever remisse) by the eavenesse and life of her pulse, and by her temper, I could allow her long life, and impute all her sicknesse to her minde. But the History of her sicknesse makes me justly fear, that she will scarce last so long, as that you, when you receive this letter, may do her any good office in praying for her.' Poor Miss Bulstrode, whose
voice was Gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman,
has not lived to fame in an altogether happy fashion, as the subject of some tortured and tasteless _Epicedes_, a coarse and brutal Epigram by Jonson (_An Epigram on the Court Pucell_ in _Underwoods_,--Jonson told Drummond that the person intended was Mris Boulstred), a complimentary, not to say adulatory, _Epitaph_ from the same pen, and a dubious _Elegy_ by Sir John Roe ('Shall I goe force an Elegie,' p. 410). It was an ugly place, the Court of James I, as full of cruel libels as of gross flattery, a fit subject for Milton's scorn. The epitaph which Jonson wrote is found in more than one MS., and in some where Donne's poems are in the majority. Chambers very tentatively suggested that it might be by Donne himself, and I was inclined for a time to accept this conjecture, finding it in other MSS. besides those he mentioned, and because the sentiment of the closing lines is quite Donnean. But in the Farmer-Chetham MS. (ed. Grosart) it is signed B. J., and Mr. Percy Simpson tells me that a letter is extant from Jonson to George Gerrard which indicates that the epitaph was written by Jonson while Gerrard's man waited at the door. I quote it from _B_:
_On the death of M^{rs} Boulstred._
Stay, view this Stone, and if thou beest not such Reade here a little, that thou mayest know much. It covers first a Virgin, and then one That durst be so in Court; a Virtue alone To fill an Epitaph; but shee hath more: Shee might have claym'd to have made the Graces foure, Taught Pallas language, Cynthia modesty; As fit to have encreas'd the harmonye Of Spheares, as light of Starres; she was Earths eye, The sole religious house and votary Not bound by rites but Conscience; wouldst thou all? She was Sil. Boulstred, in which name I call Up so much truth, as could I here pursue, Might make the fable of good Woemen true.
The name is given as 'Sal', but corrected to 'Sil' in the margin. Other MSS. have 'Sell'. It is doubtless 'Cil', a contraction for 'Cecilia'. Chambers inadvertently printed 'still'.
The language of Jonson's _Epitaph_ harmonizes ill with that of his _Epigram_. Of all titles Jonson loved best that of 'honest', but 'honest', in a man, meant with Jonson having the courage to tell people disagreeable truths, not to conceal your dislikes. He was a candid friend to the living; after death--_nil nisi bonum_.
For the relation of this _Elegie_ to that beginning 'Death, be not proud' (p. 416) see _Text and Canon, &c._, p. cxliii.
The _1633_ text of this poem is practically identical with that of _D_, _H49_, _Lec_. With these MSS. it reads in l. 27 'life' for the 'lives' of other MSS. and editions, and 'but' for 'though' in the last line. The only variant in _1633_ is 'worke' for 'workes' in l. 45. The latter reading has the support of other MSS. and is very probably what Donne wrote. Such use of a plural verb after two singular subjects of closely allied import was common. See Franz, _Shakespeare-Grammatik_, § 673, and the examples quoted there, e.g. 'Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman,' _Com. of Err_. IV. i. 46, where Rowe corrects to 'stay'; 'Both man and master is possessed,' _ibid._ IV. iv. 89.
l. 10. _Eating the best first, well preserv'd to last._ The 'fruite' or 'fruites' of _A18_, _N_, _TC_, which is as old as _P_ (1623), is probably a genuine variant. The reference is to the elaborate dainties of the second course at Elizabethan banquets, the dessert. Sleep, in Macbeth's famous speech, is
great Nature's second course,
and Donne uses the same metaphor of the Eucharist: 'This fasting then ... is but a continuation of a great feast: where the first course (that which we begin to serve in now) is Manna, food of Angels,--plentiful, frequent preaching; but the second course is the very body and blood of Christ Jesus, shed for us and given to us, in that Blessed Sacrament, of which himself makes us worthy receivers at that time.' _Sermons_. 'The most precious and costly dishes are always reserved for the last services, but yet there is wholesome meat before too.' _Ibid._
l. 18. _In birds, &c._: 'birds' is here in the possessive case, 'birds' organic throats'. I have modified the punctuation so as to make this clearer.
l. 24. _All the foure Monarchies_: i.e. Babylon, Persia, Greece, and Rome. John Sleidan, mentioned in a note on the _Satyres_, wrote _The Key of Historie: Or, A most Methodicall Abridgement of the foure chiefe Monarchies &c._, to quote its title in the English translation.
l. 27. _Our births and lives, &c._ _1633_ and the two groups of MSS. _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ and _A18_, _L74_, _N_, _TC_ read 'life'. If this be correct, then 'births' would surely need to be 'birth'. _HN_ shows, I think, what has happened. The voiced 'f' was not always distinguished from the breathed sound by a different spelling ('v' for 'f'), and 'lifes' would very easily become 'life'. On the other hand 'v' was frequently written where we now have 'f', and sometimes misleads. Peele's _The Old Wives Tale_ is not necessarily, as usually printed, _Wives'_. It is just an _Old Woman's Tale_.
PAGE =284=. ELEGIE.
PAGE =285=, l. 34. _The Ethicks speake, &c._ A rather strange expression for 'Ethics tell'. The article is rare. Donne says, 'No booke of Ethicks.' _Sermons_ 80. 55. 550. In _HN_ Drummond has altered to 'Ethnicks' a word Donne uses elsewhere: 'Of all nations the Jews have most chastely preserved that ceremony of abstaining from Ethnic names.' _Essays in Divinity._ It does not, however, seem appropriate here, unless Donne means to say that she had all the cardinal virtues of the heathen with the superhuman, theological virtues which are superinduced by grace:
Her soul was Paradise, &c.
But this is not at all clear. Apparently there is no more in the line than a somewhat vaguely expressed hyperbole: 'she had all the cardinal virtues of which we hear in Ethics'.
PAGE =286=, l. 44. _Wee'had had a Saint, have now a holiday_: i.e. 'We should have had a saint and should have now a holiday'--her anniversary. The MS. form of the line is probably correct:
We hád had á Saint, nów a hólidáy.
l. 48. _That what we turne to_ feast, _she turn'd to_ pray. As printed in the old editions this line, if it be correctly given, is one of the worst Donne ever wrote:
That what we turne to feast, she turn'd to pray,
i.e. apparently 'That, the day which we turn into a feast or festival she turned into a day of prayer, a fast'. But 'she turn'd to pray' in such a sense is a hideously elliptical construction and cannot, I think, be what Donne meant to write. Two emendations suggest themselves. One occurs in _HN_:
That when we turn'd to feast, she turn'd to pray.
When we turn'd aside from the routine of life's work to keep holiday, she did so also, but it was to pray. This is better, but it is difficult to understand how, if this be the correct reading, the error arose, and only _HN_ reads 'when'. The emendation I have introduced presupposes only careless typography or punctuation to account for the bad line. I take it that Donne meant 'feast' and 'pray' to be imperatives, and that the line would be printed, if modernized, thus:
That what we turn to 'feast!' she turn'd to 'pray!'
That the command to keep the Sabbath day holy, which we, especially Roman Catholics and Anglicans of the Catholic school, interpret as to the Christian Church a command to feast, to keep holiday, she interpreted as a command to fast and pray. Probably both Lady Markham and Lady Bedford belonged to the more Calvinist wing of the Church. There is a distinctly Calvinist flavour about Lady Bedford's own _Elegy_, which reads also as though it were to some extent a rebuke to Donne for the note, either too pagan or too Catholic for her taste, of his poems on Death. See p. 422, and especially:
Goe then to people curst before they were, Their spoyles in triumph of thy conquest weare.
l. 58. _will be a Lemnia._ All the MSS. read 'Lemnia' without the article, probably rightly, 'Lemnia' being used shortly for 'terra Lemnia', or 'Lemnian earth'--a red clay found in Lemnos and reputed an antidote to poison (Pliny, _N. H._ xxv. 13). It was one of the constituents of the theriaca. It may be here thought of as an antiseptic preserving from putrefaction. But Norton points out that by some of the alchemists the name was given to the essential component of the Philosopher's stone, and that what Donne was thinking of was transmuting power, changing crystal into diamond. The alchemists, however, dealt more in metals than in stones. The thought in Donne's mind is perhaps rather that which he expresses at p. 280, l. 21. As in some earths clay is turned to porcelain, so in this Lemnian earth crystal will turn to diamond.
The words 'Tombe' and 'diamond' afford so bad a rhyme that G. L. Craik conjectured, not very happily,'a wooden round'. Craik's criticism of Donne, written in 1847, _Sketches of the History of Literature and Learning in England_, is wonderfully just and appreciative.
PAGE =287=. ELEGIE ON THE L. C.
Whoever may be the subject of this _Elegie_, Donne speaks as though he were a member of his household. In 1617 Donne had long ceased to be in any way attached to the Lord Chancellor's retinue. The reference to his 'children' also without any special reference to his son the new earl, soon to be Earl of Bridgewater, is very unlike Donne. Moreover, Sir Thomas Egerton never had more than two sons, one of whom was killed in Ireland in 1599.
ll. 13-16. _As we for him dead: though, &c._ Both Chambers and the Grolier Club editor connect the clause 'though no family ... with him in joy to share' with the next, as its principal clause, 'We lose what all friends lov'd, &c.' To me it seems that it must go with the preceding clause, 'As we [must wither] for him dead'. I take it as a clause of concession. 'With him we, his family, must die (as the briar does with the tree on which it grows); but no family could die with a more certain hope of sharing the joy into which their head has entered; with none would so many be willing to "venture estates" in that great voyage of discovery.' With the next lines,'We lose,' &c., begins a fresh argument. The thought is forced and obscure, but the figure, taken from voyages of discovery, is characteristic of Donne.
PAGE =288=. AN HYMNE TO THE SAINTS, AND TO MARQUESSE HAMYLTON.
In the old editions this is placed among the _Divine Poems_, and Donne meant it to bear that character. For it was rather unwillingly that Donne, now in Orders, wrote this poem at the instance of his friend and patron Sir Robert Ker, or Carr, later (1633) Earl of Ancrum.
James Hamilton, b. 1584, succeeded his father in 1604 as Marquis of Hamilton, and his uncle in 1609 as Duke of Chatelherault and Earl of Arran. He was made a Gentleman of the Bed-Chamber and held other posts in Scotland. On the occasion of James I's visit to Scotland in 1617 he played a leading part, and thereafter became a favourite courtier, his name figuring in all the great functions described in Nichol's _Progresses_. In 1617 Chamberlain writes: 'I have not heard a man generally better spoken of than the Marquis, even by all the English; insomuch that he is every way held as the gallantest gentleman of both the nations.' He was High Commissioner to the Parliament held at Edinburgh in 1624, where he secured the passing of the Five Articles of Perth. In 1624 he opposed the French War policy of Buckingham, and when he died on March 2, 1624/5, it was maintained that the latter had poisoned him.
The rhetoric and rhythm of this poem depend a good deal on getting the right punctuation and a clear view of what are the periods. I have ventured to make a few emendations in the arrangement of _1633_. The first sentence ends with the emphatic 'wee doe not so' (l. 8), where 'wee' might be printed in italics. The next closes with 'all lost a limbe' (l. 18), and the effect is marred if, with Chambers and the Grolier Club editor, one places a full stop after 'Music lacks a song', though a colon might be most appropriate. The last two lines clinch the detailed statement which has preceded. The next sentence again is not completed till l. 30, 'in the form thereof his bodie's there', but, though _1633_ has only a semicolon here, a full stop is preferable, or at least a colon. Chambers's full stops at l. 22, 'none', and l. 28, 'a resurrection', have again the effect of breaking the logical and rhythmical structure. Lines 23-4 are entirely parenthetical and would be better enclosed in brackets. Four sustained periods compose the elegy.
PAGE =289=, ll. 6-7. _If every severall Angell bee A kind alone._ Ea enim quae conveniunt specie, et differunt numero, conveniunt in formâ sed distinguuntur materialiter. Si ergo Angeli non sunt compositi ex materiâ et formâ ... sequitur quod _impossibile sit esse duos Angelos unius speciei_: sicut etiam impossibile esset dicere quod essent plures albedines (whitenesses) separatae aut plures humanitates: ... Si tamen Angeli haberent materiam nec sic possent esse plures Angeli unius speciei. Sic enim opporteret quod principium distinctionis unius ab alio esset materia, non quidem secundum divisionem quantitatis, cum sint incorporei, sed secundum diversitatem potentiarum: quae quidem diversitas materiae causat diversitatem non solum speciei sed generis. Aquinas, _Summa_ I. l. 4.
PAGE =293=. INFINITATI SACRUM, _&c._
PAGE =294=, l. 11. _a Mucheron_: i.e. a mushroom, here equivalent to a fungus. Chambers adopts without note the reading of the later editions, 'Maceron', but spells it 'Macaron'. Grosart prints 'Macheron', taking 'Mucheron' as a mis-spelling. Captain Shirley Harris first pointed out, in _Notes and Queries_, that 'Mucheron' must be correct, for Donne has in view, as so often elsewhere, the threefold division of the soul--vegetal, sensitive, rational. Captain Harris quoted the very apt parallel from Burton, where, speaking of metempsychosis, he says: 'Lucian's cock was first Euphorbus, a captain:
Ille ego (nam memini Troiani tempore belli) Panthoides Euphorbus eram,
a horse, a man, a spunge.' _Anatomy of Melancholy_, Part 1, Sect. 1, Mem. 2, Subs. 10. Donne's order is, a man, a horse, a fungus. But to Burton a sponge was a fungus. The word fungus is cognate with or derived from the Greek [Greek: spongos].
As for the form 'mucheron' (n. b. 'mushrome' in _G_) the O.E.D. gives it among different spellings but cites no example of this exact spelling. From the _Promptorium Parvulorum_ it quotes, 'Muscheron, toodys hatte, _boletus_, _fungus_.' Captain Harris has supplied me with the following delightful instance of the word in use as late as 1808. It is from a catalogue of Maggs Bros. (No. 263, 1910):
'THE DISAPPOINTED KING OF SPAIN, or the downfall of the Mucheron King Joe Bonaparte, late Pettifogging Attorney's Clerk. Between two stools the Breech comes to the Ground.'
The caricature is etched by G. Cruikshank and is dated 1808.
The 'Maceron' which was inserted in _1635_ is not a misprint, but a pseudo-correction by some one who did not recognize 'mucheron' and knew that Donne had elsewhere used 'maceron' for a fop or puppy (see p. 163, l. 117).
'Mushrome', the spelling of the word in _G_, is found also in the _Sermons_ (80. 73. 748).
l. 22. _which Eve eate_: 'eate' is of course the past tense, and should be 'ate' in modernized editions, not 'eat' as in Chambers's and the Grolier Club editions.
THE PROGRESSE OF THE SOULE.
The strange poem _The Progresse of the Soule_, or _Metempsychosis_, is dated by Donne himself, 16 Augusti 1601. The different use of the same title which Donne made later to describe the progress of the soul heavenward, after its release from the body, shows that he had no intention of publishing the poem. How widely it circulated in MS. we do not know, but I know of three copies only which are extant, viz. _G_, _O'F_, and that given in the group _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_. It was from the last that the text of _1633_ was printed, the editor supplying the punctuation, which in the MS. is scanty. In some copies of _1633_ the same omissions of words occur as in the MS. but the poem was corrected in several places as it passed through the press. _G_, though not without mistakes itself, supplies some important emendations.
The sole light from without which has been thrown upon the poem comes from Ben Jonson's conversations with Drummond: 'The conceit of Dones Transformation or [Greek: Metempsychôsis] was that he sought the soule of that aple which Eve pulled and thereafter made it the soule of a bitch, then of a shee wolf, and so of a woman; his generall purpose was to have brought in all the bodies of the Hereticks from the soule of Cain, and at last left in the bodie of Calvin. Of this he never wrotte but one sheet, and now, since he was made Doctor, repenteth highlie and seeketh to destroy all his poems.'
Jonson was clearly recalling the poem somewhat inaccurately, and at the same time giving the substance of what Donne had told him. Probably Donne mystified him on purpose, for it is evident from the poem that in his first intention Queen Elizabeth herself was to be the soul's last host. It is impossible to attach any other meaning to the seventh stanza; and that intention also explains the bitter tone in which women are satirized in the fragment. Women and courtiers are the chief subject of Donne's sardonic satire in this poem, as of Shakespeare's in _Hamlet_.
I have indicated elsewhere what I think is the most probable motive of the poem. It reflects the mood of mind into which Donne, like many others, was thrown by the tragic fate of Essex in the spring of the year. In _Cynthia's Revels_, acted in the same year as Donne's poem was composed, Jonson speaks of 'some black and envious slanders breath'd against her' (i.e. Diana, who is Elizabeth) 'for her divine justice on Actaeon', and it is well known that she incurred both odium and the pangs of remorse. Donne, who was still a Catholic in the sympathies that come of education and association, seems to have contemplated a satirical history of the great heretic in lineal descent from the wife of Cain to Elizabeth--for private circulation. See _The Poetry of John Donne_, II. pp. xvii-xx.
PAGE =295=, l. 9. _Seths pillars._ Norton's note on this runs: 'Seth, the son of Adam, left children who imitated his virtues. 'They were the discoverers of the wisdom which relates to the heavenly bodies and their order, and that their inventions might not be lost they made two pillars, the one of brick, the other of stone, and inscribed their discoveries on them both, that in case the pillar of brick should be destroyed by the flood, the pillar of stone might remain and exhibit these discoveries to mankind.... Now this remains in the land of Siriad to this day.' Josephus, _Antiquities of the Jews_ (Whiston's translation), I. 2, §3.
PAGE =296=, l. 21. _holy Ianus._ 'Janus, whom Annius of Viterbo and the chorographers of Italy do make to be the same with Noah.' Browne, _Vulgar Errors_, vi. 6. The work referred to is the _Antiquitatum variarum volumina XVII_ (1498, reprinted and re-arranged 1511), by Annius of Viterbo (1432-1502), a Dominican friar, Fra Giovanni Nanni. Each of the books, after the first, consists of a digest with commentary of various works on ancient history, the aim being apparently to reconcile Biblical and heathen chronology and to establish the genealogy of Christ. _Liber XIIII_ is a digest, or 'defloratio', of Philo (of whom later); _Liber XV_ of Berosus, a reputed Chaldaean historian ('patria Babylonicus; et dignitate Chaldaeus'), cited by Josephus. From him Annius derives this identification of Janus with Noah: 'Hoc vltimo loco Berosus de tribus cognominibus rationes tradit: Noa: Cam & Tythea. De Noa dicit quod fuit illi tributum cognomen Ianus a Iain: quod apud Aramaeos et Hebraeos sonat vinum: a quo Ianus id est vinifer et vinosus: quia primus vinum invenit et inebriatus est: vt dicit Berosus: et supra insinuavit Propertius: et item Moyses Genesis cap ix. vbi etiam Iain vinum Iani nominat: vbi nos habemus: Cum Noa evigilasset a vino. Cato etiam in fragmentis originum; et Fabius Pictor in de origine vrbis Romae dicunt Ianum dictum priscum Oenotrium: quia invenit vinum et far ad religionem magis quam ad vsum,' &c., XV, Fo. cxv. Elsewhere the identity is based not on this common interest in wine but on their priestly office, they being the first to offer 'sacrificia et holocausta', VII, Fo. lviii. Again, 'Ex his probatur irrevincibiliter a tempore demonstrato a Solino et propriis Epithetis Iani: eundem fuisse Ogygem: Ianum et Noam ... Sed Noa fuit proprium: Ogyges verum Ianus et Proteus id est Vertumnus sunt solum praenomina ejus,' XV, Fo. cv. No mention of the ark as a link occurs, but a ship figured on the copper coins distributed at Rome on New Year's day, which was sacred to Janus. The original connexion is probably found in Macrobius' statement (_Saturn._ I. 9) that among other titles Janus was invoked as 'Consivius ... a conserendo id est a propagine generis humani quae Iano auctore conseritur'. Noah is the father of the extant human race.
PAGE =299=, ll. 114-17. There can be no doubt, I think, that the 1633 text is here correct, though for clearness a comma must be inserted after 'reasons'. The emendation of the 1635 editor which modern editors have followed gives an awkward and, at the close, an absurdly tautological sentence. It is not the reason, the rational faculty, of sceptics which is like the bubbles blown by boys, that stretch too thin, 'break and do themselves spill.' What Donne says, is that the reasons or arguments of those who answer sceptics, like bubbles which break themselves, injure their authors, the apologists. The verse wants a syllable--not a unique phenomenon in Donne's satires; but if one is to be supplied 'so' would give the sense better than 'and'.
PAGE =300=, l. 129. _foggie Plot._ The word 'foggie' has here the in English obsolete, in Scotch and perhaps other dialects, still known meaning of 'marshy', 'boggy'. The O.E.D. quotes, 'He that is fallen into a depe foggy well and sticketh fast in it,' Coverdale, _Bk. Death_, I. xl. 160; 'The foggy fens in the next county,' Fuller, _Worthies_.
l. 137. _To see the Prince, and have so fill'd the way._ The grammatically and metrically correct reading of _G_ appears to me to explain the subsequent variation. 'Prince' struck the editor of the 1633 edition as inconsistent with the subsequent 'she', and he therefore altered it to 'Princess'. He may have been encouraged to do so by the fact that the copy from which he printed had dropped the 'have', or he may himself have dropped the 'have' to adjust the verse to his alteration. The former is, I think, the more likely, because what would seem to be the earlier printed copies of _1633_ read 'Prince': unless he himself overlooked the 'have' and then amended by 'Princess'. The 1635 editor restored 'Prince' and then amended the verse by his usual device of padding, changing 'fill'd' to 'fill up'. Of course Donne's line may have read as we give it, with 'Princess' for 'Prince', but the evidence of the MSS. is against this, so far as it goes. The title of 'Prince' was indeed applicable to a female sovereign. The O.E.D. gives: 'Yea the Prince ... as she hath most of yearely Revenewes ... so should she have most losse by this dearth,' W. Stafford, 1581; 'Cleopatra, prince of Nile,' Willobie, _Avisa_, 1594; 'Another most mighty prince, Mary Queene of Scots,' Camden (Holland), 1610.
PAGE =301=, ll. 159-160. _built by the guest, This living buried man, &c._
The comma after guest is dropped in the printed editions, the editor regarding 'this living buried man' as an expansion of 'the guest'. But the man buried alive is the 'soul's second inn', the mandrake. 'Many Molas and false conceptions there are of Mandrakes, the first from great Antiquity conceiveth the Root thereof resembleth the shape of Man which is a conceit not to be made out by ordinary inspection, or any other eyes, than such as regarding the clouds, behold them in shapes conformable to pre-apprehensions.' Browne, _Vulgar Errors_.
PAGE =303=, ll. 203-5. The punctuation of this stanza is in the editions very chaotic, and I have amended it. A full stop should be placed at the end of l. 203, 'was not', _because_ these lines complete the thought of the previous stanza. Possibly the semicolon after 'ill' was intended to follow 'not', but a full stop is preferable. Moreover, the colon after 'soule' (l. 204) suggests that the printer took ''twas not' with 'this soule'. The correct reading of l. 204 is obviously:
So jolly, that it can move, this soul is.
Chambers prefers:
So jolly, that it can move this soul, is The body ...
but Donne was far too learned an Aristotelian and Scholastic to make the body move the soul, or feel jolly on its own account:
thy fair goodly soul, which doth Give this flesh power to taste joy, thou dost loathe. _Satyre III_, ll. 41-2.
'The soul is so glad to be at last able to move (having been imprisoned hitherto in plants which have the soul of growth, not of locomotion or sense), and the body is so free of its kindnesses to the soul, that it, the sparrow, forgets the duty of self-preservation.'
l. 214. _hid nets._ In making my first collation of the printed texts I had queried the possibility of 'hid' being the correct reading for 'his', a conjecture which the Gosse MS. confirms.
PAGE =305=, l. 257. _None scape, but few, and fit for use, to get._ I have added a comma after 'use' to make the construction a little clearer; a pause is needed. 'The nets were not wrought, as now, to let none scape, but were wrought to get few and those fit for use; as, for example, a ravenous pike, &c.'
PAGE =306=, ll. 267-8. '_To make the water thinne, and airelike faith cares not._' What Chambers understands by 'air like faith', I do not know. What Donne says is that the manner in which fishes breathe is a matter about which faith is indifferent. Each man may hold what theory he chooses. There is not much obvious relevance in this remark, but Donne has already in this poem touched on the difference between faith and knowledge:
better proofes the law Of sense then faith requires.
A vein of restless scepticism runs through the whole.
l. 280. _It's rais'd, to be the Raisers instrument and food._ If with _1650-69_, Chambers, and the Grolier Club editor, we alter the full stop which separates this line from the last to a comma, 'It' must mean the same as 'she', i.e. the fish. This is a harsh construction. The line is rather to be taken as an aphorism. 'To be exalted is often to become the instrument and prey of him who has exalted you.'
PAGE =307=, l. 296. _That many leagues at sea, now tir'd hee lyes._ The reading of _G_ represents probably what Donne wrote. It is quite clear that _1633_ was printed from a MS. identical with _A18_, _N_, _TC_, and underwent considerable correction as it passed through the press. In no poem does the text of one copy vary so much from that of another as in this. Now in this MS. a word is dropped. The editor supplied the gap by inserting 'o're-past', which simply repeats 'flown long and fast'. _G_ shows what the dropped word was. 'Many leagues at sea' is an adverbial phrase qualifying 'now tir'd he lies'.
ll. 301-10. I owe the right punctuation of this stanza to the Grolier Club edition and Grosart. The 'as' of l. 303 requires to be followed by a comma. Missing this, Chambers closes the sentence at l. 307, 'head', leaving 'This fish would seem these' in the air. The words 'when all hopes fail' play with the idea of 'the hopeful Promontory', or Cape of Good Hope.
PAGE =308=, ll. 321-2. _He hunts not fish, but as an officer, Stayes in his court, at his owne net._
Compare: 'A confidence in their owne strengths, a sacrificing to their own Nets, an attributing of their securitie to their own wisedome or power, may also retard the cause of God.' _Sermons_, Judges xv. 20 (1622).
'And though some of the Fathers pared somewhat too neare the quick in this point, yet it was not as in the Romane Church, to lay snares, and spread nets for gain.' _Sermons_ 80. 22. 216.
'The Holy Spirit, the Spirit of comfort comes to him' (the courtier) 'but hee will die in his old religion, which is to sacrifice to his owne Nets, by which his portion is plenteous.' _Sermons_ 80. 70. 714.
The image of the net is probably derived from Jeremiah v. 26: 'For among my people are found wicked men; they lay wait as he that setteth snares; they set a trap, they catch men.' Compare also: 'he lieth in wait to catch the poor: he doth catch the poor when he draweth him into his net.' Psalm x. 9.
PAGES =310-11=, ll. 381-400. Compare: 'Amongst _naturall Creatures_, because howsoever they differ in bignesse, yet they have some proportion to one another, we consider that some very little creatures, contemptible in themselves, are yet called enemies to great creatures, as the Mouse is to the Elephant.' _Sermons_ 50. 40. 372. 'How great an Elephant, how small a Mouse destroys.' _Devotions_, p. 284.
ll. 405-6. _Who in that trade, of Church, and kingdomes, there Was the first type._
The _1635_ punctuation of this passage is right, though it is better to drop the comma after 'Kingdoms' and obviate ambiguity. The trade is the shepherd's; in it Abel is type both of Church and Kingdom, Emperor and Pope. As a type of Christ Donne refers to Abel in _The Litanie_, p. 341, l. 86.
PAGE =312=, l. 419. _Nor <make> resist._ I have substituted 'make' for the 'much' of the editions, confident that it is the right reading and explains the vacillation of the MSS. The proper alternative to 'show' is 'make'. The error arose from the obsolescence of 'resist' used as a noun. But the O.E.D. cites from Lodge, _Forbonius and Priscilla_ (1585), 'I make no resist in this my loving torment', and other examples dated 1608 and 1630. Donne is fond of verbal nouns retaining the form of the verb unchanged.
l. 439. _soft Moaba._ 'Moaba', 'Siphatecia' (l. 457), 'Tethlemite' (l. 487), and Themech' (l. 509) are not creatures of Donne's invention, but derived from his multifarious learning. It is, however, a little difficult to detect the immediate source from which he drew. The ultimate source of all these additions to the Biblical narrative and persons was the activity of the Jewish intellect and imagination in the interval between the time at which the Old Testament closes and the dispersion under Titus and Vespasian, the desire of the Jews in Palestine and Alexandria to 'round off the biblical narrative, fill up the lacunae, answer all the questions of the inquiring mind of the ancient reader'. Of the original Hebrew writings of this period none have survived, but their traditions passed into mediaeval works like the _Historia Scholastica_ of Petrus Comestor and hence into popular works, e.g. the Middle English _Cursor Mundi_. Another compendium of this pseudo-historical lore was the _Philonis Judaei Alexandrini. Libri Antiquitatum. Quaestionum et Solutionum in Genesin. de Essaeis. de Nominibus hebraicis. de Mundo. Basle._ 1527. An abstract of this work is given by Annius of Viterbo in the book referred to in a previous note. Dr. Cohn has shown that this Latin work is a third- or fourth-century translation of a Greek work, itself a translation from the Hebrew. More recently Rabbi M. Gaster has brought to light the Hebrew original in portions of a compilation of the fourteenth century called the _Chronicle of Jerahmeel_, of which he has published an English translation under the 'Patronage of the Royal Asiatic Society', _Oriental Translation Fund_. New Series, iv. 1899. In chapter xxvi of this work we read: 'Adam begat three sons and three daughters, Cain and his twin wife Qualmana, Abel and his twin wife Deborah, and Seth and his twin wife Nōba. And Adam, after he had begotten Seth, lived seven hundred years, and there were eleven sons and eight daughters born to him. These are the names of his sons: Eli, Shēēl, Surei, 'Almiel, Berokh, Ke'al, Nabath, Zarh-amah, Sisha, Mahtel, and Anat; and the names of his daughters are: Havah, Gitsh, Harē, Bikha, Zifath, Hēkhiah, Shaba, and 'Azin.' In Philo this reappears as follows: 'Initio mundi Adam genuit tres filios et unam filiam, Cain, Noaba, Abel, et Seth: Et vixit Adam, postquam genuit Seth, annos DCC., et genuit filios duodecim, et filias octo: Et haec sunt nomina virorum, Aeliseel, Suris, Aelamiel, Brabal, Naat, Harama, Zas-am, Maathal, et Anath: Et hae filiae eius, Phua, Iectas, Arebica, Siphatecia, Sabaasin.' It is clear there are a good many mistakes in Philo's account as it has come to us. His numbers and names do not correspond. Clearly also some of the Latin names are due to the running together of two Hebrew ones, e.g. Aeliseel, Arebica, and Siphatecia. Of the names in Donne's poem two occur in the above lists--Noaba (Heb. Nobā) and Siphatecia. But Noaba has become Moaba: Siphatecia is 'Adams fift daughter', which is correct according to the Hebrew, but not according to Philo's list; and there is no mention in these lists of Tethlemite (or Thelemite) among Adam's sons, or of Themech as Cain's wife. In the Hebrew she is called Qualmana. Doubtless since two of the names are traceable the others are so also. We have not found Donne's immediate source. I am indebted for such information as I have brought together to Rabbi Gaster.
PAGE =314=, l. 485. (_loth_). I have adopted this reading from the insertion in _TCC_, not that much weight can be allowed to this anonymous reviser (some of whose insertions are certainly wrong), but because 'loth' or 'looth' is more likely to have been changed to 'tooth' than 'wroth'. The occurrence of 'Tooth' in _G_ as well as in _1633_ led me to consult Sir James Murray as to the possibility of a rare adjectival sense of that word, e.g. 'eager, with tooth on edge for'. I venture to quote his reply: 'We know nothing of _tooth_ as an adjective in the sense _eager_; or in any sense that would fit here. Nor does _wroth_ seem to myself and my assistants to suit well. In thinking of the possible word for which _tooth_ was a misprint, or rather misreading ... the word _loth_, _loath_, _looth_, occurred to myself and an assistant independently before we saw that it is mentioned in the foot-note.... _Loath_ seems to me to be exactly the word wanted, the true antithesis to willing, and it was a very easy word to write as _tooth_.' Sir James Murray suggests, as just a possibility, that 'wroth' (_1635-69_) may have arisen from a provincial form 'wloth'. He thinks, however, as I do, that it is more probably a mere editorial conjecture.
PAGE =315=, ll. 505-9. _these limbes a soule attend; And now they joyn'd: keeping some quality Of every past shape, she knew treachery, Rapine, deceit, and lust, and ills enow To be a woman._
Chambers and the Grolier Club editor have erroneously followed _1635-69_ in their punctuation and attached 'keeping some quality of every past shape' to the preceding 'they'. The force of Donne's bitter comment is thus weakened. It is with 'she', i.e. the soul, that the participial phrase goes. 'She, retaining the evil qualities of all the forms through which she has passed, has thus "ills enow" (treachery, rapine, deceit, and lust) to be a woman.'
DIVINE POEMS.
The dating of Donne's _Divine Poems_ raises some questions that have not received all the consideration they deserve. They fall into two groups--those written before and those written after he took orders. Of the former the majority would seem to belong to the years of his residence at Mitcham. The poem _On the Annunciation and Passion_ was written on March 25, 1608/9. _The Litanie_ was written, we gather from a letter to Sir Henry Goodyere, about the same time. _The Crosse_ we cannot date, but I should be inclined with Mr. Gosse to connect it rather with the earlier than the later poems. It is in the same somewhat tormented, intellectual style. On the other hand the _Holy Sonnets_ were composed, we know now from Sonnet XVII, first published by Mr. Gosse, after the death of Donne's wife in 1617; and _The Lamentations of Jeremy_ appear to have been written at the same juncture. The first sermon which Donne preached after that event was on the text (Lam. iii. 1): 'I am the man that hath seen affliction,' and Walton speaks significantly of his having ended the night and begun the day in _lamentations_.
The more difficult question is the date of the _La Corona_ group of sonnets. It is usual to attribute them to the later period of Donne's ministry. This is not, I think, correct. It seems to me most probable that they too were composed at Mitcham in or before 1609.
Dr. Grosart first pointed out that one of Donne's short verse-letters, headed in _1663_ and later editions _To E. of D. with six holy Sonnets_, must have been sent with a copy of six of these sonnets, the seventh being held back on account of some imperfection. It appears with the same heading in _O'F_, but in _W_ it is entitled simply _To L. of D._, and is placed immediately after the letter _To Mr. T. W._, 'Haste thee harsh verse' (p. 205), and before the next to the same person, 'Pregnant again' (p. 206). It thus belongs to this group of letters written apparently between 1597 and 1609-10.
Who is the E. of D.? Dr. Grosart, Mr. Chambers, and Mr. Gosse assume that it must be Lord Doncaster, though admitting in the same breath that the latter was not Earl of, but Viscount Doncaster, and that only between 1618 and 1622, four short years. The title 'L. of D.' might indicate Doncaster because the title 'my Lord of' is apparently given to a Viscount. In his letters from Germany Donne speaks of 'my Lord of Doncaster'. It may, therefore, be a mistake of the printer or editor of _1633_; which turned 'L. of D.' into 'E. of D.'; but Hay was still alive in 1633, and the natural thing for the printer to do would have been to alter the title to 'E. of C.' or 'Earl of Carlisle'. Before 1618 Donne speaks of the 'Lord Hay' or 'the L. Hay' (see _Letters_, p. 145),[1] and this or 'the L. H.' is the title the poem would have borne if addressed to him in any of the years to which the other letters in the Westmoreland MS. (_W_) seem to belong.
Moreover, there is another of Donne's noble friends who might correctly be described as either E. of D. or L. of D. and that is Richard Sackville, third Earl of Dorset. Donne generally speaks of him as 'my Lord of Dorset': 'I lack you here', he writes to Goodyere, 'for my L. of Dorset, he might make a cheap bargain with me now, and disingage his honour, which in good faith, is a little bound, because he admitted so many witnesses of his large disposition towards me.' Born in 1589, the grandson of the great poet of Elizabeth's early reign, Richard Sackville was educated at Christ Church, Oxford. He succeeded as third Earl of Dorset on February 27, 1608/9, having two days previously married Anne, Baroness Clifford in her own right, the daughter of George Clifford, the buccaneering Earl of Cumberland, and Margaret, daughter of Francis, second Earl of Bedford. The Countess of Dorset was therefore a first cousin to Edward, third Earl of Bedford, the husband of Donne's patroness Lucy, Countess of Bedford.
The earliest date at which the letter could have been addressed to Dorset as L. of D. or E. of D. is 1609, just after his marriage into the circle of Donne's friends. Now in Harleian MS. 4955 (_H49_) we find the heading,
Holy Sonnets: written 20 yeares since.
This is followed at once by 'Deign at my hands', and then the title _La Corona_ is given to the six sonnets which ensue. Thereafter follow, without any fresh heading, twelve of the sonnets belonging to the second group, generally entitled _Holy Sonnets_. It will be noticed that in the editions this last title is used twice, first for both groups and then, in italics, for the second alone. The question is, did the copyist of _H49_ intend that the note should apply to all the sonnets he transcribed or only to the _La Corona_ group? If to all, he was certainly wrong as to the second lot, which were written later; but he was quite possibly right as to the first. Now twenty years before 1629, which is the date given to some of Andrewes' poems in the MS., would bring us to 1609, the year of the Earl of Dorset's accession and marriage, and the period when most of the letters among which that to L. of D. in _W_ appears were written.
Note, moreover, the content of the letter _To L. of D._ Most of the letters in this group, to Thomas and Rowland Woodward, to S. B., and B. B., are poetical replies to poetical epistles. Now that _To L. of D._ is in the same strain:
See Sir, how as the Suns hot Masculine flame Begets strange creatures on Niles durty slime, In me, your fatherly yet lusty Ryme (For, these songs are their fruits) have wrought the same.
This is in the vein of the letter _To Mr. R. W._, 'Muse not that by thy mind,' and of the epistle _To J. D._ which I have cited in the notes (p. 166). We hear nowhere that Lord Hay wrote verses, and it is very unlikely that he, already when Donne formed his aquaintance a rising courtier, should have joined with the Woodwards, and Brookes, and Cornwallis, in the game of exchanging bad verses with Donne. It is quite likely that the young Lord of Dorset, either in 1609, or earlier when he was still an Oxford student or had just come up to London, may have burned his pinch of incense to the honour of the most brilliant of the wits, now indeed a grave _épistolier_ and moralist, but still capable of 'kindling squibs about himself and flying into sportiveness'. We gather from Lord Herbert of Cherbury that the Earl of Dorset must have been an enthusiastic young man. When Herbert returned to England after the siege of Julyers (whither Donne had sent him a verse epistle), 'Richard, Earl of Dorset, to whom otherwise I was a stranger, one day invited me to Dorset House, where bringing me into his gallery, and showing me many pictures, he at last brought me to a frame covered with green taffeta, and asked me who I thought was there; and therewithal presently drawing the curtain showed me my own picture; whereupon demanding how his Lordship came to have it, he answered, that he had heard so many brave things of me, that he got a copy of a picture which one Larkin a painter drew for me, the original whereof I intended before my departure to the Low Countries for Sir Thomas Lucy.' _Autobiography_, ed. Lee. A man so interested in Herbert may well have been interested in Donne even before his connexion by marriage with Lucy, Countess of Bedford. He became later one of Donne's kindest and most practical patrons. The grandson of a great poet may well have written verses.[2]
But there is another consideration besides that of the letter _To E. of D._ which seems to connect the _La Corona_ sonnets with the years 1607-9. That is the sonnet _To the Lady Magdalen Herbert: of St. Mary Magdalen_, which I have prefixed, with that _To E. of D._, to the group. This was sent with a prose letter which says, 'By this messenger and on this good day, I commit the inclosed holy hymns and sonnets (which for the matter not the workmanship, have yet escaped the fire) to your judgment, and to your protection too, if you think them worthy of it; and I have appointed this enclosed sonnet to usher them to your happy hand.' This letter is dated 'July 11, 1607', which Mr. Gosse thinks must be a mistake, because another letter bears the same date; but the date is certainly right, for July 11 is, making allowance for the difference between the Julian and the Gregorian Calendars, July 22, i.e. St. Mary Magdalen's day, 'this good day.'
What were the 'holy hymns and sonnets', of which Donne says:
and in some recompence That they did harbour Christ himself, a Guest, Harbour these Hymns, to his dear name addrest?
Walton says: 'These hymns are now lost; but doubtless they were such as they two now sing in heaven.' But Walton was writing long afterwards and was probably misled by the name 'hymns'. By 'hymns and sonnets' Donne possibly means the same things, as he calls his love-lyrics 'songs and sonets'. The sonnets are hymns, i.e. songs of praise. Mr. Chambers suggests--it is only a suggestion--that they are the second set, the _Holy Sonnets_. But these are not addressed to Christ. In them Donne addresses The Trinity, the Father, Angels, Death, his own soul, the Jews--Christ only in one (Sonnet XVIII, first published by Mr. Gosse). On the other hand, 'Hymns to his dear name addrest' is an exact description of the _La Corona_ sonnets.
I venture to suggest, then, that the Holy Sonnets sent to Mrs. Herbert and to the E. of D. were one and the same group, viz. the _La Corona_ sequence. Probably they were sent to Mrs. Herbert first, and later to the E. of D. Donne admits their imperfection in his letter to Mrs. Herbert. One of them seems to have been criticized, and in sending the sequence to the E. of D. he held it back for correction. If the E. of D. be the Earl of Dorset they may have been sent to him before he assumed that title. Any later transcript would adopt the title to which he succeeded in 1609. We need not, however, take too literally Donne's statement that the E. of D.'s poetical letter was 'the only-begetter' of his sonnets.
My argument is conjectural, but the assumptions that they were written about 1617 and sent to Lord Doncaster are equally so. The last is untenable; the former does not harmonize so well as that of an earlier date with the obvious fact, which I have emphasized in the essay on Donne's poetry, that these sonnets are more in the intellectual, tormented, wire-drawn style of his earlier religious verse (excellent as that is in many ways) than the passionate and plangent sonnets and hymns of the years which followed the death of his wife.
[Footnote 1: This letter was written in November or December, 1608, and seems to be the first in which Donne speaks of Lord Hay as a friend and patron. The kindness he has shown in forwarding a suit seems to have come somewhat as a surprise to Donne.]
[Footnote 2: Lord Dorset is thus described by his wife: 'He was in his own nature of a just mind, of a sweet disposition, and very valiant in his own person: He had a great advantage in his breeding by the wisdom and discretion of his grandfather, Thomas, Earl of Dorset, Lord High Treasurer of England, who was then held one of the wisest men of that time; by which means he was so good a scholar in all manner of learning, that in his youth when he lived in the University of Oxford, there was none of the young nobility then students there, that excelled him. He was also a good patriot to his country ... and so great a lover of scholars and soldiers, as that with an excessive bounty towards them, or indeed any of worth that were in distress, he did much diminish his estate; As also, with excessive prodigality in house-keeping and other noble ways at Court, as tilting, masking, and the like; Prince Henry being then alive, who was much addicted to these noble exercises, and of whom he was much beloved.' Collins's _Peerage_, ii. 194-5. quoted in Zouch's edition of Walton's _Lives_, 1817.]
PAGE =317=. TO E. OF D.
ll. 3-4. _Ryme ... their ... have wrought._ The concord here seems to require the plural, the rhyme the singular. Donne, I fear, does occasionally rhyme a word in the plural with one in the singular, ignoring the 's'. But possibly Donne intended 'Ryme' to be taken collectively for 'verses, poetry'. Even so the plural is the normal use.
TO THE LADY MAGDALEN HERBERT, &c.
ll. 1-2. _whose faire inheritance Bethina was, and jointure Magdalo._
'Mary Magdalene had her surname of magdalo a castell | and was born of right noble lynage and parents | which were descended of the lynage of kynges | And her fader was named Sinus and her moder eucharye | She wyth her broder lazare and her suster martha possessed the castle of magdalo: whiche is two myles fro nazareth and bethanye the castel which is nygh to Iherusalem and also a gret parte of Iherusalem whiche al thise thynges they departed amonge them in suche wyse that marye had the castelle magdalo whereof she had her name magdalene | And lazare had the parte of the cytee of Iherusalem: and martha had to her parte bethanye' _Legenda Aurea_. See Ed. (1493), f. 184, ver. 80.
l. 4. _more than the Church did know_, i.e. the Resurrection. John xx. 9 and 11-18.
PAGE =318=. LA CORONA.
The MSS. of these poems fall into three well-defined groups: (1) That on which the 1633 text is based is represented by _D_, _H49_; _Lec_ does not contain these poems. (2) A version different in several details is presented by the group _B_, _S_, _S96_, _W_, of which _W_ is the most important and correct. _O'F_ has apparently belonged originally to this group but been corrected from the first. (3) _A18_, _N_, _TC_ agrees now with one, now with another of the two first groups. When all the three groups unite against the printed text the case for an emendation is a strong one.
PAGE =319=. ANNUNCIATION.
l. 10. _who is thy Sonne and Brother._
'Maria ergo faciens voluntatem Dei, corporaliter Christi tantummodo mater est, spiritualiter autem et soror et mater.' August. _De Sanct. Virg._ i. 5. Migne 40. 399.
NATIVITIE.
l. 8. _The effect of Herods jealous generall doome_: The singular 'effect' has the support of most of the MSS. against the plural of the editions and of _D_, _H49_, and there can be no doubt that it is right. All the effects of Herod's doom were not prevented, but the one aimed at, the death of Christ, was.
PAGE =320=. CRUCIFYING.
l. 8. _selfe-lifes infinity to'a span._ The MSS. supply the 'a' which the editions here, as elsewhere (e.g. 'a retirednesse', p. 185), have dropped. In the present case the omission is so obvious that the Grolier Club editor supplies the article conjecturally. In the editions after _1633_ 'infinitie' is the spelling adopted, leading to the misprint 'infinite' in _1669_ and _1719_, a variant which I have omitted to note.
PAGE =321=. RESURRECTION.
It will be seen there are some important differences between the text of this sonnet given in _1633_, _D_, _H49_, on the one hand and that of _B_, _O'F_, _S_, _S96_, _W_. The former has (l. 5) 'this death' where the latter gives 'thy death'. It may be noted that 'this' is always spelt 'thys' in _D_, which makes easy an error one way or the other. But the most difficult reading in _1633_ is (l. 8) 'thy little booke'. Oddly enough this has the support not only of _D_, _H49_ but also of _A18_, _N_, _TC_, whose text seems to blend the two versions, adding some features of its own. Certainly the 'life-booke' of the second version and the later editions seems preferable. Yet this too is an odd expression, seeing that the line might have run:
If in thy Book of Life my name thou'enroule.
Was Donne thinking vaguely or with some symbolism of his own, not of the 'book of life' (Rev. xiii. 8, and xx. 12) but of the 'little book' (Rev. x. 2) which John took and ate? Or does he say 'little book' thinking of the text, 'Strait is the gate and narrow is the way which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it' (Matt. vii. 14)? The grimmer aspects of the Christian creed were always in Donne's mind:
And though thou beest, O mighty bird of prey, So much reclaim'd by God, that thou must lay All that thou kill'st at his feet, yet doth hee Reserve but few, and leave the most to thee.
In l. 9 'last long' is probably right. _D_, _H49_ had dropped both adjectives, and 'long' was probably supplied by the editor _metri causa_, 'last' disappearing. Between 'glorified' and 'purified' in l. 11 it is impossible to choose. The reading 'deaths' for 'death' I have adopted. Here _A18_, _N_, _TC_ agree with _B_, _O'F_, _S_, _W_, and there can be no doubt that 'sleepe' is intended to go with both 'sinne' and 'death'.
PAGE =322=. HOLY SONNETS.
The MSS. of these sonnets evidently fall into two groups: (1) _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W_: of which _W_ is by far the fullest and most correct representative. (2) _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD_. I have kept the order in which they are given in the editions _1635_ to _1669_, but indicated the order of the other groups, and added at the close the three sonnets contained only in _W_. I cannot find a definite significance in any order, otherwise I should have followed that of _W_ as the fullest and presumably the most authoritative. Each sonnet is a separate meditation or ejaculation.
PAGE =323=, III. 7. _That sufferance was my sinne; now I repent_: I have followed the punctuation and order of _B_, _W_, because it shows a little more clearly what is (I think) the correct construction. As printed in _1635-69_,
That sufferance was my sinne I now repent,
the clause 'That sufferance was' &c. is a noun clause subject to 'repent'. But the two clauses are co-ordinates and 'That' is a demonstrative pronoun. '_That_ suffering' (of which he has spoken in the six preceding lines) 'was my sin. Now I repent. Because I did suffer the pains of love, I must now suffer those of remorse.'
PAGE =324=, V. 11. _have burnt it heretofore._ Donne uses 'heretofore' not infrequently in the sense of 'hitherto', and this seems to be implied in 'Let their flames retire'. I have therefore preferred the perfect tense of the MSS. to the preterite of the editions. The 'hath' of _O'F_ is a change made in the supposed interests of grammar, if not used as a plural form, for 'their flames' implies that the fires of lust and of envy are distinguished. In speaking of the first Donne thinks mainly of his youth, of the latter he has in memory his years of suitorship at Court.
VI. 7, note. _Or presently, I know not, see that Face._ This line, which occurs in several independent MSS., is doubtless Donne's, but the reading of the text is probably his own emendation. The first form of the line suggested too distinctly a not approved, or even heretical, doctrine to which Donne refers more than once in his sermons: 'So _Audivimus, et ab Antiquis_, We have heard, and heard by them of old, That in how good state soever they dye yet the souls of the departed do not see the face of God, nor enjoy his presence, till the day of Judgement; This we have heard, and from so many of them of old, as that the voyce of that part is louder, then of the other. And amongst those reverend and blessed Fathers, which straied into these errors, some were hearers and Disciples of the Apostles themselves, as Papias was a disciple of S. John and yet Papias was a Millenarian, and expected his thousand yeares prosperity upon the earth after the Resurrection: some of them were Disciples of the Apostles, and some of them were better men then the Apostles, for they were Bishops of Rome; _Clement_ was so: and yet _Clement_ was one of them, who denied the fruition of the sight of God, by the Saints, till the Judgement.' _Sermons_ 80. 73. 739-40.
There are two not strictly orthodox opinions to which Donne seems to have leant: (1) this, perhaps a remnant of his belief in Purgatory, the theory of a state of preparation, in this doctrine applied even to the saints; (2) a form of the doctrine now called 'Conditional Immortality'. See note on Letter _To the Countesse of Bedford_, p. 196, l. 58.
PAGE =325=, VII. 6. _dearth._ This reading of the Westmoreland MS. is surely right notwithstanding the consensus of the editions and other MSS. in reading 'death'. The poet is enumerating various modes in which death comes; death itself cannot be one of these. The 'death' in l. 8 perhaps explains the error; it certainly makes the error more obvious.
VIII. 7. _in us, not immediately._ I have interjected a comma after 'us' in order to bring out distinctly the Scholastic doctrine of Angelic knowledge on which this sonnet turns. See note on _The Dreame_ with the quotation from Aquinas. What Donne says here is: 'If our minds or thoughts are known to the saints in heaven as to angels, not immediately, but by circumstances and signs (such as blushing or a quickened pulsation) which are apparent in us, how shall the sincerity of my grief be known to them, since these signs are found in lovers, conjurers and pharisees?' 'Deo tantum sunt naturaliter cognitae cogitationes cordium.' 'God alone who put grief in my heart knows its sincerity.'
l. 10. _vile blasphemous Conjurers._ The 'vilde' of the MSS. is obviously the right reading. The form too is that which Donne used if we may judge by the MSS., and by the fact that in _Elegie XIV: Julia_ he rhymes thus:
and (which is worse than vilde) Sticke jealousie in wedlock, her owne childe Scapes not the showers of envie.
By printing 'vile' the old and modern editions destroy the rhyme. In the sonnet indeed the rhyme is not affected, and accordingly, as I am not prepared to change every 'vile' to 'vilde' in the poems, I have printed 'vile'. _W_ writes vile. Probably one might use either form.
PAGE =326=, IX. 9-10. I have followed here the punctuation of _W_, which takes 'O God' in close connexion with the preceding line; the vocative case seems to be needed since God has not been directly addressed until l. 9. The punctuation of _D_, _H49_, which has often determined that of _1633_, is not really different from that of _W_:
But who am I, that dare dispute with Thee? Oh God; Oh of thyne, &c.
Here, as so often, the question-mark is placed immediately after the question, before the sentence is ended. But 'Oh God' goes with the question. A new strain begins with the second 'Oh'. The editions, by punctuating
But who am I that dare dispute with thee? O God, Oh! &c.
(which modern editors have followed), make 'O God, Oh!' a hurried series of exclamations introducing the prayer which follows. This suits the style of these abrupt, passionate poems. But it leaves the question without an address to point it; and to my own mind the hurried, feverous effect of 'O God, Oh!' is more than compensated for by the weight which is thrown, by the punctuation adopted, upon the second 'Oh',--a sigh drawn from the very depths of the heart,
so piteous and profound As it did seem to shatter all his bulk, And end his being.
PAGE =327=, XII. 1. _Why are wee by all creatures, &c._ The 'am I' of the _W_ is probably what Donne first wrote, and I am strongly tempted to restore it. Donne's usual spelling of 'am' is 'ame' in his letters. This might have been changed to 'are', which would have brought the change of 'I' to 'we' in its wake. On the other hand there are evidences in this sonnet of corrections made by Donne himself (e.g. l. 9), and he may have altered the first line as being too egotistical in sound. I have therefore retained the text of the editions.
l. 4. _Simple, and further from corruption?_ The 'simple' of _1633_ and _D_, _H49_, _W_ is preferable to the 'simpler' of the later editions and somewhat inferior MSS. which Chambers has adopted, inadvertently, I think, for he does not notice the earlier reading. The dropping of an 'r' would of course be very easy; but the simplicity of the element does not admit of comparison, and what Donne says is, I think, 'The elements are purer than we are, and (being simple) farther from corruption.'
PAGE =328=, XIII. 4-6. _Whether that countenance can thee affright, Teares in his eyes quench the amazing light, Blood fills his frownes, which from his pierc'd head fell._
Chambers alters the comma after 'affright' to a full stop, the Grolier Club editor to a semicolon. Both place a semicolon after 'fell'. Any change of the old punctuation seems to me to disguise the close relation in which the fifth and sixth lines stand to the third. It is with the third line they must go, not with the seventh, with which a slightly different thought is introduced. 'Mark the picture of Christ in thy heart and ask, can that countenance affright thee in whose eyes the light of anger is quenched in tears, the furrows of whose frowns are filled with blood.' Then, from the countenance Donne's thought turns to the tongue. The full stop, accidentally dropped after 'fell' in the editions of _1633_ and _1635_, was restored in _1639_.
l. 14. _assures._ In this case the MSS. enable us to correct an obvious error of _all_ the printed editions.
PAGE =329=, XVI. 9. _Yet such are thy laws._ I have adopted the reading 'thy' of the Westmoreland and some other MSS. because the sense seems to require it. 'These' and 'those' referring to the same antecedent make a harsh construction. 'Thy laws necessarily transcend the limits of human capacity and therefore some doubt whether these conditions of our salvation can be fulfilled by men. They cannot, but grace and spirit revive what law and letter kill.'
l. 11. _None doth; but all-healing grace and spirit._ I have dropped the 'thy' of the editions, following all the MSS. I have no doubt that 'thy' has been inserted: (1) It spoils the rhyme: 'spirit' has to rhyme with 'yet', which is impossible unless the accent may fall on the second syllable; (2) 'thy' has been inserted, as 'spirit' has been spelt with a capital letter, under the impression that 'spirit' stands for the Divine Spirit, the Holy Ghost. But obviously 'spirit' is opposed to 'letter' as 'grace' is to 'law'. In _W_ both 'grace' and 'spirit' are spelt with capitals. Either both or neither must be so treated. 'Who also hath made us able ministers of the new testament; not of the letter, but of the spirit: for the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life.' 2 Cor. iii. 6.
If 'thy' is to be retained, then 'spirit' must be pronounced 'sprit'. Commentators on Shakespeare declare that this happens, but it is very difficult to prove it. When Donne needs a monosyllable he uses 'spright'; 'spirit' he rhymes as disyllable with 'merit'.
PAGE =330=, XVII. 1. _she whom I lov'd._ This is the reference to his wife's death which dates these poems. Anne More, Donne's wife, died on August 15, 1617, on the seventh day after the birth of her twelfth child. She was buried in the church of St. Clement Danes. Her monument disappeared when the Church was rebuilt. The inscription ran:
{ ANNAE } GEORGII} { MORE de } {Filiae ROBERT} {Lothesley} {Soror. WILIELMI} { Equitum } {Nept. CHRISTOPHERI} { Aurator } {Pronept. Foeminae lectissimae, dilectissimaeq' Conjugi charissimae, castissimaeq' Matri piissimae, indulgentissimaeq' xv annis in conjugio transactis, vii post xii partum (quorum vii superstant) dies immani febre correptae (quod hoc saxum fari jussit Ipse prae dolore infans) Maritus (miserrimum dictu) olim charae charus cineribus cineres spondet suos, novo matrimonio (annuat Deus) hoc loco sociandos,
Johanne Donne
JOHANNE DONNE Sacr: Theol: Profess: Secessit An^o xxxiii aetat. suae et sui Jesu CIↃ. DC. XVII. Aug. xv
XVIII. It is clear enough why this sonnet was not published. It would have revealed Donne, already three years in orders, as still conscious of all the difficulties involved in a choice between the three divisions of Christianity--Rome, Geneva (made to include Germany), and England. This is the theme of his earliest serious poem, the _Satyre III_, and the subject recurs in the letters and sermons. Donne entered the Church of England not from a conviction that it, and it alone, was the true Church, but because he had first reached the position that there is salvation in each: 'You know I never fettered nor imprisoned the word Religion; not straitening it Frierly _ad Religiones factitias_, (as the _Romans_ call well their orders of Religion) nor immuring it in a Rome, or a _Wittenberg_, or a _Geneva_; they are all virtuall beams of one Sun, and wheresoever they find clay hearts, they harden them, and moulder them into dust; and they entender and mollifie waxen. They are not so contrary as the North and South Poles; and that they are connatural pieces of one circle.' _Letters_, p. 29. From this position it was easy to pass to the view that, this being so, the Church of England may have special claims on _me_, as the Church of my Country, and to a recognition of its character as primitive, and as offering a _via media_. As such it attracted Casaubon and Grotius. But the Church of England never made the appeal to Donne's heart and imagination it did to George Herbert:
Beautie in thee takes up her place And dates her letters from thy face When she doth write. Herbert, _The British Church_.
Compare, however, the rest of Donne's poem with Herbert's description of Rome and Geneva, and also: 'Trouble not thy selfe to know the formes and fashions of forraine particular Churches; neither of a Church in the Lake, nor a Church upon seven hils'. _Sermons_ 80. 76. 769.
PAGE =331=. THE CROSSE.
Donne has evidently in view the aversion of the Puritan to the sign of the cross used in baptism.
With the latter part of the poem compare George Herbert's _The Crosse_.
PAGE =332=, l. 27. _extracted chimique medicine._ Compare:
Only in this one thing, be no Galenist; To make Courts hot ambitions wholesome, do not take A dramme of Countries dulnesse; do not adde Correctives, but as chymiques, purge the bad. _Letters to, &c._, p. 182, ll. 59-62.
ll. 33-4. _As perchance carvers do not faces make, But that away, which hid them there, do take._
'To make representations of men, or of other creatures, we finde two wayes; Statuaries have one way, and Painters have another: Statuaries doe it by Substraction; They take away, they pare off some parts of that stone, or that timber, which they work upon, and then that which they leave, becomes like that man, whom they would represent: Painters doe it by Addition; Whereas the cloth or table presented nothing before, they adde colours, and lights, and shadowes, and so there arises a representation.' _Sermons_ 80. 44. 440.
Norton compares Michelangelo's lines:
Non ha l' ottimo artista alcun concetto Ch' un marmo solo in se non circonscriva Col suo soverchio, e solo a quello arriva La man che obbedisce all' intelletto.
PAGE =333=, l. 47. _So with harsh, &c._ Chambers, I do not know why, punctuates this line:
So with harsh, hard, sour, stinking; cross the rest;
This disguises the connexion of 'cross' with its adverbial qualifications. The meaning is that as we cross the eye by making it contemplate 'bad objects' so we must cross the rest, i.e. the other senses, with harsh (the ear), hard (touch), sour (the taste), and stinking (the sense of smell). The asceticism of Donne in his later life is strikingly evidenced in such lines as these.
l. 48. I have made an emendation here which seems to me to combine happily the text of _1633_ and that of the later editions. It seems to me that _1633_ has dropped 'all', _1635-69_ have dropped 'call'. I thought the line as I give it was in _O'F_, but found on inquiry I had misread the collation. I should withdraw it, but cannot find it in my heart to do so.
l. 52. _Points downewards._ I think the MS. reading is probably right, because (1) 'Pants' is the same as 'hath palpitation'; (2) Donne alludes to the anatomy of the heart, in the same terms, in the _Essayes in Divinity_, p. 74 (ed. Jessop, 1855): 'O Man, which art said to be the epilogue, and compendium of all this world, and the Hymen and matrimonial knot of eternal and mortal things ... and was made by God's hands, not His commandment; and hast thy head erected to heaven, and all others to the centre, that yet only thy heart of all others points downward, and only trembles.'
The reference in each case is to the anatomy of the day: 'The figure of it, as Hippocrates saith in his Booke _de Corde_ is Pyramidall, or rather turbinated and somewhat answering to the proportion of a Pine Apple, because a man is broad and short chested. For the Basis above is large and circular but not exactly round, and after it by degrees endeth in a cone or dull and blunt round point ... His lower part is called the Vertex or top, _Mucro_ or point, the Cone, the heighth of the heart. Hippocrates calleth it the taile which Galen saith ... is the basest part, as the Basis is the noblest.' Helkiah Crooke: [Greek: MIKROKOSMOGRΑPHIΑ], _A Description of the Body of Man, &c._ (1631), Book I, chap. ii, _Of the Heart_.
'The heart therefore is called [Greek: kardia apo tou kerdainesthai], (_sic. i.e._ [Greek: kradainesthai]) which signifieth _to beate_ because it is perpetually moved from the ingate to the outgate of life.' _Ibid._, Book VII, _The Preface_.
l. 53. _dejections._ Donne uses both the words given here: 'dejections of spirit,' _Sermons_ 50. 13. 102; and 'these detorsions have small force, but (as sunbeams striking obliquely, or arrows diverted with a twig by the way) they lessen their strength, being turned upon another mark than they were destined to,' _Essays in Divinity_ (Jessop), p. 42.
l. 61. _fruitfully._ The improved sense, as well as the unanimity of the MSS., justifies the adoption of this reading. A preacher may deal 'faithfully' with his people. The adverb refers to his action, not its result in them. The Cross of Christ, in Donne's view, must always deal faithfully; whether its action produces fruit depends on our hearts.
PAGE =334=. THE ANNUNTIATION AND PASSION.
The MSS. add 'falling upon one day Anno Dñi 1608'; i.e. March 25, 1608/9. George Herbert wrote some Latin verses _In Natales et Pascha concurrentes_, and Sir John Beaumont an English poem 'Vpon the two great feasts of the Annuntiation and Resurrection falling on the same day, March 25, 1627'.
PAGE =336=. GOOD FRIDAY.
l. 2. _The intelligence_: i.e. the angel. Each sphere has its angel or intelligence that moves and directs it. Grosart quotes the arrangement,--the Sun, Raphael; the Moon, Gabriel; Mercury, Michael; Mars, Chemuel; Jupiter, Adahiel; Venus, Haniel; Saturn, Zaphiel.
l. 4. _motions._ Nothing is more easy and common than the dropping of the final 's', which in writing was indicated by little more than a stroke. The reference is to the doctrine of cycles and epicycles.
l. 13. _But that Christ on this Crosse, did rise and fall._ Grosart and Chambers adopt the reading 'his Crosse' of _1635-69_, the former without any reference to the alternative reading. Professor Norton, in the Grolier Club edition, prints this, but in a note at the end remarks' that all editions after that of 1633 give this verse, correctly,
But that Christ on his cross did rise and fall'.
The agreement of the later editions is of little importance. They too often agree to go wrong. The balance of the MS. evidence is on the side of _1633_. To me 'this' seems the more vivid and pointed reading. The line must be taken in close connexion with what precedes. 'If I turned to the East,' says Donne, 'I should see Christ lifted on to his Cross to die, a Sun by rising set. And unless Christ had consented to rise and set on _this_ Crosse (this Crosse which I should see in vision if I turned my head), which was raised this day, Sin would have eternally benighted all.'
l. 22. _turne all spheres._ The 'tune all speares' of the editions and some MSS. is tempting because of (as it is doubtless due to) the Platonic doctrine of the music of the spheres. But Donne was more of a Schoolman and Aristotelian than a Platonist, and I think there can be little doubt that he is describing Christ as the 'first mover'. On the other hand 'tune' may include 'turne'. The Dutch poet translates:
Die 't Noord en Zuyder-punt bereicken, daer Sy 't spanden Er geven met een' draeg elck Hemel-rond sijn toon.
The idea that the note of each is due to the rate at which it is spun is that of Plato, _The Republic_, x.
PAGE =338=. THE LITANIE.
In a letter to Goodyere written apparently in 1609 or 1610, Donne says: 'Since my imprisonment in my bed, I have made a meditation in verse, which I call a Litany; the word you know imports no other then supplication, but all Churches have one forme of supplication, by that name. Amongst ancient annals I mean some 800 years, I have met two Litanies in Latin verse, which gave me not the reason of my meditations, for in good faith I thought not upon them then, but they give me a defence, if any man, to a Lay man, and a private, impute it as a fault, to take such divine and publique names, to his own little thoughts. The first of these was made by Ratpertus a Monk of Suevia; and the other by S. Notker, of whom I will give you this note by the way, that he is a private Saint, for a few Parishes; they were both but monks and the Letanies poor and barbarous enough; yet Pope Nicolas the 5, valued their devotion so much, that he canonized both their Poems, and commanded them for publike service in their Churches: mine is for lesser Chappels, which are my friends, and though a copy of it were due to you, now, yet I am so unable to serve my self with writing it for you at this time (being some 30 staves of 9 lines) that I must intreat you to take a promise that you shall have the first, for a testimony of that duty which I owe to your love, and to my self, who am bound to cherish it by my best offices. That by which it will deserve best acceptation, is, that neither the Roman Church need call it defective, because it abhors not the particular mention of the blessed Triumphers in heaven; nor the Reformed can discreetly accuse it, of attributing more then a rectified devotion ought to doe.'
The Litanies referred to in Donne's letter to Goodyere may be read in Migne's _Patrologia Latina_, vol. lxxxvii, col. 39 and 42. They are certainly barbarous enough. That of Ratpertus is entitled _Litania Ratperti ad processionem diebus Dominicis_, and begins:
Ardua spes mundi, solidator et inclyte coeli Christe, exaudi nos propitius famulos. Virgo Dei Genetrix rutilans in honore perennis, Ora pro famulis, sancta Maria, tuis.
The other is headed _Notkeri Magistri cognomento Balbuli Litania rhythmica_, and opens thus:
Votis supplicibus voces super astra feramus, Trinus ut et simplex nos regat omnipotens. Sancte Pater, adiuva nos, Sancte Fili, adiuva nos, Compar his et Spiritus, ungue nos intrinsecus.
Michael, John the Baptist, Peter, Paul, and Stephen, martyrs and virgins, are appealed to in both. There are some differences in respect of particular saints invoked.
It is interesting also to compare Donne's series of petitions with those in a Middle English Litany preserved in the Balliol Coll. MS. 354 (published by Edward Flügel in _Anglia_ xxv. 220). The poetry is very poor and I need not quote. The interesting feature is the list of petitions 'Vnto the ffader', 'ye sonne', 'ye holy gost', 'the trinite', 'our lady', 'ye angelles'. 'ye propre angell', 'John baptist', 'ye appostiles', 'ye martires', 'the confessours', 'ye virgins', 'unto all sayntes'. Donne, it will be observed, includes the patriarchs and the prophets, but omits any reference to a guardian angel and to the saints. Other references in his poems and sermons show that he had the thought of a guardian angel often in his mind: 'As that Angel, which God hath given to protect thee, is not weary of his office, for all thy perversenesses, so, howsoever God deale with thee, be not thou weary of bearing thy part, in his Quire here in the Militant Church.' _Sermons_ 80. 44. 440.
PAGE =339=, l. 34. _a such selfe different instinct Of these;_
'As the three persons of the Trinity are distinguished as Power (The Father), Knowledge (The Son), Love (The Holy Ghost), and are yet identical, not three but one, may in me power, love, and knowledge be thus at once distinct and identical.' The comma after 'these' in _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ was accidentally dropped. In _1635-69_ a comma was then interpolated after 'instinct' and 'Of these' was connected with what follows: 'Of these let all mee elemented bee,' 'these' being made to point forward to the next line. Chambers and the Grolier Club editor both read thus. But _D_, _H49_, _Lec_ show what was the original punctuation. Without 'Of these' it is difficult to give a precise meaning to 'instinct'. It would be easy to change 'a such' to 'such a' with most of the MSS., but Donne seems to have affected this order. Compare _Elegie X: The Dreame_, p. 95, l. 17:
After a such fruition I shall wake.
PAGE =341=, l. 86. _In Abel dye._ Abel was to the early Church a type of Christ, as being the first martyr.
PAGE =343=, ll. 122-4. One might omit the brackets in these lines and substitute a semicolon after 'hearken too' and a comma after 'and do', and make the sense clearer. The MSS. bear evidence to their difficulty. There is certainly no call for brackets as we use them, and the 1633 edition is more sparing of them in this poem than the later editions. What Donne says is: 'While this quire' (enumerated in the previous stanzas) 'prays for us and thou hearkenest to them, let not us whose duty is to pray, to endure patiently, and to do thy will, trust in their prayers so far as to forget our duty of obedience and service.'
PAGE =347=, l. 231. _Which well, if we starve, dine_: 'well' has the support of all the MSS. and may be the adverb placed before its verb. 'If we starve they dine well.' In this wire-drawn and tormented poem it is hard to say what Donne may not have written. Most of the editors read 'will', and this appears in some copies of _1633_.
l. 243. _Heare us, weake ecchoes, O thou eare, and cry._ The 'cry' of the editions is surely right. God is at once the source of our prayers and their answerer. Our prayers are echoes of what His grace inspires in our hearts. The 'eye' of _S_ and other MSS., which also read 'wretches' for 'ecchoes', is due to a misapprehension of the condensed thought, and 'eye' with 'ecchoes' is entirely irrelevant. _JC_ tries another emendation: 'Oh thou heare our cry.'
'Every man who prostrates himselfe in his chamber, and poures out his soule in prayer to God;... though his faith assure him, that God hath granted all that he asked upon the first petition of his prayer, yea before he made it, (for God put that petition in to his heart and mouth, and moved him to aske it, that thereby he might be moved to grant it), yet as long as the Spirit enables him he continues his prayer,' &c. _Sermons_ 80. 77. 786.
But indeed we do not need to go to the _Sermons_ to see that this is Donne's meaning. He has emphasized it already in this poem: e.g. in Stanza xxiii:
Heare us, for till thou heare us, Lord We know not what to say: Thine eare to'our sighes, teares, thoughts gives voice and word. O Thou who Satan heard'st in Jobs sicke day, Heare thy selfe now, for thou in us dost pray.
'But in things of this kind (i.e. sermons), that soul that inanimates them never departs from them. The Spirit of God that dictates them in the speaker or writer, and is present in his tongue or hand, meets him again (as we meet ourselves in a glass) in the eyes and ears and hearts of the hearers and readers.' Gosse, _Life, &c._, i. 123: To ... the Countess of Montgomery.
'God cannot be called a cry', Grosart says; but St. Paul so describes the work of the Spirit: 'Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities, for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered. And he that searcheth the heart knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit, because he maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of God.' Calvin thus closes his note on the passage: 'Atque ita locutus est Paulus quo significantius id totum tribueret Spiritus gratiae. Iubemur quidem pulsare, sed nemo sponte praemeditari vel unam syllabam poterit, nisi arcano Spiritus sui instinctu nos Deus pulset, adeoque sibi corda nostra aperiat.'
PAGE =348=, l. 246. _Gaine to thy self, or us allow._ If we perish neither Christ nor we have gained anything. Both have died in vain. If 'and' is substituted for 'or' in this line (_1635-69_ and Chambers) then the next line becomes otiose.
PAGE =348=. UPON THE TRANSLATION OF THE PSALMES, &c.
We do not know what was the occasion of these lines. The Countess was the mother of William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, and Philip Herbert, Earl of Montgomery, and of Pembroke after his brother's death. Poems by the former are frequently found with Donne's, e.g. in the Hawthornden MS. which is made from a collection in Donne's own possession. Doubtless they were known to one another, but there is no evidence of intimacy, such as letters. To the Countess of Montgomery Donne in 1619 sent a copy of one of his sermons which she had asked for (Gosse, _Life, &c_., ii. 123). It may have been for her that he composed this poem.
An elaborate copy of the Psalms was prepared by John Davis of Hereford. From this they were published in 1822.
From l. 53 it is evident that Donne's poem was written after the death of the Countess of Pembroke in 1621.
PAGE =349=, l. 38. _So well attyr'd abroad, so ill at home._ Donne has probably in mind the French versions of Clement Marot, which were the war-songs of the Huguenots.
PAGE =351=. TO MR. TILMAN.
Of Mr. Tilman I can find no trace in printed Oxford or Cambridge registers. The poem is a strange comment on the seventeenth century's estimate of the clergy:
Why do they think unfit That Gentry should joyne families with it?
In his _Life of George Herbert_ Walton tells us of Herbert's resolution to enter the Church, and the opposition he met with: 'He did, at his return to London, acquaint a Court-friend with his resolution to enter into _Sacred Orders_, who perswaded him to alter it, as too mean an employment, and too much below his birth, and the excellent abilities and endowments of his mind. To whom he replied, '_It hath been formerly judg'd that the Domestick Servants of the King of Heaven, should be of the noblest Families on Earth: and, though the Iniquity of the late Times have made Clergy-men meanly valued, and the sacred name of Priest contemptible; yet, I will labour to make it honourable, by consecrating all my learning, and all my poor abilities, to advance the Glory of that God that gave them._' This estimate of the clergy must not be overlooked when considering the struggle that went on in Donne's mind too before he crossed the Rubicon.
PAGE =352=, l. 43. _As Angels out of clouds, &c._ Walton doubtless had this line in his mind when he described Donne's own preaching: 'A Preacher in earnest, weeping sometimes for his Auditory, sometimes with them, alwayes preaching to himselfe, like an Angel from a cloud, though in none: carrying some (as S. Paul was) to heaven, in holy raptures; enticing others, by a sacred art and courtship, to amend their lives; and all this with a most particular grace, and un-imitable fashion of speaking.'
PAGE =352=. A HYMNE TO CHRIST.
PAGE =353=, ll. 9-12. Perhaps the rhetoric of these lines would be improved by shifting the semicolon from l. 10 to l. 11. 'In putting, at thy behest, the seas between my friends and me, I sacrifice them unto thee: Do thou put thy,' &c. As the verse stands the connexion between the first two lines and the next is a little vague.
l. 12. _thy sea_. I have adopted 'sea' from the MSS. in place of 'seas' _1633_. It was easy for the printer to take over 'seas' from the preceding line, but 'sea' is the more pointed word. The sea is the blood of Christ. The 1635-69 editions indeed read 'blood', which is as though a gloss had crept in from the margin. More probably 'blood' was a first version, changed by a bold metaphor to a more striking antithesis.
Miss Spearing has drawn my attention, since writing this note, to the peroration of _A Sermon of Valediction at my going into Germany, at Lincolns-Inne, April_ 18, 1619, which I had overlooked. It confirms the rightness of 'sea'. The whole passage is of interest in connexion with this poem: 'Now to make up a circle, by returning to our first word, remember: As we remember God, so for his sake, let us remember one another. In my long absence, and far distance from hence, remember me, as I shall do you in the ears of that God, to whom the farthest East, and the farthest West are but as the right and left ear in one of us; we hear with both at once, and he hears in both at once; remember me, not my abilities; for when I consider my Apostleship that I was sent to you, I am in St. Pauls _quorum, quorum ego sum minimus_, the least of them that have been sent; and when I consider my infirmities, I am in his _quorum_, in another commission, another way, _Quorum ego maximus_; the greatest of them; but remember my labors, and endeavors, at least my desire, to make sure your salvation. And I shall remember your religious cheerfulness in hearing the word, and your christianly respect towards all them that bring that word unto you, and towards myself in particular far bove my merit. And so as your eyes that stay here, and mine that must be far of, for all that distance shall meet every morning, in looking upon that same Sun, and meet every night, in looking upon the same Moon; so our hearts may meet morning and evening in that God, which sees and hears everywhere; that you may come thither to him with your prayers, that I, (if I may be of use for his glory, and your edification in this place) may be restored to you again; and may come to him with my prayer that what _Paul_ soever plant amongst you, or what _Apollos_ soever water, God himself will give us the increase: That if I never meet you again till we have all passed the gate of death, yet in the gates of heaven, I may meet you all, and there say to my Saviour and your Saviour, that which he said to his Father and our Father, _Of those whom thou hast given me, have I not lost one_. Remember me thus, you that stay in this Kingdome of peace, where no sword is drawn, but the sword of Justice, as I shal remember you in those Kingdomes, where ambition on one side, and a necessary defence from unjust persecution on the other side hath drawn many swords; and Christ Jesus remember us all in his Kingdome, to which, _though we must sail through a sea, it is the sea of his blood_, where no soul suffers shipwrack; though we must be blown with strange winds, with sighs and groans for our sins, yet it is the Spirit of God that blows all this wind, and shall blow away all contrary winds of diffidence or distrust in God's mercy; where we shall be all Souldiers of one army, the Lord of Hostes, and Children of one Quire, the God of Harmony and consent: where all Clients shall retain but one Counsellor, our Advocate Christ Jesus, nor present him any other fee but his own blood, and yet every Client have a Judgment on his side, not only in a not guilty, in the remission of his sins, but in a _Venite benedicti_, in being called to the participation of an immortal Crown of glory: where there shall be no difference in affection, nor in mind, but we shall agree as fully and perfectly in our _Allelujah_, and _gloria in excelsis_, as God the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost agreed in the _faciamus hominem_ at first; where we shall end, and yet begin but then; where we shall have continuall rest, and yet never grow lazie; where we shall be stronger to resist, and yet have no enemy; where we shall live and never die, where we shall meet and never part.' _Sermons_ 26. 19. 280.
l. 28. _Fame, Wit, Hopes, &c._ Compare: 'How ill husbands then of this dignity are we by _sinne_, to forfeit it by submitting our selves to inferior things? either to _gold_, then which every worme, (because a worme hath life, and gold hath none) is in nature more estimable, and more precious; Or, to that which is lesse than gold, to Beauty; for there went neither labour, nor study, nor cost to the making of that; (the Father cannot diet himselfe so, nor the mother so, as to be sure of a faire child) but it is a thing that hapned by chance, wheresoever it is; and, as there are Diamonds of divers waters, so men enthrall themselves in one clime to a black, in another to a white beauty. To that which is lesse then _gold_ or _Beauty_, _voice_, _opinion_, _fame_, _honour_, we sell our selves.' _Sermons_ 50. 38. 352.
PAGE =354=. THE LAMENTATIONS OF JEREMY.
Immanuel Tremellius was born in the Ghetto of Ferrara in 1510. His father was apparently a Jewish surgeon, a man of distinction in the Jewish community. Educated as a Jew, Tremellius became a Christian about the age of twenty, and, under the influence of the Protestant movement which was agitating Italy as well as other countries, a Calvinist. When persecution began Tremellius fled from Lucca, where he had taught Hebrew under the reformer Vermigli, to Strasburg, and thereafter his life was that of the wandering, often fugitive, scholar and reformer. He was invited to England by Cranmer in 1548, and held the Professorship of Hebrew at Cambridge until 1553. The accession of Mary drove him back to the Continent, and he was tutor to the children of the Duke of Zweibrüchen from 1554 to 1558, and rector of the Gymnasium at Hornbach from 1558 to 1560. The Duke became a Lutheran, and Tremellius was exiled, but found after a year or two a haven in the University of Heidelberg, where Duke Frederick III had rallied to the Calvinist cause. Tremellius was Professor of Theology here from 1562-77, and it was here that he issued most of his works. He had already published a Hebrew version of the Genevan Catechism intended for his Jewish brethren. The works issued at Heidelberg include a Chaldaic and Syriac Grammar, an edition of the Peschito (an old Syrian version of the New Testament), and the Latin translation of the Old Testament which Donne utilized for his paraphrase. In this work he was assisted by his son-in-law Francis Junius (father of the Anglo-Saxon and Antiquarian scholar), a native of Bourges, who had served as a field-preacher under William the Silent. Junius was responsible only for the Apocrypha, so that Donne rightly mentions Tremellius alone. The work was published at Frankfort in 1575-9; in London in 1580, 1581, and 1585; at Geneva in 1590 and 1617. In the Genevan editions it was coupled with Beza's translation of the New Testament. The whole was re-issued at Hanover as late as 1715.
Duke Frederick III's successor was a Lutheran, and Tremellius was driven into exile once more in 1577. His last years were spent as teacher in the Academy instituted by Henri de la Tour d'Auvergne, Vicomte de Turenne, in Sedan. Here he died in 1580.
I have compared Donne's version throughout with both Tremellius' translation and the Vulgate, and wherever the collation helps to fix the text I have quoted their readings in the textual notes. I add here one or two more quotations from the originals. Tremellius' version was accompanied, it must be remembered, with an elaborate commentary.
PAGE =356=, l. 58. _accite_, the reading of _B_, _O'F_ as well as _1635-69_, I have not yet found elsewhere in Donne's works, but doubtless it occurs. Shakespeare uses it once:
He by the Senate is accited home From weary wars against the barbarous Goths. _Tit. Andr._ I. i. 27-8.
ll. 75-6. _for they sought for meat Which should refresh their soules, they could not get_.
Chambers has printed this poem from _1639_, noting occasionally the readings of _1635_ and _1650_, but ignoring consistently those of _1633_. Here _1633_ has the support of _N_, _TCD_; _B_ reads 'they none could get'; and _O'F_, if I may trust my collation, agrees with _1635-69;_ Grolier follows _1633_ but conjectures 'the sought-for meat'. This is unnecessary. It is quite in Donne's style to close with an abrupt 'they could not get'. Modern punctuation would change the comma to a semicolon. The version of Tremellius runs: 'Expirarunt quum quaererent escam sibi, qua reficerent se ipsos.' The Vulgate, 'consumpti sunt, quia quaesierunt cibum sibi ut refocillarent animum.'
PAGE =357=, l. 81. _Of all which heare I mourne_: i.e. 'which hear that I mourn.' The construction is harsh, and I was tempted for a moment to adopt the 'me' of _N_, but Donne is translating Tremellius, and 'me in gemitu esse' is not quite the same thing as 'me gementem'. Grosart and Chambers and the Grolier Club editor would not have followed _1639_ in changing 'heare' to 'here' had they consulted the original poem which Donne is paraphrasing in any version. The Vulgate runs: 'Audierunt quia ingemisco ego, et non est qui consoletur me.'
PAGE =359=, l. 161. _poure, for thy sinnes_. The 'poure out thy sinnes' of _1635-69_ which Grosart and Chambers follow is obviously wrong. The words 'for thy sinnes' have no counterpart in the Latin of Tremellius or the Vulgate. The latter runs: 'Effunde sicut aquam cor tuum ante conspectum Domini.'
PAGE =360=, ll. 182-3. _hath girt mee in With hemlocke, and with labour_.
Cingit cicuta et molestia, _Tremellius_: circumdedit me felle et labore, _Vulgate_. Donne combines the two versions. He is fond of using 'hemlock' as the typical poison: and he tells Wotton in one of his letters that to him labour or business is the worst of evils: 'I professe that I hate businesse so much, as I am sometimes glad to remember, that the _Roman Church_ reads that verse _A negotio perambulante in tenebris_, which we reade from the pestilence walking by night, so equall to me do the plague and businesse deserve avoiding.' _Letters_, p. 142. To Goodyere in like manner he writes, 'we who have been accustomed to one another are like in this, that we love not businesse.' _Letters_, p. 94.
PAGE =361=, l. 193. _the children of his quiver_. Donne found this phrase in the Vulgate or in the margin of Tremellius. In the text of the latter the verse runs, 'Immitit in renes meos tela pharetrae suae.' The marginal note says, '_Heb._ filios, id est, prodeuntes a pharetra.' The Vulgate reads, 'filias pharetrae suae.'
l. 197. _drunke with wormewood_: 'inebriavit me absinthio, _Tremellius and Vulgate_.
PAGE =362=, ll. 226-30. I have changed the full stop in l. 229, 'him', to a comma, for all these clauses are objective to 'the Lord allowes not this'. The construction is modelled on the original: 'Non enim affligit ex animo suo, moestitiaque afficit filios viri. 34. Conterere sub pedibus suis omnes vinctos terrae, 35. Detorquere ius viri coram facie superioris, 36. Pervertere hominem in causa sua, Dominus non probat.' The version of the Vulgate is similar: '33. Non enim humiliavit ex corde suo, et abiecit filios hominum, 34. Ut contereret sub pedibus suis omnes vinctos terrae; 35. Ut declinaret iudicium viri in conspectu vultus Altissimi; 36. Ut perverteret hominem in iudicio suo; Dominus ignoravit.'
PAGE =364=, l. 299. _their bone_. The reading of the editions is probably right: 'Concreta est cutis eorum cum osse ipsorum,' _Tremellius_.
l. 302. _better through pierc'd then through penury_. I have no doubt that the 'through penury' of the 1635-69 editions and the MSS. is what Donne wrote. The 1633 editor changed it to 'by penury'. Donne is echoing the parallelism of 'confossi gladio quam confossi fame'. The Vulgate has simply 'Melius fuit occisio gladio quam interfectio fame'.
PAGE =366=, l. 337. _The annointed Lord, &c._ Chambers, to judge from his use of capital letters, evidently reads this verse as applying to God,--'Th'Annointed Lord', 'under His shadow'. It is rather the King of Israel. Tremellius's note runs: 'Id est, Rex noster e posteritate Davidis, quo freti saltem nobis dabitur aliqua interspirandi occasio in quibuslibet angustiis: nam praefidebant Judaei dignitati illius regni, tamquam si pure et per seipsum fuisset stabile; non autem spectabant Christum, qui finis est et complementum illius typi, neque conditiones sibi imperatas.' 'The anointed of the Lord' is the translation of the Revised Version. The Vulgate version seems to indicate a prophetic reference, which may be what Chambers had in view: 'Spiritus oris nostri, Christus Dominus, captus est in peccatis nostris: In umbra tua vivemus in gentibus.' Donne took this verse as the text of a Gunpowder Plot sermon in 1622. He points out there that some commentators have applied the verse to Josiah, a good king; others to Zedekiah, a bad king: 'We argue not, we dispute not; we embrace that which arises from both, That both good Kings and bad Kings ... are the anointed of the Lord, and the breath of the nostrils, that is, the life of the people,' &c. James is 'the Josiah of our times'. James had good reasons for preferring bishops to Andrew Melville and other turbulent presbyters. But Donne, who was steeped in the Vulgate, notes a possible reference to Christ: 'Or if he lamented the future devastation of that Nation, occasioned by the death of the King of Kings, Christ Jesus, when he came into the world, this was their case _prophetically_.' _Sermons_ 50. 43. 402.
l. 355. _wee drunke, and pay_: 'pecunia bibimus' _Tremellius and Vulgate_: the Latin may be present or past tense, but the verse goes on in the Vulgate, 'ligna nostra pretio comparavimus,' which shows that 'bibimus' is 'we drunk' or 'we have drunk'. The Authorized Version reads 'we have drunken'.
PAGE =367=, l. 374. _children fall_. 'Juvenes ad molendum portant, et pueri ad ligna corruunt,' _Tremellius_; 'et pueri in ligno corruerunt,' _Vulgate_. But the latter translates the first half of the line quite differently.
PAGE =368=. HYMN TO GOD MY GOD, IN MY SICKNESSE.
The date which Walton gives for this poem, March 23, 1630, is of course March 23, 1631, i.e. eight days before the writer's death. Donne's tense and torturing will never relaxed its hold before the final moment: Being speechlesse, he did (as Saint Stephen) look steadfastly towards heaven, till he saw the Sonne of God standing at the right hand of his Father; And being satisfied with this blessed sight, (as his soule ascended, and his last breath departed from him) he closed his owne eyes, and then disposed his hands and body into such a posture, as required no alteration by those that came to shroud him.' _Walton_ (1670).
Donne's monument had been designed by himself and shows him thus shrouded. The epitaph too is his own composition and is the natural supplement to this hymn:
JOHANNES DONNE SAC. THEOL. PROFESS. POST VARIA STVDIA QVIBVS AB ANNIS TENERRIMIS FIDELITER, NEC INFELICITER INCVBVIT;
Instinctv Et Impvlsv Sp. Sancti, Monitv Et Hortatv Regis Jacobi, Ordines Sacros Amplexvs
INSTINCTV ET IMPVLSV SP. SANCTI, MONITV ET HORTATV REGIS JACOBI, ORDINES SACROS AMPLEXVS ANNO SVI JESV MDCXIV. ET SVÆ ÆTATIS XLII DECANATV HVJVS ECCLESIÆ INDVTVS XXVII NOVEMBRIS, MDCXXI. EXVTVS MORTE VLTIMO DIE MARTII MDCXXXI. HIC LICET IN OCCIDVO CINERE ASPICIT EVM CVJVS NOMEN EST ORIENS.
The reference in the last line of the epitaph, and the figure of the map with which he plays in the second and third stanzas of the _Hymne_ are both illustrated by a passage in a sermon on Psalm vi. 8-10: 'In a flat Map, there goes no more, to make West East, though they be distant in an extremity, but to paste that flat Map upon a round body, and then West and East are all one. In a flat soule, in a dejected conscience, in a troubled spirit, there goes no more to the making of that trouble, peace, then to apply that trouble to the body of the Merits, to the body of the Gospel of Christ Jesus, and conforme thee to him, and thy West is East, thy Trouble of spirit is Tranquillity of spirit. The name of Christ is _Oriens_, _The East_; And yet Lucifer himself is called _Filius Orientis_, _The Son of the East_. If thou beest fallen by _Lucifer_, fallen to _Lucifer_, and not fallen as _Lucifer_, to a senselessnesse of thy fall, and an impenitiblenesse therein, but to a troubled spirit, still thy prospect is the East, still thy Climate is heaven, still thy Haven is Jerusalem; for, in our lowest dejection of all, even in the dust of the grave, we are so composed, so layed down, as that we look to the East: If I could beleeve that _Trajan_, or _Tecla_, could look Eastward, that is, towards Christ, in Hell, I could beleeve with them of Rome, that Trajan and Tecla were redeemed by prayer out of hell.' _Sermons_ 80. 55. 558.
For 'the name of Christ is Oriens'. Donne refers in the margin to _Zachariae_ vi. 12: 'Et loqueris ad eum dicens: Haec ait Dominus exercituum, dicens: ECCE VIR ORIENS NOMEN EJUS; et subter eum orietur, et aedificabit templum Domino.' In the English versions, Genevan and Authorized, the words run 'whose name is the Branch', but to Donne the Vulgate was the form in which he knew the Scriptures most intimately. At the same time he consulted and refers to the English versions frequently: 'that which we call the _Bishops Bible_, nor that which we call the _Geneva Bible_, and that which we may call the _Kings_.' _Sermons_ 80. 50. 506.
The difference between the two versions is due, I understand, to the fact that the Hebrew participle 'rising' and the Hebrew word for 'branch' contain the same consonants. In unpointed Hebrew it was, therefore, possible to confound them. The Septuagint version is [Greek: Anatolê onoma autou].
In describing the preparations for making Donne's tomb Walton says: 'Upon this urn he thus stood, with his eyes shut, and with so much of the sheet turned aside, as might show his lean, pale, and deathlike face, which was purposely turned towards the east, from whence he expected the second coming of his and our Saviour Jesus.' Walton says that he stood, but Mr. Hamo Thornycroft has pointed out that the drapery by its folds reveals that it was modelled from a recumbent figure. Gosse, _Life, &c_., ii. 288.
ll. 18-20. _Anyan, and Magellan, and Gibraltare, All streights, and none but streights, are wayes to them._
Grosart and Chambers have boggled unnecessarily at these lines. The former inserts an unnecessary and unmetrical 'are' after 'Gibraltare'. The latter interpolates a mark of interrogation after 'Gibraltare', putting 'Anyan, and Magellan and Gibraltare' on a level with the Pacific, the 'eastern riches' and Jerusalem, i.e. _six_ possible homes instead of _three_. What the poet says is simply, 'Be my home in the Pacific, or in the rich east, or in Jerusalem, to each I must sail through a strait, viz. Anyan (i.e. Behring Strait) if I go west by the North-West passage, or Magellan, or Gibraltar. These, all of which are straits, are ways to them, and none but straits are ways to them.' A condensed construction makes 'are ways to them' predicate to two subjects. For 'the straight of Anian' see Hakluyt's _Principal Navigations_, vol. vii, Glasgow, 1904, esp. the map at p. 256, which shows very distinctly how the 'Straight of Anian' was conceived to separate America from 'Cathaia in Asia' and to lead right on to Japan and the 'Ilandes of Moluccae', 'the eastern riches.' The _Mare Pacificum_ lies further to the south and east, entered by the 'Straight of Magellanes' between Peru and the 'Terra del Fuego', which latter is not an island but part of the great 'Terra Australis'. Thus 'none but straights' lead to the 'eastern riches' or the Pacific. 'Outre ce que les navigations des modernes ont des-jà presque descouvert que ce n'est point une isle, ains terre ferme et continente avec l'Inde orientale d'un costé, et avec les terres qui sont soubs les deux poles d'autre part; ou, si elle en est separée, que c'est d'un si petit destroit et intervalle, qu'elle ne merite pas d'estre nommé isle pour cela.' Montaigne, _Essais_, i. 31: _Des Cannibales_.
The conceit about the 'straits' Donne had already used: 'a narrower way but to a better Land; thorow Straits; 'tis true; but to the _Pacifique_ Sea, The consideration of the treasure of the Godly Man in this World, and God's treasure towards him, both in this, and the next.' _Sermons_ 26. 5. 71.
'Who ever amongst our Fathers thought of any other way to the Moluccaes, or to China, then by the Promontory of _Good Hope_? Yet another way opened itself to _Magellan_; a Straite; it is true; but yet a way thither; and who knows yet, whether there may not be a North-East, and a North-West way thither, besides?' _Sermons_ 80. 24. 241.
Nevertheless by the time Donne wrote his hymn the sea to the south of Terra del Fuego had recently been discovered. He is using the language of a slightly earlier date, of his own youth, when travels and far countries were much in his imagination. In 1617 George, Lord Carew, writing to Sir Thomas Roe, Ambassador at the Court of the Mogul, says: 'The Hollanders have discovered to the southward of the Strayghts of Magellen an open sea and free passage to the south sea.' _Letters of George, Lord Carew to Sir Thomas Roe_, Camden Society, 1860. For the 'Straight of Anyan' compare also:
This makes the foisting traveller to sweare, And face out many a lie within the yeere. And if he have beene an howre or two aboarde To spew a little gall: then by the Lord, He hath beene in both th'Indias, East and West, Talks of Guiana, China, and the rest, The straights of Gibraltare, and Ænian Are but hard by; no, nor the Magellane: Mandeville, Candish, sea-experienst Drake Came never neere him, if he truly crake. Gilpin, _Skialetheia_, Satyre I.
For 'Ænian' in this passage Grosart conjectures 'Aegean'! I have put a semicolon for a comma in the third last line quoted. I take it and the preceding to be a quotation from the traveller's talk.
PAGE =369=. A HYMNE TO GOD THE FATHER.
The text of the 1633 edition, which is, with one trifling exception, that of the other printed editions, is followed by Walton in the first short life of Donne prefixed to the _LXXX Sermons_ (1640). Walton probably took it from one of the 1633, 1635, or 1639 editions; but he may have had a copy of the poem. The MSS. which contain the hymn have some important differences, and instead of noting these as variants or making a patchwork text I have thought it best to print the poem as given in _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _S96_, _TCC_, _TCD_. The six MSS. represent three or perhaps two different sources if _O'F_ and _S96_ are derived from a common original--(1) _A18_, _N_, _TC_, (2) _S96_, (3) _O'F_. It is not likely, therefore, that their variants are simply editorial emendations. In some respects their text seems to me to improve on that of the printed editions.
_S96_ and _O'F_ differ from the third group in reading, at l. 5, 'I have not done.' On the other hand, _A18_ and _TC_ at l. 4 read 'do them', and at l. 15 'this sunne' (probably a misreading of 'thie'). It seems to me that the readings of l. 2 ('is'), l. 3 ('those sinnes'), l. 7 ('by which I won'), and l. 15 ('Sweare by thyself') are undoubtedly improvements, and in a text constructed on the principle adopted by Mr. Bullen in his anthologies I should adopt them. Some of the other readings, e.g. l. 18 ('I have no more'), probably belong to a first version of the poem and were altered by the poet himself. _O'F_, which was prepared in 1632, strikes out 'have' and writes 'fear' above. But in a seventeenth-century poem, circulating in MS. and transcribed in commonplace-books, who can say which emendations are due to the author, which to transcribers? Moreover, the line 'I have no more', i.e. no more to ask, emphasizes the play upon his own name which runs through the poem. 'I have no more' is equivalent to 'I am Donne'.
Walton in citing this hymn adds: 'I have the rather mentioned this Hymn for that he caused it to be set to a most grave and solemn tune and to be often sung to the Organ by the Choristers of St. Pauls Church, in his own hearing, especially at the Evening Service; and at his Customary Devotions in that place, did occasionally say to a friend, The words of this Hymne have restored me to the same thoughts of joy that possest my Soul in my sicknesse when I composed it. And, O the power of Church-music! that Harmony added to it has raised the Affections of my heart, and quickened my graces of zeal and gratitude; and I observe, that I always return from paying this publick duty of Prayer and Praise to God, with an unexpressible tranquillity of mind, and a willingness to leave the world.'
Walton does not tell us who composed the music he refers to, but the following setting has been preserved in Egerton MS. 2013. The composer is John Hillton (d. 1657), organist to St. Margaret's Church, Westminster. See Grove's _Dictionary of Music_.
As given here it has been corrected by Mr. Barclay Squire:
[Illustration: Musical notation with lyrics:
Wilt thou for-give the sinnes where I be-gunne, w^{c}h is my sinne though it weare done be-fore, wilt thou for-give those sinnes through w^{c}h I runne, & doe them still, though still I doe de-plore when thou hast done, thou hast not done, for I have more.]
2 Wilt thou forgive y^t sinne by w^{ch} I won Others to sinne & made my sinne their dore Wilt thou forgive that sinne w^{ch} I did shun A yeare or two, but wallowed in a score When thou hast done, thou hast not done For I have more.
3 I have a sinne of feare y^t when I 'ave spun My last thred I shall perish one y^e shore Sweare by thy selfe y^t att my death thy son Shall shine as he shines now & heartofore And havinge done, thou hast done I need noe more.
John: Hillton.
The music has been thus harmonized for four voices by Professor C. Sanford Terry:
[Illustration: musical notation
A - - - men.]
PAGE =370=, ll. 7-8. _that sinne which I have wonne Others to sinn? &c._
In a powerful sermon on Matthew xxi. 44, Donne enumerates this among the curses that will overwhelm the sinner: 'There shall fall upon him those sinnes which he hath done after anothers dehortation, and those, which others have done after his provocation.' _Sermons_ 50. 35. 319.
Pia H I L A R I A Variaqve Carmina
PIA H I L A R I A VARIAQVE CARMINA
ANGELINI GAZÆI _è Societate Iesu, Atrebatis_.
[An ornament in original.]
Dilingae
DILINGAE
_Formis Academicis Cum auctoritate Superiorum_. Apud VDALRICUM REM CIↃ. IↃC. XXIII.
The folios of this edition do not correspond to those of that which Donne seems to have used.
Appendix B. Poems Which Have Been Attributed To Donne.
APPENDIX B.
POEMS WHICH HAVE BEEN ATTRIBUTED TO DONNE.
For a full discussion of the authorship of these poems see _Text and Canon of Donne's Poems_, pp. cxxix _et seq._
PAGE =401=. TO S^r NICHOLAS SMYTH.
Chambers points out that a Nicholas Smyth has a set of verses in _Coryats Crudities_, 1611.
In the _Visitation of the County of Devon_, 1620, a long genealogy is given, the closing portion of which shows who this Nicholas Smith or Smyth of Exeter (l. 15) and his father were:
Joan, d. of James Walker = Sir Geo. Smith of Exeter, who was descended of the | Knt., ob. 1619. Mathewes of Wales who | were descended of Flewellyns | and Herberts. | +-----------------+-----------+------+-----------------------+ | | | | Divers children Elizabeth, Sir Nicholas Smith=Dorothea, d. James, d. without &c. of Larkbeare in of Sir Raphe &c. issue. com. Devon, Kt. Horsey de com. Dorsett.
Seven children of Sir Nicholas are given, including another Nicholas (aet. 14), and the whole is signed 'Nich Smith'.
This is doubtless Roe's friend. With Roe as a Falstaff he had probably 'heard the chimes at midnight' in London before he settled down to raise a family in Devonshire.
l. 7. _sleeps House, &c._ Ovid xi; Ariosto, _Orlando Furioso_, Canto xiv; Spenser, _Faerie Queene_, I. i.
PAGE =402=, l. 26. _Epps_. 'This afternoon a servingman of the Earl of Northumberland fought with swaggering Eps, and ran him through the ear.' _Manninghams Diary_, 8th April, 1603 (Camden Club, p. 165). This is the only certain reference to Epps I have been able to find, but Grosart declares he is the soldier described in Dekker's _Knights Conjuring_ as behaving with great courage at the siege of Ostend (1601-4), where he was killed. I can find no name in Dekker's work.
ll. 27-31. As printed in _1669_ these lines are not very intelligible, and neither Grosart nor Chambers has corrected them. As given in the MSS. (e.g. _TCD_) they are a little clearer:
For his Body and State The Physick and Counsel (which came too late) 'Gainst whores and dice, hee nowe on mee bestowes Most superficially: hee speakes of those, (I found by him) least soundly whoe most knows:
The purpose of bracketing 'which came too late' is obviously to keep it from being taken with ''Gainst whores and dice'--the very mistake that _1669_ has fallen into and Grosart and Chambers have preserved. The drawback to this use of the bracket is that it disguises, at least to modern readers, that 'which came too late' must be taken with 'For his Body and State'. I have therefore dropped it and placed a comma after 'late'. The meaning I take to be as follows: 'The physic and counsel against whores and dice, which came too late for his own body and estate, he now bestows on me in a superficial fashion; for I found by him that of whores and dice those speak least soundly who know most from personal experience.' A rather shrewd remark. There are some spheres where experience does not teach, but corrupt.
l. 40. _in that or those_: 'that' the Duello, 'those' the laws of the Duello. There is not much to choose between 'these' and 'those'.
ll. 41-3. _Though sober; but so never fought. I know What made his Valour, undubb'd, Windmill go, Within a Pint at most:_
The MSS. improve both the metre and the sense of the first of these lines, which in _1669_ and Chambers runs:
Though sober; but nere fought. I know ...
It is when he is sober that he never fights, though he may quarrel. Roe knows exactly how much drink it would take to make this undubb'd Don Quixote charge a windmill, or like a windmill. But the poem is too early for an actual reference to _Don Quixote_
PAGE =403=, ll. 67-8. _and he is braver now Than his captain._
By 'braver' the poet means, not more courageous, but more splendidly attired, more 'braw'.
PAGE =404=, l. 88. _Abraham France_--who wrote English hexameters. His chief works are _The Countess of Pembrokes Ivy Church_ (1591) and _The Countess of Pembrokes Emmanuel_ (1591). He was alive in 1633.
PAGE =405=, l. 113. _So they their weakness hide, and greatness show._ Grosart refused the reading 'weakness', which he found in his favourite MS. _S_, and Chambers ignored it. It has, however, the support of _B_, _O'F_, and _L74_ (which is strong in Roe's poetry), and seems to me to give the right edge to the sarcasm. 'By giving to flatterers what they owe to worth, Kings and Lords think to hide their weakness of character, and to display the greatness of their wealth and station.' They make a double revelation of their weakness in their credulity and their love of display.
l. 128. _Cuff._ Henry Cuff (1563-1601), secretary to Essex and an abettor of the conspiracy.
l. 131. _that Scot._ It is incredible that Donne wrote these lines. He found some of his best friends among the Scotch--Hay, Sir Robert Ker, Essex, and Hamilton, to say nothing of the King.
PAGE =406=. SATYRE.
PAGE =407=, ll. 32-3. _A time to come, &c._ I have adopted Grosart's punctuation and think his interpretation of 'beg' must be the right one--'beg thee as an idiot or natural.' The O.E.D. gives: '† 5a. _To beg a person_: to petition the Court of Wards (established by Henry VIII and suppressed under Charles II) for the custody of a minor, an heiress, or an idiot, as feudal superior or as having interest in the matter: hence also fig. _To beg_ (any one) _for a fool_ or _idiot_: to take him for, set him down as. _Obs._' Among other examples is, 'He proved a wiser man by much than he that begged him. Harington, _Met. Ajax_ 46.' What the satirist says is, 'The time will come when she will beg to have wardship of thee as an idiot. If you continue she will take you for one now.'
l. 35. _Besides, her<s>._ My reading combines the variants. I think 'here' must be wrong.
PAGE =407=. AN ELEGIE.
PAGE =408=, l. 5. _Else, if you were, and just, in equitie &c._ This is the punctuation of _H39_, and is obviously right, 'in equitie' going with what follows. He has denied the existence or, at least, the influence of the Fates, and now continues, 'For if you existed or had power, and if you were just, then, according to all equity I should have vanquish'd her as you did me.' Grosart and the Grolier Club editor follow _1635-54_, and read:
Else, if you were, and just in equity, &c.
Chambers accepts the attempt of _1669_ to amend this, and prints:
True if you were, and just in equity, &c.
But 'just in equity' is not a phrase to which any meaning can be attached.
PAGE =412=. AN ELEGIE.
Grosart prints this very incorrectly. He does not even reproduce correctly the MS. _S_, which he professes to follow. Chambers follows Grosart, adopting some of the variants of the Haslewood-Kingsborough MS. reported by Grosart. They both have the strange reading 'cut in bands' in l. 11, which as a fact is not even in _S_, from which Grosart professes to derive it. The reading of all the MSS., 'but in his handes,' makes quite good sense. The Scot wants matter, except in his hands, i.e. dirt, which is 'matter out of place'. The reading, 'writ in his hands', which Chambers reports after Grosart, is probably a mistake of the latter's. Indeed his own note suggests that the reading of _H-K_ is 'but in's hands'.
PAGE =417=. TO THE COUNTESSE OF HUNTINGTON.
It looks as if some lines of this poem had been lost. The first sentence has no subject unless 'That' in the second line be a demonstrative--a very awkward construction.
If written by Donne this poem must have been composed about the same time as _The Storme_ and _The Calme_. He is writing apparently from the New World, from the Azores. But it is as impossible to recover the circumstances in which the poem was written as to be sure who wrote it.
PAGE =422=. ELEGIE.
ll. 5-6. _denounce ... pronounce._ The reading of the MSS. seems to me plainly the correct one. 'In others, terror, anguish and grief announce the approach of death. Her courage, ease and joy in dying pronounce the happiness of her state.' The reading of the printed texts is due to the error by which _1635_ and _1639_ took 'comming' as an epithet to 'terror' as 'happy' is to 'state'. Some MSS. read 'terrors' and 'joyes'.
l. 22. _Their spoyles, &c._ I have adopted the MS. reading here, though with some hesitation, because (1) it is the more difficult reading: 'Soules to thy conquest beare' seems more like a conjectural emendation than the other reading, (2) The construction of the line in the printed texts is harsh--one does not bear anything 'to a conquest', (3) the meaning suits the context better. It is not souls that are spoken of, but bodies. The bodies of the wicked become the spoil of death, trophies of his victory over Adam; not so those of the good, which shall rise again. See 1 Cor. xv. 54-5.
PAGE =424=. PSALME 137.
This Psalm is found in a MS. collection of metrical psalms (Rawlinson Poetical 161), in the Bodleian Library, transcribed by a certain R. Crane. The list of authors is Fr. Dav., Jos. Be., Rich. Cripps, Chr. Dav., Th. Carry. That Davison is the author of this particular Psalm is strongly suggested by the poetical _Induction_ which in style and verse resembles the psalm. The induction is signed 'Fr. Dav.' The first verse runs:
Come Urania, heavenly Muse, and infuse Sacred flame to my invention; Sing so loud that Angells may heare thy lay, Lending to thy note attention.
PAGE =429=. SONG.
_Soules joy, now I am gone, &c._ George Herbert, in the _Temple_, gives _A Parodie_ of this poem, opening:
Soul's joy, when thou art gone, And I alone, Which cannot be, Because Thou dost abide with me, And I depend on Thee.
The parody does not extend beyond the first verse.
It was one of the aims of Herbert to turn the Muse from profane love verses to sacred purposes. Mr. Chambers points to another reference to this poem in some very bad verses by Sir Kenelm Digby in Bright's edition of Digby's _Poems_ (p. 8), _The Roxburghe Club_.
APPENDIX C.
I. POEMS FROM ADDITIONAL MS. 25707. PAGE =433=.
The authorship of the four poems here printed from _A25_ has been discussed in the _Text and Canon, &c._ There is not much reason to doubt that the first is what it professes to be. The order of the names in the heading, and the character of the verses both suggest that the second and corresponding verses are Donne's contribution. There is a characteristic touch in each one. I cannot find anything eminently characteristic in any of the rest of the group. The third poem refers to the poetical controversy on Love and Reason carried on with much spirit between the Earl of Pembroke and Sir Benjamin Rudyerd in their _Poems_ as printed by the younger Donne in 1660. A much finer fragment of the debate, beginning--
And why should Love a footboy's place despise?
is attributed to Donne by the Bridgewater MS. and the MS. in the library of the Marquess of Crewe. It is part of a poem by Rudyerd in the debate in the volume referred to.
II. POEMS FROM THE BURLEY MS. PAGE =437=.
Of the poems here printed from the Burley-on-the-Hill MS., none I think is Donne's. The chief interest of the collection is that it comes from a commonplace-book of Sir Henry Wotton, and therefore presumably represents the work of the group of wits to which Donne, Bacon, and Wotton belonged. I have found only one of them in other MSS., viz. that which I have called _Life a Play_. This occurs in quite a number of MSS. in the British Museum, and has been published in Hannah's _Courtly Poets_. It is generally ascribed to Sir Walter Raleigh; and Harleian MS. 733 entitles it _Verses made by Sir Walter Raleigh made the same morning he was executed_. I have printed it because with the first, and another in the _Reliquiae Wottonianae_, it illustrates Wotton's taste for this comparison of life to a stage, a comparison probably derived from an epigram in the Greek Anthology, which may be the source of Shakespeare's famous lines in _As You Like It_. The epitaph by Jonson on Hemmings, Shakespeare's fellow-actor and executor, is interesting. A similar epitaph on Burbage is found in Sloane MS. 1786:
An Epitaph on Mr Richard Burbage the Player.
This life's a play groaned out by natures Arte Where every man hath his alloted parte. This man hath now as many men can tell Ended his part, and he hath done it well. The Play now ended, think his grave to bee The retiring house of his sad Tragedie. Where to give his fame this, be not afraid: Here lies the best Tragedian ever plaid.
III. POEMS FROM VARIOUS MSS. PAGE =443=.
Of the miscellaneous poems here collected there is very little to be said. The first eight or nine come from the O'Flaherty MS. (_O'F_), which professes to be a collection of Donne's poems, and may, Mr. Warwick Bond thinks, have been made by the younger Donne, as it contains a poem by him. It is careless enough to be his work. They illustrate well the kind of poem attributed to Donne in the seventeenth century, some on the ground of their wit, others because of their subject-matter. Donne had written some improper poems as a young man; it was tempting therefore to assign any wandering poem of this kind to the famous Dean of St. Paul's. The first poem, _The Annuntiation_, has nothing to do with Donne's poem _The Annuntiation and Passion_, but has been attached to it in a manner which is common enough in the MSS. The poem _Love's Exchange_ is obviously an imitation of Donne's _Lovers infinitenesse_ (p. 17). _A Paradoxe of a Painted Face_ was attributed to Donne because he had written a prose _Paradox_ entitled _That Women ought to paint_. The poem was not published till 1660. In Harleian MS. it is said to be 'By my Lo: of Cant. follower Mr. Baker'. The lines on _Black Hayre and Eyes_ (p. 460) are found in fifteen or more different MSS. in the British Museum alone, and were printed in _Parnassus Biceps_ (1656) and Pembroke and Ruddier's _Poems_ (1660). Two of the MSS. attribute the poem to Ben Jonson, but others assign it to W. P. or Walton Poole. Mr. Chambers points out that a Walton Poole has verses in _Annalia Dubrensia_ (1636), and also cites from Foster's _Alumni Oxonienses_: 'Walton Poole of Wilts arm. matr. 9.1.1580 at Trinity Coll. aged 15.' These may be the same person. The signature A. P. or W. P. at the foot of several pages suggests that the Stowe MS. 961 of Donne's poems had belonged to some member of this family. The fragment of an Elegy at p. 462 occurs only in _P_, where it forms part of an Heroicall Epistle with which it has obviously nothing to do. I have thought it worth preserving because of its intense though mannered style. The line, 'Fortune now do thy worst' recalls _Elegie XII_, l. 67. The closing poem,'Farewell ye guilded follies,' comes from Walton's _Complete Angler_ (1658), where it is thus introduced: 'I will requite you with a very good copy of verses: it is a farewell to the vanities of the world, and some say written by Dr. D. But let they be written by whom they will, he that writ them had a brave soul, and must needs be possest with happy thoughts of their composure.' In the third edition (1661) the words were changed to 'And some say written by Sir Harry Wotton, who I told you was an excellent Angler.' In one MS. they are attributed to Henry King, Donne's friend and literary executor, and in two others they are assigned to Sir Kenelm Digby, as by whom they are printed in _Wits Interpreter_ (1655). Mr. Chambers points out that 'The closing lines of King's _The Farewell_ are curiously similar to those of this poem.' He quotes:
My woeful Monument shall be a cell, The murmur of the purling brook my knell; My lasting Epitaph the Rock shall groan; Thus when sad lovers ask the weeping stone, What wretched thing does in that centre lie, The hollow echo will reply, 'twas I.
I cannot understand why Mr. Chambers, to whom I am indebted for most of this information, was content to print so inadequate a text when Walton was in his hand. Two of his lines completely puzzled me:
Welcome pure thoughts! welcome, ye careless groans! These are my guests, this is that courtage tones.
'Groans' are generally the sign of care, not of its absence. However, I find that Ashmole MS. 38, in the Bodleian, and some others read:
Welcome pure thoughts! welcome ye careless groves! These are my guests, this is that court age loves.
This explains the mystery. But Mr. Chambers followed Grosart; and Grosart was inclined to prefer the version of a bad MS. which he had found to a good printed version.
Supplementary Notes.
SUPPLEMENTARY NOTES.
PAGES =5=, =6=. The poems of Ben Jonson are here printed just as they stand in the 1650, 1654, 1669 editions of Donne's _Poems_. A comparison with the 1616 edition of Jonson's _Works_ shows some errors. The poem _To John Donne_ (p. 5) is xxiii of the _Epigrammes_. The sixth line runs
And which no affection praise enough can give!
The absurd 'no'n' of 1650 seems to have arisen from the printing 'no'affection' of the 1640 edition of Jonson's _Works_. The 1719 editor of Donne's _Poems_ corrected this mistake. A more serious mistake occurs in the ninth line, which in the _Works_ (1616) runs:
All which I meant to praise, and, yet I would.
The error 'mean' comes from the 1640 edition of the _Works of Ben Jonson_, which prints 'meane'.
_To Lucy, &c._, is xciii of the _Epigrammes_. The fourteenth line runs:
Be of the best; and 'mongst those, best are you.
The comma makes the sense clearer. In l. 3, 1616 reads 'looke,' with comma.
_To John Donne_ (p. 6) is xcvi. There are no errors; but 'punees' is in _1616_ more correctly spelt 'pui'nees'.
PAGES =7=, =175=, =369=. I am indebted for the excellent copies of the engravings here reproduced to the kind services of Mr. Laurence Binyon. The portraits form a striking supplement to the poems along with which they are placed. The first is the young man of the _Songs and Sonets_, the _Elegies_ and the _Satyres_, the counterpart of Biron and Benedick and the audacious and witty young men of Shakespeare's Comedies. 'Neither was it possible,' says Hacket in his _Scrinia Reserata: a Memorial of John Williams ... Archbishop of York_ (1693), 'that a vulgar soul should dwell in such promising features.'
The engraving by Lombart is an even more lifelike portrait of the author of the _Letters_, _Epicedes_, _Anniversaries_ and earlier _Divine Poems_, learned and witty, worldly and pious, melancholy yet ever and again 'kindling squibs about himself and flying into sportiveness', writing at one time the serious _Pseudo-Martyr_, at another the outrageous _Ignatius his Conclave_, and again the strangely-mooded, self-revealing _Biathanatos_: 'mee thinks I have the keyes of my prison in mine owne hand, and no remedy presents it selfe so soone to my heart, as mine own sword.'
After describing the circumstances attending the execution of the last portrait of Donne, Walton adds in the 1675 edition of the _Lives_ (the passage is not in the earlier editions of the _Life of Donne_): 'And now, having brought him through the many labyrinths and perplexities of a various life: even to the gates of death and the grave; my desire is, he may rest till I have told my Reader, that I have seen many Pictures of him, in several habits, and at several ages, and in several postures: And I now mention this, because, I have seen one Picture of him, drawn by a curious hand at his age of eighteen; with his sword and what other adornments might then suit with the present fashions of youth, and the giddy gayeties of that age: and his Motto then was,
How much shall I be chang'd, Before I am chang'd.
And, if that young, and his now dying Picture, were at this time set together, every beholder might say, _Lord! How much is_ Dr. Donne _already chang'd, before he is chang'd!_' The change written in the portrait is the change from the poet of the _Songs and Sonets_ to the poet of the _Holy Sonnets_ and last _Hymns_.
The design of this last picture and of the marble monument made from it is not very clear. He was painted, Walton says, standing on the figure of the urn. But the painter brought with him also 'a board of the just height of his body'. What was this for? Walton does not explain. But Mr. Hamo Thornycroft has pointed out that the folds of the drapery show the statue was modelled from a recumbent figure. Can it be that Walton's account confuses two things? The incident of the picture is not in the 1640 _Life_, but was added in 1658. How could Donne, a dying man, stand on the urn, with his winding-sheet knotted 'at his head and feet'? Is it not probable that he was painted lying in his winding-sheet on the board referred to; but that the monument, as designed by himself, and executed by Nicholas Stone, was intended to represent him rising at the Last Day from the urn, habited as he had lain down--a symbolic rendering of the faith expressed in the closing words of the inscription
Hic licet in Occiduo Cinere Aspicit Eum Cuius nomen est Oriens.
PAGE =37=, l. 14. The textual note should have indicated that in most or all of the MSS. cited the whole line runs:
(Thou lovest Truth) but an Angell at first sight.
This is probably the original form of the line, corrected later to avoid the clashing of the 'but's.
PAGE =96=, l. 6, note. The _R212_ cited here is Rawlinson Poetical MS. 212, a miscellaneous collection of seventeenth-century prose and poetry (e.g. Davies' _Epigrams_. See II. p. 101). I had cited it once or twice in my first draft. The present instance escaped my eye. It helps to show how general the reading 'tyde' was.
PAGE =115=, l. 54. _goeing on it fashions_. The correct reading is probably 'growing on it fashions', which has the support of both _JC_, and _1650-69_ where 'its' is a mere error. I had made my text before _JC_ came into my hand. To 'grow on' for 'to increase' is an Elizabethan idiom: 'And this quarrel grew on so far,' North's _Plutarch, Life of Coriolanus, ad fin._ See also O.E.D.
I should like in closing to express my indebtedness throughout to the _Oxford English Dictionary_, an invaluable help and safeguard to the editor of an English text, and also to Franz's admirable _Shakespeare-Grammatik_ (1909), which should be translated.
PAGE =133=, l. 58. To what is said in the note on the taking of yellow amber as a drug add: 'Divers men may walke by the Sea side, and the same beames of the Sunne giving light to them all, one gathereth by the benefit of that light pebles, or speckled shells, for curious vanitie, and another gathers precious Pearle, or medicinall Ambar, by the same light.' _Sermons_ 80. 36. 326.
PAGES =156-7=. _Seeke true religion, &c._ All this passage savours a little of Montaigne: 'Tout cela, c'est un signe tres-evident que nous ne recevons nostre religion qu'à nostre façon et par nos mains, et non autrement que comme les autres religions se reçoyvent. Nous nous sommes rencontrez au païs où elle estoit en usage; ou nous regardons son ancienneté ou l'authorité des hommes qui l'ont maintenue; ou creignons les menaces qu'ell' attache aux mescreans, ou suyvons ses promesses. Ces considerations là doivent estre employées à nostre creance, mais comme subsidiaires: ce sont liaisons humaines. Une autre region, d'autres tesmoings, pareilles promesses et menasses nous pourroyent imprimer par mesme voye une croyance contraire. Nous sommes chrestiens à mesme titre que nous sommes ou perigordins ou alemans.' _Essais_ (1580), II. 12. _Apologie de Raimond Sebond_.
PAGE =220=, l. 46. Compare: 'One of the most convenient Hieroglyphicks of God, is a Circle; and a Circle is endlesse; whom God loves, hee loves to the end ... His hailestones and his thunderbolts, and his showres of blood (emblemes and instruments of his Judgements) fall downe in a direct line, and affect or strike some one person, or place: His Sun, and Moone, and Starres (Emblemes and Instruments of his Blessings) move circularly, and communicate themselves to all. His Church is his chariot; in that he moves more gloriously, then in the Sun; as much more, as his begotten Son exceeds his created Sun, and his Son of glory, and of his right hand, the Sun of the firmament; and this Church, his chariot, moves in that communicable motion, circularly; It began in the East, it came to us, and is passing now, shining out now, in the farthest West.' _Sermons_ 80. 2. 13-4.
l. 47. _Religious tipes_, is the reading of _1633_. The comma has been accidentally dropped. There is no comma in _1635-69_, which print 'types'.
PAGE =241=, ll. 343-4. _As a compassionate Turcoyse, &c._ Compare:
And therefore Cynthia, as a turquoise bought, Or stol'n, or found, is virtueless, and nought, It must be freely given by a friend, Whose love and bounty doth such virtue lend, As makes it to compassionate, and tell By looking pale, the wearer is not well. Sir Francis Kynaston, _To Cynthia_. Saintsbury, _Caroline Poets_, ii. 161.
PAGE =251=, ll. 9-18. The source of this simile is probably Lucretius, _De Rerum Natura_, III. 642-56.
Falciferos memorant currus abscidere membra Saepe ita de subito permixta caede calentis, Ut tremere in terra videatur ab artubus id quod Decidit abscisum, cum mens tamen atque hominis vis Mobilitate mali non quit sentire dolorem; Et semel in pugnae studio quod dedita mens est, Corpore reliquo pugnam caedesque petessit, Nec tenet amissam laevam cum tegmine saepe Inter equos abstraxe rotas falcesque rapaces, Nec cecidisse alius dextram, cum scandit et instat. Inde alius conatur adempto surgere crure, Cum digitos agitat propter moribundus humi pes. Et caput abscisum calido viventeque trunco Servat humi voltum vitalem oculosque patentis, Donec reliquias animai reddidit omnes.
PAGE =259=, ll. 275-6. _so that there is (For aught thou know'st) piercing of substances._
'Piercing of substances,' the actual penetration of one substance by another, was the Stoic as opposed to the Aristotelian doctrine of mixture of substance ([Greek: krasis]), what is now called chemical combination. The Peripatetics held that, while the qualities of the two bodies combined to produce a new quality, the substances remained in juxtaposition. Plotinus devotes the seventh book of the _Enneades_ to the subject; and one of the arguments of the Stoics which he cites resembles Donne's problem: 'Sweat comes out of the human body without dividing it and without the body being pierced with holes.' The pores were apparently unknown. See Bouillet's _Enneades de Plotin_, I. 243 f. and 488-9, for references.
PAGE =368=. HYMNE TO GOD MY GOD, IN MY SICKNESSE.
Professor Moore Smith has at the last moment reminded me of a fact, the significance of which should have been discussed in the note on the _Divine Poems_, that a copy of this poem found (Gosse, _Life &c._ ii. 279) among the papers of Sir Julius Caesar bears the statement that the verses were written in Donne's 'great sickness in December 1623'. Professor Moore Smith is of opinion that Sir Julius Caesar may have been right and Walton mistaken, and there is a good deal to be said for this view. 'It seems', he says, 'more likely that Walton should have attributed the poem wrongly to Donne's last illness, than that the MS. copy should antedate it by seven years.' In 1640 Walton simply referred it to his deathbed; the precise date was given in 1658. Moreover the date 1623 seems to Professor Moore Smith confirmed by a letter to Sir Robert Ker (later Lord Ancrum) in 1624 (Gosse, _Life &c._ ii. 191), in which Donne writes, 'If a flat map be but pasted upon a round globe the farthest east and the farthest west meet and are all one.'
On the other hand, Walton's final date is very precise, and was probably given to him by King. If the poem was written at the same time as that 'to God the Father', why did it not pass into wider circulation? Stowe MS. 961 is the only collection in which I have found it. The use of the simile in the letter to Ker is not so conclusive as it seems. In that same letter Donne says, 'Sir, I took up this paper to write a letter; but my imagination was full of a sermon before, for I write but a few hours before I am to preach.' Now I have in my note cited this simile from an undated sermon on one of the Penitentiary Psalms. This, not the poem, may have been the occasion of its repetition in this letter. Donne is very prone to repeat a favourite figure--inundation, the king's stamped face &c. It is quite likely that the poem was the last, not the first, occasion on which he used the flat map. Note that the other chief figure in the poem, the straits which lead to the Pacific Sea, was used in a sermon (see note) dated February 12, 1629.
The figure of the flat map is not used, as one might expect, in the section of the _Devotions_ headed _The Patient takes his bed_, but the last line of the poem is recalled by some words there: 'and therefore am I _cast downe_, that I might not be _cast away_.'
Walton's dates are often inaccurate, but here the balance of the evidence seems to me in his favour. As Mr. Gosse says, Sir Julius Caesar may have confounded this hymn with 'Wilt thou forgive'. In re-reading the _Devotions_ with Professor Moore Smith's statement in view I have come on two other points of interest. Donne's views on the immortality of the soul (see II. pp. 160-2) are very clearly stated: 'That light, which is the very emanation of the light of God ... only that bends not to this _Center_, to _Ruine_; that which was not made of _Nothing_, is not thretned with this annihilation. All other things are; even _Angels_, even our _soules_; they move upon the same _Poles_, they bend to the same _Center_; and if they were not made immortall by _preservation_, their _Nature_ could not keep them from sinking to this _center_, _Annihilation_' (pp. 216-17).
The difficult line in the sonnet _Resurrection_ (p. 321, l. 8) is perhaps illuminated by pp. 206-8, where Donne speaks of 'thy first booke, the booke of _life_', 'thy second book, the booke of Nature,' and closes a further list with 'to those, _the booke with seven seals_, which only _the Lamb which was slain, was found worthy to open_; which, I hope, it shal not disagree with the measure of thy blessed _spirit_, to interpret, the _promulgation of their pardon, and righteousnes, who are washed in the blood of the Lamb_'. This is possibly the 'little booke' of the sonnet, perhaps changed by Donne to 'life-book' to simplify the reference. But the two are not the same.
Addendum.
ADDENDUM.
Vol. I, p. 368, l. 6. Whilst my Physitions by their love are growne Cosmographers ... Sir Julius Caesar's MS. (Addl. MS. 34324) has _Loer_, scil. _Lore_. This is probably the true reading.
Erratum.
ERRATUM.
=P. 274=, l. 28. _for_ figure-inundation _read_ figure--inundation
INDEX OF FIRST LINES.
(VOL. II.)
PAGE
A learned Bishop of this Land 53 Amongst the Poets Dacus numbered is 101 An ill year of a Goodyere us bereft 145 As in tymes past the rusticke shepheards sceant 171
Esteemed knight take triumph over death 145
Goe catch a star that's falling from the sky 12
Henrie the greate, greate both in peace and war 261 How often hath my pen (mine hearts Solicitor) 103
Loe her's a man worthy indeede to travell 129
No want of duty did my mind possess 7
Stay, view this Stone, and if thou beest not such 213
This Lifes a play groaned out by natures Arte 268 Thou send'st me prose and rimes, I send for those 160 Though Ister have put down the Rhene 261 'Tis not a coate of gray or Shepheardes Life 141 Titus the brave and valorous young gallant 101
Whoso termes love a fire, may like a poet 52 Wotton the country and the country swaine 141
* * * * *
Oxford: Horace Hart, M.A., Printer to the University
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Although Scotland had accepted the Gregorian calendar in 1600, until 1752, England still followed the Julian calendar (after Julius Caesar, 44 B.C.), and celebrated New Year's Day on March 25th (Annunciation Day). Most Catholic countries accepted the Gregorian calendar (after Pope Gregory XIII) from some time after 1582 (the Catholic countries of France, Spain, Portugal, and Italy in 1582, Belgium, the Netherlands, and Switzerland within a year or two, Hungary in 1587, and Scotland in 1600), and celebrated New Year's Day on January 1st. England finally changed to the Gregorian calendar in 1752.
This is the reason for the double dates in the early months of the years in some parts of this book. e.g., there is a statement, on page 134, that "He died February 7, 1627/8. (i.e. 1627 in England; 1628 in Scotland). Only after March 25th (Julian New Years Day) was the year the same in the two countries. The Julian calendar was known as 'Old Style', and the Gregorian calendar as 'New Style' (N.S.).
Page lxiv, Footnote 9: 'Garrard att his quarters in ??' Perhaps ϑermyte with U+03D1 GREEK THETA SYMBOL: thermyte ? perhaps meaning "(at the sign of) The Hermit"? (The printer, rightly or wrongly, seems to have used a 'theta' at the beginning of the word).
Page lxv, a facsimile of a Title Page, split a cross-page paragraph. One sentence was on page lxiv; the rest of the paragraph was on page lxvi. In the interest of a link to the page, it seemed beneficial to leave the paragraph as it was split.
Page lxv: 'VVith' is as printed.
Page lxxxvi: 'Lo:' retained, although 'Ld.' is printed above. From the context, 'Lo:' may not be a typo, as this form occurs elsewhere.
"and the _Obsequies to the Lo: Harrington_."
Page cxvi, footnote 39 (cont.: '17-8.' corrected to '17-18.'.
"_To Sr Henry Wotton_, p. 180, ll. 17-18."
Page cxxx: 'p. 406' corrected to 'p. 412'
"'Dear Love, continue nice and chaste' (p. 412)"
Pages cxxxi-cxxxii: missing word at page-turn? 'and' added in brackets.
"And as one is ascribed to Roe on indisputable (and) three on very strong evidence,..."
Page 23: 'll. 140-6' corrected to 'll. 440-6'
"_The Second Anniversary_, ll. 440-6 (p. 264)"
Page 34: 'coporales' corrected to 'corporales'.
"'quanto subtilius huiusmodi immutationes occultas corporales perpendunt.'"
Page 84: 'p. 308, ll. 27-8' corrected to p. 308, ll. 317-8
"in the _Progresse of the Soule_, p. 308, ll. 317-8:"
Page 187: (See Pearsall Smith, _Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton_ (1907). is as printed.
Page 214: p. 416 corrected to p. 422.
"For the relation of this _Elegie_ to that beginning 'Death, be not proud' (p. 422) see _Text and Canon, &c._, p. cxliii."
Page 213: 'p. 404' corrected to p. 410'
"('Shall I goe force an Elegie,' p. 410)"
Pages 235, 263: The inscriptions have a character which looks like a reversed capital C, but which is actually a ROMAN NUMERAL REVERSED ONE HUNDRED Ↄ (U+2183 or Ↄ).
On Page 235, the date of Anne (More) Donne's death is given as CIↃ. DC. XVII. i.e. hundreds, ten, (1000) plus 600 plus 17, or the year 1617, which is correct.
On Page 263, the date given is CIↃ. IↃC. XXIII.
CIↃ = 1000; IↃC =500+100 (600), XXIII = 23, so the date is 1623.
(Reference for page 263: [http:// hypotheses.org/17871] ... 'Le latin de Locke ... Goudae apud Justum Ab Hoeve
CIↃ IↃC LXXXIX ... CIↃ = 1000 IↃC se décompose en IↃ = 500 + C = 100 soit 600 LXXXIX = 89 La date correspondante est 1689*.
* 2011 serait CIↃ CIↃ XI '.)
(So 2015 would be CIↃ CIↃ XV ').
Page 251: _S69_ corrected to _S96_
"_S96_ and _O'F_ differ from the third group...."
Page 275: Erratum, p. 274.... This has been corrected.
# Project Gutenberg #28375
E-text prepared by Susan Skinner, David Cortesi, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Transcriber's note:
The ligatures oe and OE are indicated by [oe] and [OE].
The carat (^) indicates a superscript in the original. One carat indicates that the following single letter is superscript. A pair of carats indicates that the enclosed letters are superscript; for example the abbreviations 8^vo^ and 12^mo^ are used for the printer's page sizes octavo and duodecimo respectively.
In the poem "In Etesiam Lachrymantem" (Page 221) the initial letter of the final line is missing in all extant editions; either "C" or "D" seems possible.
In the Boethius translation Lib. IV. Metrum VI. (page 230), the letter 'y' has been added to make line 9/10 read "...though they/See other stars..." although it is missing in all available editions.
At many points a period, comma or hyphen seems to be omitted in the original. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected, but where missing punctuation is not clearly an error, or the omission is harmless to the sense, the text remains as in the original.
Footnotes in the original appear on the page where they are referenced and are numbered from 1 on each page. Here footnotes are numbered consecutively throughout the book and are grouped following each chapter or poem to which they refer. To locate footnote 17 (for example) search for [17]. Another search for [17] returns to the point of reference.
Poems Of Henry Vaughan Silurist. Vol. Ii.
POEMS OF HENRY VAUGHAN
SILURIST.
VOL. II.
The Muses' Library
Poems Of Henry Vaughan Silurist
POEMS OF HENRY VAUGHAN
SILURIST
Edited by E. K. Chambers
With an Introduction by Canon Beeching
Vol. Ii.
VOL. II.
London: George Routledge & Sons, Limited New York: E. P. Dutton & Co.
Contents Of Vol. Ii. Page
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
PAGE
TABLE OF CONTENTS vii
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE xv
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF HENRY VAUGHAN'S WORKS lvii
POEMS WITH THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL ENGLISHED, 1646 1
To all Ingenious Lovers of Poesy 3
To my Ingenuous Friend, R. W. 5
Les Amours 8
To Amoret. The Sigh 10
To his Friend, Being in Love 11
Song: [Amyntas go, thou art Undone] 12
To Amoret. Walking in a Starry Evening 13
To Amoret Gone from him 15
A Song to Amoret 16
An Elegy 17
A Rhapsodis 18
To Amoret, of the Difference 'twixt him and other Lovers, 21 and what True Love is
To Amoret Weeping 23
Upon the Priory Grove, his Usual Retirement 26
Juvenal's Tenth Satire Translated 28
OLOR ISCANUS. 1651.
Ad Posteros 51
To the ... Lord Kildare Digby 53
The Publisher to the Reader 55
Upon the Most Ingenious Pair of Twins, Eugenius 57 Philalethes and the Author of those Poems [by T. Powell, Oxoniensis]
To my Friend the Author upon these his Poems [by I. 58 Rowlandson, Oxoniensis]
Upon the following Poems [by Eugenius Philalethes, 59 Oxoniensis]
Olor Iscanus. To the River Isca 61
The Charnel-House 65
In Amicum Foeneratorem 68
To his Friend ---- 70
To his Retired Friend, An Invitation to Brecknock 73
Monsieur Gombauld 77
An Elegy on the Death of Mr. R. W., Slain in the late 79 Unfortunate Differences at Routon Heath, near Chester, 1645
Upon a Cloak lent him by Mr. J. Ridsley 83
Upon Mr. Fletcher's Plays, Published 1647 87
Upon the Poems and Plays of the Ever-Memorable Mr. William 90 Cartwright
To the Best and Most Accomplished Couple ---- 92
An Elegy on the Death of Mr. R. Hall, Slain at Pontefract, 94 1648
To my Learned Friend, Mr. T. Powell, upon his Translation 97 of Malvezzi's Christian Politician
To my Worthy Friend, Master T. Lewes 99
To the Most Excellently Accomplished Mrs. K. Philips 100
An Epitaph upon the Lady Elizabeth, Second Daughter to his 102 Late Majesty
To Sir William Davenant upon his Gondibert 104
Translations From Ovid.
TRANSLATIONS FROM OVID.
To his Fellow Poets at Rome, upon the Birthday of Bacchus 106
To his Friends--after his Many Solicitations--Refusing to 109 Petition Caesar for his Releasement
To his Inconstant Friend, Translated for the Use of all 112 the Judases of this Touchstone Age
To his Wife at Rome, when he was Sick 115
Ausonii. Idyll vi. Cupido [Cruci Affixus] 119
[Translations from Boethius] 125
[Translations from Casimirus] 144
The Praise of a Religious Life of Mathias Casimirus. In 152 Answer to that Ode of Horace, Beatus Ille Qui Procul Negotiis.
Ad Fluvium Iscam 157
Venerabili Viro, Praeceptori Suo Olim Et Semper 158 Colendissimo Magistro Mathaeo Herbert
Praestantissimo Viro, Thomae Poello In Suum De Elementis 159 Opticae Libellum
Ad Echum 160
THALIA REDIVIVA. 1678.
To ... Henry Lord Marquis and Earl of Worcester, &c. 163 [by J. W.]
To the Reader [by I. W.] 167
To Mr. Henry Vaughan, the Silurist: upon These and his 169 Former Poems. [By Orinda]
Upon the Ingenious Poems of his Learned Friend, Mr. Henry 171 Vaughan, the Silurist. [By Tho. Powell, D.D.]
To the Ingenious Author of Thalia Rediviva [By N. W., 172 Jes. Coll., Oxon.]
To my Worthy Friend Mr. Henry Vaughan, the Silurist. 175 [by I. W., A.M., Oxon.]
Choice Poems On Several Occasions.
CHOICE POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
To his Learned Friend and Loyal Fellow-Prisoner, Thomas 178 Powel of Cant[reff], Doctor of Divinity
The King Disguised 181
The Eagle 184
To Mr. M. L. upon his Reduction of the Psalms into Method 187
To the Pious Memory of C[harles] W[albeoffe] Esquire, Who 189 Finished his Course Here, and Made his Entrance into Immortality upon the 13 of September, in the Year of Redemption, 1653
In Zodiacum Marcelli Palingenii 193
To Lysimachus, the Author Being with him in London 195
On Sir Thomas Bodley's Library, the Author Being Then in 197 Oxford
The Importunate Fortune, Written to Dr. Powel, of 200 Cant[reff]
To I. Morgan of Whitehall, Esq., upon his Sudden Journey 204 and Succeeding Marriage
Fida; or, The Country Beauty. To Lysimachus 206
Fida Forsaken 209
To the Editor of the Matchless Orinda 211
Upon Sudden News of the Much-Lamented Death of Judge 213 Trevers
To Etesia (for Timander); The First Sight 214
The Character, to Etesia 217
To Etesia Looking from her Casement at the Full Moon 219
To Etesia Parted from Him, and Looking Back 220
In Etesiam Lachrymantem 221
To Etesia Going Beyond Sea 222
Etesia Absent 223
Translations.
TRANSLATIONS.
Some Odes of the Excellent and Knowing [Anicius Manlius] 224 Severinus [Boethius], Englished
The Old Man of Verona, out of Claudian 236
The Sphere of Archimedes, out of Claudian 238
The Ph[oe]nix, out of Claudian 239
Pious Thoughts And Ejaculations.
PIOUS THOUGHTS AND EJACULATIONS.
To his Books 245
Looking Back 247
The Shower 248
Discipline 249
The Eclipse 250
Affliction 251
Retirement 252
The Revival 254
The Day Spring 255
The Recovery 257
The Nativity 259
The True Christmas 261
The Request 263
Jordanis 265
Servilii Fatum, Sive Vindicta Divina 266
De Salmone 267
The World 268
The Bee 272
To Christian Religion 276
Daphnis 278
FRAGMENTS AND TRANSLATIONS. 1641-1661.
From Eucharistica Oxoniensia (1641) 289
From Of the Benefit we may get by our Enemies (1651) 291
From Of the Diseases of the Mind and the Body (1651) 293
From The Mount of Olives (1652) 294
From Man in Glory (1652) 298
From Flores Solitudinis (1654) 299
From Of Temperance and Patience (1654) 300
From Of Life and Death (1654) 305
From Primitive Holiness (1654) 307
From Hermetical Physic (1655) 322
From Cerbyd Fechydwiaeth (1657) 323
From Humane Industry (1661) 324
NOTES TO VOL. II 329
LIST OF FIRST LINES 355
Biographical Note.
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.
Recent inquiries into the life of Henry Vaughan have added but little to the information already contained in the memoirs of Mr. Lyte and Dr. Grosart. I have, however, been enabled to put together a few notes on this somewhat obscure subject, which may be taken as supplementary to Mr. Beeching's _Introduction_ in Vol. I. It will be well to preface them by reprinting the account of Anthony a Wood, our chief original authority (_Ath. Oxon._, ed. Bliss, 1817, iv. 425):
"Henry Vaughan, called the _Silurist_ from that part of Wales whose inhabitants were in ancient times called Silures, brother twin (but elder)[1] to Eugenius Philalethes, alias Tho. Vaughan ... was born at Newton S. Briget, lying on the river Isca, commonly called Uske, in Brecknockshire, educated in grammar learning in his own country for six years under one Matthew Herbert, a noted schoolmaster of his time, made his first entry into Jesus College in Mich. term 1638, aged 17 years; where spending two years or more in logicals under a noted tutor, was taken thence and designed by his father for the obtaining of some knowledge in the municipal laws at London. But soon after the civil war beginning, to the horror of all good men, he was sent for home, followed the pleasant paths of poetry and philology, became noted for his ingenuity, and published several specimens thereof, of which his _Olor Iscanus_ was most valued. Afterwards applying his mind to the study of physic, became at length eminent in his own country for the practice thereof, and was esteemed by scholars an ingenious person, but proud and humorous.... [A list of Vaughan's works follows.] ... He died in the latter end of April (about the 29th day) in sixteen hundred ninety and five, and was buried in the parish church of Llansenfreid, about two miles distant from Brecknock, in Brecknockshire."
Anthony a Wood seems to have had some personal acquaintance with the poet, for in his account of Thomas Vaughan (_Ath. Oxon._ iii. 725) he says that "Olor Iscanus sent me a catalogue of his brother's works."
(a) THE VAUGHAN GENEALOGY.
Henry Vaughan's descent from the Vaughans of Tretower, County Brecon, has been accurately traced by Dr. Grosart and others. Little has been hitherto known about his immediate family. Theophilus Jones, in his _History of Brecknockshire_ (1805-9), ii. 544, says: "Henry Vaughan died in 1695, aged 75,[2] leaving by his first wife two sons and three daughters, and by his second a daughter Rachel, who married John Turberville. His grand-daughter, Denys, or Dyenis, a corruption or abbreviation of Dyonisia, who was the daughter of Jenkin Jones of Trebinshwn, by Luce his wife, died single in 1780, aged 92, and is buried in the Priory churchyard.[3] What became of the remainder of his family, or whether they are extinct, I know not." To this statement Mr. Lyte added nothing but some errors, and Dr. Grosart nothing but the following hypothesis:--
"I am inclined to think that William Vaughan, censor of the College of Physicians, physician to William III^d., was one of the sons of our worthy mentioned by Mr. Lyte.... William Vaughan's 'age 20' in 1668 represents 1648 as the birth-date, and that fits in with the love-verse of the Poems of 1646."
Mr. G. T. Clark, in his _Genealogies of Glamorgan_, p. 240, gives the following account:--
Henry [Vaughan], ob. 1695, aet. 75, father by first wife of (1) a son, s.p.; (2) Lucy ob. 29 Aug., 1780, aet. 92,[4] m. Jenkin Jones of Trebinshwn. Their d. Denise Jones, died single, 1780, aet. 92. By second wife (3) Rachel, m. John Turberville; (4) Edmund; (5) Alexander, ob. 1622 [!], s.p.; (6) Catharine, m. Wm. Harris; (7) Mary, m. John Walbeoffe of Llanhamlach; (8) Elizabeth, m. John Arnold; (9) Frances, m. Wm. Johns of Cwm Dhu.
Unfortunately Mr. Clark is unable to remember his authority for this pedigree. I have found another, which differs from it in many ways, and is exceedingly interesting, inasmuch as it gives, for the first time, the names of Henry Vaughan's two wives, who appear to have been sisters. It is in a volume of _Brecknockshire Pedigrees_ collected by the Welsh Herald, Hugh Thomas, and now amongst the Harleian MSS. Hugh Thomas was born and lived hard by Llansantffread, and must have known Vaughan and his family personally.
Pedigree Of Vaughan Of Tretower And Newton.
PEDIGREE OF VAUGHAN OF TRETOWER AND NEWTON.
(From Harl. MS. 2289, f. 81.)
Thomas m. Denis, d. and h. to Gwillims of Newton Skethrog. | Henry, of Newton. | Henry, of Newton Skethrog, Doctor of Phisick, m. Catharine, d. to Charles Wise, of Ritsonhall, Staffordshire, and secondly Elizabeth, her sister. | | Lucy, m. Ch. Greenleafe of Grisill, m. Roger Prosser. Streton-upon-Trent, Staff. Lucy, m. Jenkin Jones of Trebinshwn.
Catharine, m. Rachel, m. John Turberville Tho. Vaughan, of Newton of Llangattock. Skethrog, m. Frances, Henry, Parson of Penderin, d. to m. Janet, d. of Robert Walbeoffe of Talyllyn.
It will be observed that neither Mr. Clark's pedigree nor Hugh Thomas' agrees with the number of children assigned to each marriage by Theophilus Jones, and that neither of them helps out Dr. Grosart's hypothesis that Dr. William Vaughan was a son of the poet. Mr. W. B. Rye (_Genealogist_, iii. 33) has made it appear likely that this Dr. Vaughan, who married Anne Newton, of Romford in Essex, belonged to a branch of the Vaughans who had been settled in Romford since 1571.
I now proceed to confirm and illustrate the pedigrees by giving such further facts concerning Vaughan's immediate family as I have been able with Miss Morgan's assistance, to glean. I can trace no family of Wises in Staffordshire so early as the seventeenth century, nor any place in that county called Ritsonhall. It is possible that the R. W. of the _Elegy_ (vol. ii., p. 79, _note_) may have been a Wise, and also that the connection between Vaughan and the Staffordshire Egertons may have been through this family (vol. ii., p. 294, _note_). Vaughan's first wife Catharine was probably dead before 1658. Thomas Vaughan, in his diary (MS. Sloane, 1741, f. 106 (b)), makes mention in that year of "eyewater made at the Pinner of Wakefield by my dear wife and my Sister Vaughan, who are both now with God." The second wife, Elizabeth, survived her husband. Administration of his goods was granted to her as the widow of an intestate in May, 1695.[5] The fine old manor-house at Newton was pulled down by a stupid land-agent within the memory of man, but a stone has been found built into the wall of a house half-a-mile from the site, bearing the inscription "H^VE, 1689." This may well stand for H[enry and] E[lizabeth] V[aughan]. Newton probably passed to the poet's eldest son Thomas and his wife Frances.[6] Of their descendants, if any, we know nothing. There was a William Vaughan of Llansantffread who, later than 1714, married Mary Games of Tregaer in Llanfrynach. But this was probably a Vaughan not of Newton, but of Scethrog, also in Llansantffread (_cf._ footnote to p. xxv. below.) In 1733 William Vaughan was churchwarden of Llanfrynach. In 1740 William Vaughan of Tregaer was high sheriff of Brecknock. In 1760 Tregaer had passed by purchase to a Mr. Phillips. The registers of Llanfrynach from 1695-1756 are now lost. Lucy Greenleafe and her sister Catharine are quite obscure. One of them may have been the niece who was living with Thomas Vaughan when news came from the country in 1658 of his father's death (MS. Sloane, 1741, f. 89 (b)). Of the second family, Henry became Rector of Penderin in 1684, and vacated the living, probably through death, in 1713. A tablet to his memory hung during the present century in the church at Penderin, but when the church was restored the tablets were taken down and buried under the tiles of the chancel. His wife, a Walbeoffe of Talyllyn, belonged to the same family as the Walbeoffes of Llanhamlach (vol. ii., p. 189, _note_). The eldest girl, Grisill, married Roger Prosser. The Prossers were the younger branch of a Brecknockshire family who had become sadlers and mercers in Brecon. Many of their tombs are in the Priory church, but Theophilus Jones states that by his time they were extinct. Grisill Prosser was married a second time, in 1709, to Morgan Watkins, an attorney, and was buried on August 21, 1737. The second girl, Lucy, married Jenkin Jones of Trebinshwn, a cousin of Colonel Jenkin Jones, the local Parliamentary leader. Her daughter, Denise Jones, died single in 1780, as Theophilus Jones states, and her tombstone in the Priory church records her descent. The third girl, Rachel, married John Turberville, one of the Turbervilles of Llangattock, who claimed kinship with the Elizabethan poet of that name. The following pedigree shows the descendants of the three daughters of Henry Vaughan's second marriage, so far as they can be traced.[7]
Henry Vaughan = 2. Elizabeth Wise. _________________|____________________ | | | 1. Roger =Grisill ...=2. Morgan Lucy=Jenkin Rachel=John Prosser,| Watkins, |Jones, |Turberville Mercer. | Attorney. |of Trebinshwn. |of Llangattock. | | | _______|___ | Richard = Mary----? | | | of Llamwyse | Walter, Elizabeth = Morgan Denise and Glan y | bapt. 1693. bapt. 1686. | Davies, nat. 1688, rhyd, ob. | | mercer, o.s.p. 29 1720. | | ob. 1727. Aug., 1780. | | | | John. _________________|_________________ | | | | | Thomas Morgan, Elizabeth, | bapt. 8 July, bapt. 4 April, | 1720, 1725, | sep. 20 Nov., sep. 6 July, | 1737. 1730. Margaret, o.s.p. 1765.
It will be seen that I can give no evidence of the existence of any living descendants of Henry Vaughan.
Henry's grandfather, Thomas Vaughan, a younger son of Charles Vaughan of Tretower, seems to have come into the possession of Newton through his marriage with an heiress of the family of Gwillims or Williams. Newton, or in Welsh Trenewydd, is a farm of about 200 acres in the manor or lordship, and near the village of Scethrog, both being in the parish of Llansantffread and hundred of Penkelley. Williams is a common name in Breconshire, and I cannot trace the descent of Thomas Vaughan's wife. In the sixteenth century Newton belonged to a family who finally settled on the name of Howel, ap Howell or Powell.[8] The last of these is described on his tombstone in Llansantffread Church as "David Morgan David Howel, who married ... William of Llanhamoloch: and they had issue one daughter called Denys. He died 2nd June, 1598." Perhaps Newton passed in some way from David Morgan David Howel to his wife's family, and so to Thomas Vaughan, who married Denise Gwillims. Theophilus Jones (ii. 538) records that at a later date other Williams's, also apparently connected with Llanhamlach, were succeeded by other Vaughans at Scethrog, hard by Newton. His account is that David Williams, youngest brother of Sir Thomas Williams of Eltham, married a daughter of John Walbeoffe of Llanhamlach (_cf._ pedigree in vol. ii., p. 189, _note_), and bought Scethrog. Their son Charles died without issue, and the property passed to his wife Mary (Anne in Harl. MS., 2289, t. 39; _cf._ vol. ii., p. 204, _note_), the daughter of Morgan John of Wenallt.... She afterwards married Hugh Powell, clerk, parson of Llansanffread and precentor of St. David's, and her daughter Margaret married Charles Vaughan, son to Vaughan Morgan of Tretower.[9]
A trace of Thomas Vaughan is probably preserved in a window-head from the old church of Llansantffread, now destroyed, which has the inscription:--
1626. E. G. T. V. W. T. W. F. I. [bold reversed 'D'].
T. V. may stand for T[homas] V[aughan].[10]
Of Henry Vaughan, the poet's father, very little is known. His name appears in a list of Breconshire magistrates for 1620. And we learn from Thomas Vaughan's diary in Sloane MS. 1741, f. 89 (b), that he died in August 1658.
The only additional definite fact which I can here record of the poet himself is that in 1691 he entered a caveat against any institution to the vicarage of Llandevalley, he claiming the next presentation under a grant from William Winter, Esq.[11] Mr. Rye has shown that the specimen of handwriting facsimiled by Dr. Grosart in his edition of Henry Vaughan's _Works_ cannot possibly be the poet's. The signatures, however, on the margin of a copy of _Olor Iscanus_, once in the library of Lady Isham, might be genuine.
(b) VAUGHAN AND JESUS COLLEGE, OXFORD.
Anthony a Wood's statement as to Vaughan's residence at Jesus College, Oxford, has been generally accepted, but I venture to doubt it on the following grounds:--
(1) Vaughan's name does not occur in the University Matriculation Register, although his brother Thomas Vaughan is duly entered as matriculating from Jesus on 14th December, 1638. The only College records which help us are the Battel-books for 1638 and 1640. That for 1639 is unfortunately missing. The Rev. Llewellyn Thomas kindly informs me that he can only trace one undergraduate Vaughan in the two books in question. The Christian name is not given, but I think that we must assume it to be Thomas.
(2) Vaughan does not describe himself on any title-page as of Jesus College; nor does he ever speak of himself as an Oxford man. This omission is the more noticeable as he would naturally have done so in the lines _Ad Posteros_ (vol. ii., p. 51), and might well have done so in those _On Sir Thomas Bodley's Library, the Author being then in Oxford_ (vol. ii., p. 197).
(3) Anthony a Wood cannot be depended on. He describes Thomas Carew, for instance, as of C.C.C., whereas he was a most certainly of Merton. And there was another Henry Vaughan of Jesus, who may have been confused with the poet. This Henry Vaughan, a son of John Vaughan of Cathlin, Merionethshire, matriculated at Oriel on July 4, 1634. He afterwards became a Scholar and Fellow of Jesus, taking his B.A. in 1637 and his M.A. in 1639. In 1643 he became vicar of Penteg, co. Monmouth, and died at Abergavenny in 1661. (Wood, _Ath. Oxon._, iii. 531; Foster, _Alumni Oxon._)
(4) The only confirmation of Anthony a Wood's statement is the poem (vol. ii., p. 289) taken by Dr. Grosart from the _Eucharistica Oxoniensia_ (1641), and signed "H. Vaughan, Jes. Col." If I am right, this may be by Vaughan's namesake. He has indeed another poem in that volume signed "Hen. Vaugh., Jes. Soc." but that is in Latin, and it is not unexampled for one man to contribute more than one poem, especially in different tongues, to such collections. Or it may be by Herbert Vaughan, who was a Gentleman-commoner of the College in 1641, and has, with Henry Vaughan the Fellow, verses in the [Greek: proteleia] _Anglo Batava_ of the same year.
(c) VAUGHAN IN THE CIVIL WAR.
There are several passages which make it probable that Vaughan, like his brother Thomas, bore arms on the King's side in the Civil War. The most important is in the poem _To Mr. Ridsley_ (vol. ii., p. 83), where he speaks of the time
"when this juggling fate Of soldiery first seiz'd me."
In the same poem he mentions
"that day, when we Left craggy Biston and the fatal Dee."
"Craggy Biston" is clearly Beeston Castle, one of the outlying defences of Chester, situated on a steep rock not very far east of the Dee. This castle was besieged on several occasions during the Civil War, especially during the campaign of 1645, when Chester was also besieged by the Parliamentarians.[12] Between Beeston and the Dee was fought, on September 24, 1645, the battle of Rowton Heath, after which Charles the First, who had hoped to raise the siege of Chester, was obliged to retreat to Denbigh.[13] The following lines from Vaughan's _Elegy on Mr. R. W._ (vol. ii., p. 79), who fell in that battle, seem to have been written by an eye-witness:
"O that day When like the fathers in the fire and cloud I miss'd thy face! I might in ev'ry crowd See arms like thine, and men advance, but none So near to lightning mov'd, nor so fell on. Have you observ'd how soon the nimble eye Brings th' object to conceit, and doth so vie Performance with the soul, that you would swear The act and apprehension both lodg'd there? Just so mov'd he: like shot his active hand Drew blood, ere well the foe could understand. But here I lost him."
This appears to me pretty conclusive evidence; against it, however, must be set the passage on the Civil War in the autobiographical poem _Ad Posteros_ (vol. ii., p. 51).
Vixi, divisos cum fregerat haeresis Anglos Inter Tysiphonas presbyteri et populi. His primum miseris per amoena furentibus arva Prostravit sanctam vilis avena rosam. Turbarunt fontes, et fusis pax perit undis, Moestaque coelestes obruit umbra dies. Duret ut integritas tamen, et pia gloria, partem Me nullam in tanta strage fuisse, scias; Credidimus nempe insonti vocem esse cruori, Et vires quae post funera flere docent. Hinc castae, fidaeque pati me more parentis Commonui, et lachrimis fata levare meis; Hinc nusquam horrendis violavi sacra procellis, Nec mihi mens unquam, nec manus atra fuit.
The natural interpretation of this certainly is that Vaughan took no share in the disturbances of his time, except to grieve over them in retirement. Yet, in the first place, the lines may have been written before he took up arms in 1645, and, in the second, they may only mean that he had no share in _bringing about_ the troubles of England, or in shedding _innocent_ blood. Similarly when elsewhere, as in _Abel's Blood_ (vol. i. p. 254), and in the prayer to be quoted below, he expresses horror of blood-guiltiness, this need not necessarily be taken as extending to the man who fights in a righteous cause.
Miss Morgan, I may add, suggests that Vaughan was at Rowton Heath, not as a combatant, but as a physician. The description which he gives of the battle reads like that of a man who saw it from some commanding point of view, but was not himself engaged. I think it not improbable that Vaughan was one of the garrison of Beeston Castle, which is described to me as "a sort of grand stand for the battle-field." Beeston Castle was invested by the Parliamentarians in the course of September 1645. On the approach of Charles the troops were drawn off on 19th September to Chester.[14] Charles no doubt took the opportunity to strengthen the garrison. After Rowton Heath Beeston Castle was again besieged, and on November 16th it surrendered. The garrison were allowed to march across the Dee to Denbigh. I think that this winter ride from the fallen fortress is the one described by Vaughan in the poem to Mr. Ridsley. It is the more probable that Vaughan took part in this campaign of 1645, in that Charles's force was largely recruited from Wales. After the battle of Naseby on June 14th, the King had marched through Wales, collecting such levies as he could. He was in Brecon on August 5th.[15] It is quite possible that Vaughan, whose kinsman Sir William Vaughan was in command of a brigade, volunteered on this occasion. From Brecon Charles marched through Radnorshire, Shropshire, Staffordshire, Derbyshire, Nottinghamshire, Yorkshire, and so to Oxford. In September he set out again, and after some delay at Hereford and Raglan, finally made for Chester.
It is just conceivable that it is to some occasion in this campaign that Vaughan refers when he calls Dr. Powell his "fellow-prisoner" (vol. ii., p. 178). The poet may even have been the Captain Vaughan whose name appears in the official list of prisoners taken at Rowton Heath.[16] Powell's name is not there, but then the list does not profess to be complete. But on the whole I think that Vaughan and Powell were only fellow-prisoners in the Platonic sense of imprisonment in the flesh, and even if a literal imprisonment is intended, it may have been due to some act of persecution which Vaughan had to suffer as a Royalist at a later date. There is in _The Mount of Olives_ (1652) a _Prayer in Adversity and Troubles occasioned by our Enemies_ (Grosart, vol. iii., p. 75), which, if it is to be taken--I think it is not--as autobiographical, seems to show that, at least for a time, he lost his estate. The prayer runs: "Thou seest, O God, how furious and implacable mine enemies are: they have not only robbed me of that portion and provision which Thou hast graciously given me, but they have also washed their hands in the blood of my friends, my dearest and nearest relations. I know, O God, and I am daily taught by that disciple whom Thou didst love, that no murderer hath eternal life abiding in him. Keep me, therefore, O my God, from the guilt of blood, and suffer me not to stain my soul with the thoughts of recompense and vengeance, which is a branch of Thy great prerogative, and belongs wholly unto Thee. Though they persecute me unto death, and pant after the very dust upon the heads of Thy poor, though they have taken the bread out of Thy children's mouth, and have made me a desolation; yet, Lord, give me Thy grace, and such a measure of charity as may fully forgive them."
It may have been during some such time of trouble, or imprisonment, if imprisonment there was, that Vaughan's wife lived with Thomas Vaughan, as will be seen below, in London.
(d) THOMAS VAUGHAN.
It has not been thought necessary to reprint in this edition of Henry Vaughan's poems the scanty English and Latin verses of his brother, Thomas Vaughan. They may be found, together with verses by Virgil and Campion ascribed to him, in vol. ii. of Dr. Grosart's _Fuller Worthies_ edition. But some account of so curious a person will not be out of place.
As for his brother, our chief authority is Anthony a Wood (_Ath. Oxon._, iii. 722), who says that he was the son of Thomas Vaughan of Llansantffread,[17] that he was born in 1621, educated under Matthew Herbert and at Jesus College, Oxford, of which he became Fellow, took orders and received [in 1640] the living of Llansanffread from his kinsman, Sir George Vaughan [of Fallerstone, Wilts]. He lost his living in the unquiet times of the Civil War, retired to Oxford, and became an eminent chemist, afterwards moving to London, where he worked under the patronage of Sir Robert Murray. He was a great admirer of Cornelius Agrippa, "a great chymist, a noted son of the fire, an experimental philosopher, a zealous brother of the Rosicrucian fraternity ... neither papist nor sectary, but a true resolute protestant in the best sense of the Church of England." In the great plague he fled with Murray from London to Oxford, and thence went to the house of Samuel Kem at Albury, where he died on February 27, 1665/6, of mercury accidentally getting into his nose while he was operating. He was buried at Albury on March 1st. Writing in 1673, Anthony a Wood gives a list of his alchemical and mystical treatises published between 1650 and 1655. Of these he had received a list from Olor Iscanus (Henry Vaughan). They all bear the name of Eugenius Philalethes, except the _Aula Lucis_ (1652), which was issued as by S. N., _i.e._ [Thoma]S [Vaugha]N. Some of these pamphlets contain Vaughan's share of a vigorous and scurrilous controversy with Henry More, the Platonist. Anthony a Wood distinguishes from Vaughan another Eugenius Philalethes, author of the _Brief Natural History_ (1669), also one Eirenaeus Philalethes, author of _Ripley Redivivus_ and other works, and Eirenaeus Philoponos Philalethes, author of _The Marrow of Alchemy_ (1654-5).[18]
A few facts, from well-known sources, may be added to Anthony a Wood's account. The University Registers show that "Thos. Vaughan, son of Thomas of Llansanfraid, co. Brecon, pleb., matriculated from Jesus College on 14 Dec, 1638, aged 16." He took his B.A. on 18 Feb., 1641/2, but does not appear to have taken his M.A., though he became Fellow of his College (Foster, _Alumni Oxon._). John Walker (_Sufferings of the Clergy_ (1714), p. 389) states that he was ejected from his living on the charges of "drunkenness, immorality, and bearing arms for the King."[19] This must have been in 1649, under the Act for the Propagation of the Gospel in Wales. There exists a letter from Thomas Vaughan to a friend in London, dated from "Newtown, Ash Wednesday, 1653;"[20] and it appears from Jones' _History of Brecknockshire_ (ii., 542), that at one time he lived with his brother Henry there. The allusions to Henry More, to Murray, and to the Isis and Thames seem to show that he is the Daphnis of his brother's _Eclogue_ (vol. ii., p. 278). No trace of his death or burial can however be now found at Albury. Mr. Gordon Goodwin points out to me that Dr. Samuel Kem was a somewhat notorious character (_Dict. Nat. Biog._, s.v. _Kem_): perhaps this friendship, together with the personal confession quoted below, throws light on the charges which lost Vaughan his living. On the other hand Anthony a Wood speaks well of him, and the tone of his writings bears out this more kindly judgment, at any rate so far as his later years are concerned.
What has been said fairly well exhausted the available information on Thomas Vaughan until a few years ago, when Mr. A. E. Waite discovered in Sloane MS. 1741 a valuable manuscript of his, containing amongst other things a number of autobiographical memoranda. He printed some extracts from this in the preface to an edition of some of _The Magical Writings of Thomas Vaughan_ (Redway, 1888), and has been kind enough to furnish me with a reference to the MS. itself, which I have carefully examined. It bears the title _Aqua Vitae non Vitis_, and the inscription "Ex libris Thomas et Rebecca Vaughan, 1651, Sept. 28. Quos Deus coniunxit quis separabit?" The contents are partly personal jottings and records of dreams, partly alchemical formulae. They appear to cover the period 1658-1662. We learn from them the following facts:--Vaughan was married on September 28, 1651, to a lady named Rebecca (f. 106 (b)). With her and his "Sister Vaughan" he lived and studied alchemy at the Pinner of Wakefield.[21] He had previously lodged at Mr. Coalman's in Holborn (f. 104 (b)). His wife died on Saturday, April 17, 1658, and was buried at Mappersall, in Bedfordshire (f. 106 (b)).[22] In 1658 his father and his brother W. were both dead, and he mentions the news of his father's death coming to his niece in a letter from the country (f. 89 (b)). On April 9, 1659, he saw his brother H. in a dream. On 16 July, 1658, he was living at Wapping (f. 103 (b)), and at an earlier period at Paddington. There is an inventory of his wife's goods left at Mrs. Highgate's, and mention of a Mr. Highgate and a Sir John Underhill (f. 107). He names his cousin, Mr. J. Walbeoffe, with whom he had some money transactions (f. 18), and speaks of "a certain person with whom I had in former times revelled away my years in drinking" (f. 103). Perhaps this also was John Walbeoffe, on whom _see_ vol. ii., p. 189, _note_. The alchemical formulae and receipts are interesting. In one place (f. 12) Vaughan announces the discovery of the "Extract of Oil of Halcaly," which he had previously found in his wife's days and had lost again. This he calls "the greatest joy I can ever have in this world after her death." He seems to have regarded it as the key to an universal solvent. Nearly every receipt is followed by his and his wife's initials in the form T. R. V. or T. ^V. R., and by some expression of devotion to her or of religious piety.
I now come to the remarkable statements made with respect to Thomas Vaughan in the _Memoires d'une ex-Palladiste_, now in course of publication by Miss Diana Vaughan. Miss Vaughan is a lady who has created a considerable sensation in Paris. Her own account of herself is that she was brought up as a worshipper of Lucifer, and was for some years a leading spirit amongst certain androgynous lodges of Freemasons, in which the worship of Lucifer is largely practised. She has now, owing to the direct interposition of Joan of Arc, become a Catholic, and has made it her mission to combat Luciferian Freemasonry in every way. Her _Memoirs_ are partly a biography, partly an account of this cult.[23] Miss Vaughan claims to be a great-grand-daughter of Thomas Vaughan's. She declares him to have been a Luciferian, Grand-master of the Rosicrucian order, and the founder of modern Freemasonry; and gives an exhaustive account of his career on the authority of family archives. The following paragraphs contain the substance of her narrative, the "legend of Philalethes," as it was told to Miss Vaughan by her father and her uncle, who were intimate friends of Albert Pike.
The traditional accounts of Thomas Vaughan, says Miss Vaughan, contain serious errors. The dates of his birth and of his death, and the pseudonym under which he wrote are all incorrectly stated[24] (p. 110). He was born in Monmouth in 1612, being two years the elder of his brother Henry. The two boys were brought up at Oxford, after their father's death, by their uncle, Robert Vaughan the antiquary,[25] and entered at Jesus College (p. 114). In 1636, at the age of 24, Thomas Vaughan went to London, and became the disciple of Robert Fludd, who was a Rosicrucian (p. 148). The real nature of the Rosicrucians has hitherto been a mystery. They were in reality Luciferians, and carried on in secret during the seventeenth century that warfare against Adonai, the god of the Catholics, out of which had already sprung Wiclif, Luther, and the Reformation, and out of which was some day to spring, more deadly and more dangerous still, Freemasonry. The Fraternity of Rosie-Cross was founded by Faustus Socinus in 1597. He was succeeded as head of it by Caesar Cremonini (1604-1617), Michael Maier (1617-1622), Valentin Andreae (1622-1654), and Thomas Vaughan (1654-1678).[26] When Thomas Vaughan first came to London in 1636, Valentin Andreae was _Summus Magister_ of the Fraternity, and amongst its leading members were Robert Fludd and Amos Komenski, or Comenius (pp. 129-148). Robert Fludd initiated Thomas Vaughan into the lower degrees of the Golden Cross (p. 148), and sent him to Andreae at Calw, near Stuttgart, with a letter in which he prophesied for him a miraculous future (p. 163). After this visit to Germany, Vaughan returned to London, and after Fludd's death, in 1637, undertook in 1638 his first visit to America. In many of his writings he speaks as a Christian minister, and at this time he probably passed as a Nonconformist (p. 164). He was back in London early in June, 1639 (p. 165), and in the same year visited Denmark, and made a report to Komenski on the mysterious golden horn found at Tondern in that country (p. 166). In 1640 Vaughan received from Komenski the first initiation of the Rosie Cross, and chose the pseudonym of Eirenaeus Philalethes.[27] He now became exceedingly active, going and coming upon the face of the earth. When in England, he divided his time between Oxford and London (p. 167). Between 1640 and 1644 he visited Hamburg, the Netherlands, Italy and Sweden (pp. 171-174). It was at this period that he conceived the design of obtaining a far wider circulation than they had yet met with for the ideas of Faustus Socinus. Some of the Rosicrucians were already "accepted masons." Vaughan determined to capture the vast organization of craft masonry by permeating the lodges with Luciferianism. His associate in this task was Elias Ashmole, with whose aid, a few years later, he composed the degrees of Apprentice (1646), Companion (1648), and Master (1649) (pp. 142, 169-175, 197-206). The Civil War had now approached. Oliver Cromwell was a freemason, a Rosicrucian, and a friend of Vaughan's (p. 176). With the execution of Laud came the crisis of Vaughan's life, his initiation into the highest degree of Rosie Cross by the hands of Lucifer himself. It took place in this wise. At the last moment Vaughan was substituted for the intended executioner of Laud.[28] He had prepared a sacramental cloth which he soaked in the martyr's blood, and on the same night he sacrificed the relic to Lucifer. The divinity appeared, consecrated Vaughan as _Magus_, named him as the next _Summus Magister_ of the Fraternity, and signed a pact, granting him thirty-three years more life, at the end of which he should be borne away from earth without death (p. 177). In 1645 Vaughan wrote, but did not yet publish, his most important treatise, the _Introitus Apertus ad Occlusum Regis Palatium_. In 1645, still following the direct command of Lucifer, he departed for America. Here he met the apothecary George Starkey, and in his presence performed the alchemical feat of making gold (p. 179).[29] Here, too, he lived amongst the Lenni-Lennaps, where he was united to the demon Venus-Astarte in the form of a beautiful woman, who after eleven days bore him a daughter. This girl was brought up among the Lenni-Lennaps under the name of Diana Wulisso-Waghan, and became Miss Diana Vaughan's great-great-grandmother (p. 181). In 1648 Vaughan returned to England, and after composing the masonic degree of Master in 1649 (p. 197), he began the publication of a series of alchemical and, in reality, Luciferian writings. In 1650 appeared the _Anthroposophia Theomagica_ and the _Magia Adamica_, in 1651 the _Lumen de Lumine_; in 1652 the _Aula Lucis_ (p. 211). In 1654 Valentin Andreae died, and Vaughan succeeded him as _Summus Magister_ of the Rosie Cross, the event being announced to him by the homage of three demons, Leviathan, Cerberus, and Belphegor (p. 214). In 1655 he published his _Euphrates_, and in 1656 made his head-quarters at Amsterdam or Eirenaeopolis. In 1659 came his _Fraternity of R. C._; in 1664 his _Medulla Alchymiae_.[30] In 1666 he exhibited the philosopher's stone to Helvetius at La Haye and converted him to occultism: in 1667 he at last resolved to publish his Opus Magnum, the _Introitus Apertus_, already written in 1645 (p. 215). In 1668 this was followed by the _Experimenta de Praeparatione Mercurii Sophici_ and the _Tractatus Tres_ (p. 236). The time was now approaching when Vaughan, in fulfilment of the pact of 1644, must disappear from earth. He named Charles Blount as his successor (p. 237), and was granted a magical vision of his grandson, the child of Diana Wulisso-Waghan and a Lenni-Lennap (p. 239). He finished his _Memoirs_, published the _Ripley Revised_[31] and the _Enarratio Methodica trium Gebri Medicinarum_, left his poems to his brother Henry, who published them in the next year as the _Thalia Rediviva_,[32] and on March 25, 1678, disappeared in the company of _Lucifer Dieu-Bon_ himself (p. 240). This event is vouched for, not only by a written statement of Henry Vaughan (p. 114), but also by the existence in a masonic triangle at Valetta of a magical talisman into which, when properly evoked, the spirit of Philalethes enters and records his glorious end for the edification of the Luciferians present[33] (p. 243).
I fear that I have taken Miss Vaughan with undue seriousness. Her account of Thomas Vaughan is not only unsupported by direct evidence,[34] but much of it is of a character which we should not be justified in accepting, even were direct evidence forthcoming. And it is all discordant with the little that we do happen to know of Thomas Vaughan from other sources. The whole thing is, in fact, a pretty obvious romance of very modern fabrication. It appears to have been compiled from such information as to the alchemical and mystical writers of the seventeenth century as was within the reach of Albert Pike and the brothers Vaughan about the year 1870.[35] It is always better to explain than to refute an error; and the nature of the Luciferian tradition of Thomas Vaughan is pretty clearly shown by the fact that it is not corroborated in a single particular by any of the new facts about him that have come to light since this probable date of its composition.[36] The fabricator put Thomas Vaughan's birth-place in Monmouth instead of Brecon, because he had never seen Dr. Grosart's _Fuller Worthies_ Edition of Henry Vaughan. He makes no mention of any of the facts contained in Sloane MS. 1741, because that MS. was still unknown. And, most fatal of all, he puts Thomas Vaughan's birth in 1612 instead of 1621-2, because Foster's _Alumni Oxonienses_ being yet unpublished, he was ignorant of the record of that date preserved in the University Registers. But we can go a step further. We can confute him, not only by pointing to the books he did not use, but by pointing to those he did. It has already been shown that the ascription to Vaughan of the English translation of Maier's _Themis Aurea_ is due to a misunderstanding of a phrase used by Anthony a Wood. The _Athenae Oxonienses_ then was one source of the compilation. Another was the _Histoire de la Philosophie Hermetique_, written by Lenglet-Dufresnoy in 1742. Here is the proof. Miss Vaughan supports her statement as to the birth-date in 1612 by a quotation from the _Introitus Apertus_, in which the writer states it to have been composed "en l'an 1645 de notre salut, et le trente-troisieme de mon age." This she professes to translate from the _editio princeps_ published by Jean Lange in 1667. As a matter of fact it is taken from the version given in Lenglet-Dufresnoy's book. And Lenglet-Dufresnoy followed, not the edition of 1667, but the later edition published by J. M. Faust at Frankfort in 1706. In this the words are "trigesimo tertio," whereas in the _editio princeps_ they are "vicesimo tertio," and in W. Cooper's English translation of 1669, "in the 23rd year of my age," thus bringing the date of the birth of Eirenaeus Philalethes not to 1612, but to 1622. The "legend of Philalethes" need detain us no longer. Miss Vaughan's narrative is a very insufficient basis for regarding the pious minister and mystic which Thomas Vaughan appears to have been as a secret enemy of Christianity and a worshipper of Lucifer.
But when the legend is set aside, there still remain certain questions suggested by it which may be considered without much reference to the statements of Miss Vaughan. Was Thomas Vaughan a Rosicrucian? And was he, admittedly the author of a series of tracts under the name of Eugenius Philalethes, also the author of those which bear the name of Eirenaeus Philalethes? The first question is, I am afraid, insoluble, until it has been decided whether the Fraternity of R. C. ever had an actual existence. Anthony a Wood states that Thomas Vaughan was a zealous Rosicrucian, but probably Anthony a Wood took the term in the general sense of mystic and alchemist. On the other hand Vaughan himself, in his preface to the English translation of the Rosicrucian manifestoes, seems to disavow any personal acquaintance with the members of the fraternity. Even this is not conclusive, for the Rosicrucian rule, as given in the _Laws of the Brotherhood_, published by Sincerus Renatus in 1710,[37] obliges the members to deny their membership.
There is more material for the discussion of the second question, but I do not know that it is more possible to come to a definite conclusion. The personality of the anonymous adept who took the name of Eirenaeus Philalethes was shrouded in mystery even to his contemporaries. The fullest account given of him on any of his title-pages is on that of the _Experimenta de Praeparatione Mercurii Sophici_ (1668), which is said to be "ex manuscripto Philosophi Americani alias Eyrenaei Philalethis, natu Angli, habitatione Cosmopolitae."[38] We have also the description given by George Starkey, or whoever it was, in the _Marrow of Alchemy_ (1654-5), p. 25. Starkey says:--
"His present place in which he doth abide I know not, for the world he walks about, Of which he is a citizen; this tide He is to visit artists and seek out Antiquities a voyage gone and will Return when he of travel hath his fill.
"By nation an Englishman, of note His family is in the place where he Was born, his fortune's good, and eke his coat Of arms is of a great antiquity; His learning rare, his years scarce thirty-three; Fuller description get you not from me."
Starkey gives the age of Eirenaeus Philalethes as 33 in 1654. This precisely confirms the writer's own statement in the earlier editions of the _Introitus Apertus_ that he was 23 in 1645, and fixes the birth-date as 1621 or 1622. Now this agrees remarkably with the birth-date ascertained from other sources of Thomas Vaughan. But Thomas died in 1666, and it is usually asserted that Eirenaeus Philalethes lived until at least 1678. Miss Vaughan states that he must have been alive in that year, because he then published the _Ripley Revived_, and the _Enarratio Trium Gebri Medicinarum_. She declares that the author of the _Enarratio_ mentions the pains taken about that edition (p. 240). I do not find any prefatory matter in this book at all. There is a preface to the _Ripley Revived_, but this was written long before 1678, for it mentions the _Introitus Apertus_, published in 1667, as still in manuscript. Neither Jean Lange, the editor of the _Introitus Apertus_ of 1667, writing 9th December, 1666, nor William Cooper, the editor of the English translation[39] of 1669, writing 15th September, 1668, know whether the author is still alive. In fact he cannot be shown to have outlived Thomas Vaughan, for there is no proof that the adept who showed the philosopher's stone to Helvetius on December 27th, 1666,[40] was the same as he who showed it to George Starkey many years before. I will briefly enumerate a few other links which connect Eirenaeus Philalethes with Thomas Vaughan. A German translation of the _Introitus Apertus_, published at Hamburg under the title of _Abyssus Alchemiae_ (1704), is said on the title-page to be "von T. de Vagan." Miss Vaughan states that a similar translation of the first of the _Tres Tractatus_, published at Hamburg in 1705, also bears this name (p. 237), and this is borne out by Lenglet-Dufresnoy (iii. 261-6), who speaks of a French MS. of the _Tres Tractatus_ inscribed "par Thomas de Vagan, dit Philalethe ou Martin Birrhius." Birrhius, however, was only the editor. These ascriptions are probably made on the authority of G. W. Wedelius, who in his preface, dated 2nd Sept., 1698, to an edition of the _Introitus Apertus_, published at Jena in 1699, says of the author:--"Ex Anglia tamen vulgo habetur oriundus ... et Thomas De Vagan appellatus." The English _Three Tracts_ (1694) are stated on the title-page to have been written in Latin by Eirenaeus Philalethes; but there is a note in the British Museum Catalogue to the effect that the Latin original has the name _Eugenius_ Philalethes. Unfortunately this Latin _Tres Tractatus_, published in 1668 by Martin Birrhius at Amsterdam, is not in the Library, and I cannot verify the statement. Finally, I may note that the _Ripley Revived_ (1678) has an engraved title-page by Robert Vaughan, who also did the title-page to _Olor Iscanus_, and that Starkey's _Marrow of Alchemy_ contains, at the end of the preface to Part ii., some lines by William Sampson, which mention
"Harry Mastix Moor Who judged of Nature when he did not know her";
clearly an allusion to More's controversy with Thomas Vaughan.
It will be seen that there is some _prima facie_ evidence for identifying Eirenaeus Philalethes with Thomas Vaughan, whereas he was probably not George Starkey (Eirenaeus Philoponos Philalethes), and cannot be shown to have been anyone else. But I am not satisfied. We do not know that Thomas Vaughan was ever in America, and there is the strong evidence of Anthony a Wood, who distinguishes between Eirenaeus and Eugenius, and who appears to have had information from Henry Vaughan himself. Mr. A. E. Waite argues against the identification on the ground that Eirenaeus Philalethes was a "physical alchemist," whereas Thomas Vaughan's alchemy was spiritual and mystical. But we have Vaughan's authority for saying that he had pursued the physical alchemy also.[41] And he was clearly doing so when he wrote Sloane MS. 1741. A more pertinent objection is perhaps that Eirenaeus Philalethes appears to have been in possession of the grand secret when he wrote the _Introitus Apertus_ in 1645, whereas Thomas Vaughan was still seeking it in 1658. To pursue the matter further would require a wide knowledge of the alchemical writings of the seventeenth century, which unfortunately I do not possess.[42]
My gratitude is due for help received in compiling the biographical and other notes in these volumes to Dr. Grosart, Mr. C. H. Firth, Mr. W. C. Hazlitt, Mr. A. E. Waite, and the Rev. Llewellyn Thomas; notably to Miss G. E. F. Morgan of Brecon, whose knowledge of local genealogy and antiquities has been invaluable.
July, 1896. E. K. Chambers.
Footnotes:
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Dr. Grosart, however, says (ii. 298), "In all the pedigrees that have been submitted to me, Thomas is placed as the first of the twins." But, as Henry inherited Newton, and Thomas took orders, Anthony a Wood is probably right.
[2] The tombstone says 73. G. T. Clark repeats Jones' error.
[3] The tombstone is actually in the north aisle of the church itself.
[4] Obviously Mr. Clark has confused Lucy Jones with her daughter, Denise Jones.
[5] This was noted by Mr W. B. Rye in _The Genealogist_, iii. 33, from the Entry Book of the Registry at Hereford. Since then Mr. Clark of Hereford has kindly sent me, through Miss Morgan, a copy of the bond entered into by the administratrix, Elizabetha Vaughan de Llansanfread, and her son-in-law and surety, Roger Prosser de Villa Brecon. The bond, or the copy, is dated in error "30 May, 1694, et 7th Wm. iii." Administration was granted on May 29, 1695. The inventory of the personal property amounted to L49 4s. 0d. The witnesses are Walter Prosser and David Thomas.
[6] An old alphabetical catalogue of wills in the Hereford Registry, between 1660-1677, has the following entries:--
Thomas Vaughan, Lansamfread, 11 Dec., 1660. Franca Vaughan, Lansamfread, 16 Nov., 1677.
The wills cannot, in the present state of the Registry, be found (_Genealogist_, iii., 33). These dates are much too early for the poet's son and daughter-in-law; but whose are the wills?
[7] The _Turberville_ and _Jones_ lines are taken from Theophilus Jones' _History of Brecknockshire_ (ii. 444), and from Harl. MS. 2289, f. 70, respectively. Miss Morgan has kindly traced the Prossers from the _Registers_ of St. John's and St. Mary's Churches, Brecon.
[8] Miss Morgan tells me that David Morgan David Howel's father, Morgan ap Howel, is described in a pedigree as "of Trenewydd in Penkelley"; and I find from Harl. MS. 2289, ff. 84 (b), 85, that the Powells "of Newton Penkelley" were related to the Powells of Cantreff. (_See_ vol. ii., p. 57, _note_.)
[9] The will of this Charles Vaughan has been abstracted by Mr. W. B. Rye (_Genealogist_, iii. 33) from the Hereford Will Office. It was made 9th April, 1707, and proved 29th May, 1707. The testator is described as of Skellrog, Llansanffread, and mention is made of his wife Margaret Powell, and of a son William. This William, therefore, and not a grandson of Henry Vaughan, may be the William Vaughan of Llansantffread, who married Mary Games of Tregaer (p. xxi). Skellrog appears to have passed to another and probably elder son, Charles.
[10] S. W. Williams, _Llansaintffread Church_ in _Archaeologia Cambrensis_ (1887.)
[11] W. B. Rye in _Genealogist_, iii. 36, from Entry Book in Hereford Will Office.
[12] An account of the part played by Beeston Castle during the Civil War will be found in Ormerod's _History of Cheshire_ (ed. Helsby), ii. 272 _sqq._
[13] Gardiner, _The Great Civil War_, ch. xxxvi.; J. R. Phillips, _The Civil War in Wales and the Marches_, i. 329; ii. 270.
[14] Ormerod, i. 243.
[15] Phillips, i. 314.
[16] Phillips, ii. 272.
[17] Both Wood and Foster give the father's name as Thomas, but it appears to be Henry in all the pedigrees.
[18] The following list of Vaughan's admitted prose treatises is mainly taken from Dr. Grosart:--_Anthroposophia Theomagica_ (1650); _Anima Magica Abscondita_ (1650); _Magia Adamica_ with the _Coelum Terrae_ (1650); _The Man-Mouse taken in a Trap_ (1650); _The Second Wash; or, the Moor scoured once more_ (1651) [These two are polemics against Henry More]; _Lumen de Lumine_, with the _Aphorismi Magici Eugeniani_ (1651); _The Fame and Confession of the Fraternity of R:C:_ (1653); _Aula Lucis_ (1652); _Euphrates_ (1655); _Nollius' Chymist's Key_ (1657); _A Brief Natural History_ (1669); [Wood ascribes this to another writer, as it was not in the list furnished him by Henry Vaughan].--Henry More's pamphlets against Vaughan are the _Observations upon Anthroposophia Theomagica and Anima Magica Abscondita_ (1650), issued under the name of Alazonomastix Philalethes and _The Second Lash of Alazonomastix_ (1651).
[19] Walker falls into the curious confusion of supposing that there were two Thomas Vaughans, one rector of Llansantffread, the other of Newton St. Bridget. But "St. Bridget" is only the English form of the Welsh "Santffread."
[20] Printed from the Rawl. MSS. in Thurloe's _State Papers_, ii. 120.
[21] Is this the inn of that name once in the Gray's Inn Road? (Cunningham and Wheatley, _Handbook to London_.)
[22] The Rev. Henry Howlett has kindly sent me the following extract from the registers of Meppershall:--
"1658. Buried. Rebecka, the Wife of Mr. Vahanne the 26th of Aprill."
[23] An entire literature has grown up in Paris during the last year around the question whether the cultus of Lucifer is practised in certain Masonic Lodges. A number of Catholic journalists and pamphleteers assert very categorically that this is the case, that the centre of this cultus, containing the full Luciferian initiates, is the 33^rd^ degree of a so-called New and Reformed Palladian Rite, having its head-quarters at Charlestown, and that the chiefs of this Rite have obtained a controlling influence over the whole of Freemasonry. The creed is described as Manichaean in character, with Lucifer as Dieu-Bon and Adonai, the God of the Catholics, as Dieu-Mauvais. Adonai is the principle of asceticism, Lucifer of natural humanity and _la joie de vivre_. The rituals and the accepted interpretation of the Masonic symbolism used in the lodges, or "triangles," are of a phallic type. Women are admitted to membership. Immorality, a parody of the Eucharist, known as the black mass, and the practice of black magic, take place at the meetings. Lucifer is worshipped in the form of Baphomet, but from time to time he is personally evoked, and manifested to his followers. Luciferianism tends to become identical with Satanism, in which Lucifer and Satan are identified and frankly worshipped as evil. The first mention of Luciferian Freemasonry was in the _Y-a-t-il des Femmes dans la Franc Maconnerie?_ (1891), of the somewhat notorious Leo Taxil. But the case rests mainly on the alleged revelations of writers who claim to have themselves been members of the Palladian Rite. The chief of these are Dr. Hacke or Bataille, Signor Margiotta and Miss Diana Vaughan. Unfortunately very little evidence is forthcoming as to the identity of any of these personages. Many leading Masons, _e.g._, M. Papus in his _Le Diable et l'Occultisme_, deny that Luciferian Freemasonry exists at all, and it is freely stated (_cf._ _Light_ for 27 June and 4 July, 1896, pp. 305, 322) that Miss Diana Vaughan is a myth, and that her _Memoires_ with the rest of the revelations are the ingenious concoction of a band of irresponsible journalists of whom Leo Taxil is the chief. No one appears to have seen Miss Vaughan, and she is alleged to be hiding in some convent from the vengeance of the Luciferians. Probably there will be some further light thrown on the matter before long: in the meantime a good summary of the evidence up-to-date may be found in A. E. Waite's _Devil-Worship in France_ (1896). Assuming that Luciferianism really exists, I do not for a moment believe that it has the antiquity which Miss Vaughan claims for it. The various Rites of modern Freemasonry, with their fantastic and high-sounding degrees, are comparatively recent excrescences upon the original Craft Masonry. The New and Reformed Palladian Rite is said to have been founded at Charlestown by the well-known Mason, Albert Pike, in 1870. It is based on the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite, which dates from the beginning of the century. If there is such a thing as Luciferianism, I do not think we need look further back than 1870 for its origin. As expounded by Miss Vaughan and others, it is pretty clearly a compilation from Eliphaz Levi and other occultist and Cabbalistic writers, with a good deal of modern American Spiritualism thrown in. Albert Pike, a man of considerable learning, could easily have invented it. Masonic symbolism lends itself readily enough to a wide range of interpretations. I do not say that seventeenth-century occultism has left no traces upon Freemasonry which modern ritual-mongers may have elaborated; but it is a far cry from this to the belief that Thomas Vaughan and Luther were Manichaean worshippers of Lucifer and Protestantism an organized warfare on Adonai.
[24] Miss Vaughan quotes from Allibone's _History of English Literature_. Allibone only repeats Anthony a Wood's account.
[25] Robert Vaughan belonged to quite a different branch from the Vaughans of Newton: and, as Sl. MS. 1741 shows, the father of Henry and Thomas Vaughan did not die until 1658.
[26] Miss Vaughan gives an elaborate account of the Rosicrucians and of their famous manifestoes, which I have no room to reproduce.
[27] Miss Vaughan states that Thomas Vaughan signed "not _Eugenius Philalethes_, but _Eirenaeus Philalethes_" (p. 114). But she ascribes to him the _Anthroposophia Theomagica_ and other writings which are signed, though she does not mention it, _Eugenius Philalethes_ (p. 211). She quotes from Anthony a Wood the assertion, which he does not make, that the English translations of the _Fama Fraternitatis Rosae Crucis_ (1652) and of Maier's _Themis Aurea_ (1656) both bear the name of Eugenius, and were by another Thomas Vaughan! The manuscripts of both are, she says, signed _Eirenaeus_ (p. 163). What Wood says is that he has seen a translation of Maier's tract, dedicated to Elias Ashmole by [N. L.]/[T. S.] H. S., and that Ashmole has forgotten whose the initials are. He does not suggest that this translation is by a Thomas Vaughan. (_Ath. Oxon._, iii. 724.)
[28] This episode has previously done duty in the _Vingt Ans Apres_ (vol. iii., ch. 8-10), of Alexandre Dumas, in which Mordaunt acts as the executioner of Charles. There is a Latin poem amongst Vaughan's remains in _Thalia Rediviva_ entitled _Epitaphium Gulielmi Laud Episcopi Cantuariensis_, full of sorrow for the archbishop's death.
[29] Miss Vaughan refers to Lenglet-Dufresnoy's _Histoire de la Philosophie Hermetique_ as an authority on Starkey's relations with Eirenaeus Philalethes. Lenglet-Dufresnoy probably took his account from _The Marrow of Alchemy_ (1654-5). The prefaces to this are signed with anagrams of George Starkey's name. But he ascribes the poem to a friend, who is called in the _Breve Manuductorium ad Campum Sophiae_ Agricola Rhomaeus. Perhaps Starkey himself was the real author. The title-page has the name Eirenaeus Philoponus Philalethes, apparently a distinct designation from that of Eirenaeus Philalethes.
[30] The _Medulla Alchemiae_ (1664) is only a Latin translation of the _Marrow of Alchemy_ (1654-5) of Eirenaeus Philoponos Philalethes.
[31] The actual name of the tract is _Ripley Revived_.
[32] The _Thalia Rediviva_ was actually published in 1678, not 1679.
[33] Miss Vaughan has herself witnessed this, in the presence of Lucifer. Moreover, the spirit of Philalethes has appeared, and conversed with her (pp. 257-267).
[34] Miss Vaughan refers to several family documents, but does not offer them for inspection. They include (a) the will of her grandfather James, enumerating the proofs of his descent (p. 111); (b) the autobiographical Memoirs of Philalethes, from which Miss Vaughan quotes largely (pp. 174, 240); (c) a letter from Fludd to Andreae (pp. 114, 149); (d) a MS. of the _Introitus Apertus_, of which the margin has been covered by Vaughan with a comment for Luciferian initiates (pp. 111, 217, 225); (e) a letter from Andreae in the archives of the Sovereign Patriarchal Council of Hamburg (p. 197); (f) Henry Vaughan's account of his brother's disappearance in the archives of the Supreme Dogmatic Directory of Charleston (p. 114); (g) Masonic rituals in the archives of Masonic chapters at Bristol and Gibraltar (p. 200); (h) Rosicrucian rituals drawn up by one Nick Stone in the hands of Dr. W. W. W[estcott] of London (p. 141). The documents in Masonic hands are presumably, like the Valetta talisman, now out of Miss Vaughan's reach. A communication signed Q. V. in _Light_ for May 16, 1896, denies, on Dr. Westcott's authority, that his rituals have anything to do with Nick Stone, or that Miss Vaughan ever saw them. Dr. Westcott is the head of the modern _Societas Rosicruciana in Anglia_. This body does not even pretend to be the _Fraternity of R. C._ Finally, there is (i) Thomas Vaughan's original pact with Lucifer, now, according to Miss Vaughan, in holy hands, and to be destroyed on the day she takes the veil.
[35] Miss Vaughan somewhat naively gives us a lead. After describing Thomas Vaughan's sojourn with Venus-Astarte among the Lenni-Lennaps, she adds: "This legend is not accepted by all the Elect Mages; there are those who regard it as fabricated by my grandfather James of Boston, who was, they believe, of Delaware origin, or, at any rate, a half-breed; and they even assert that, in the desire to Anglicize himself, he invented an entirely false genealogy, by way of justifying his change of the Lennap name Waghan into Vaughan. Herein the opponents of the Luciferian legend of Thomas Vaughan go too far" (p. 181).
[36] I have already pointed out that Miss Vaughan is quite possibly a myth. But, if she exists, I do not see any reason to suppose that she personally invented the "legend of Philalethes." It lies between Leo Taxil and his friends in 1895, and the alleged founders of Palladism in or about 1870, that is Albert Pike and Miss Vaughan's father and uncle. And, so far as it goes, the ignorance shown in the legend of all books published in the last twenty years is evidence for the earlier date, and therefore, to some extent, for the actual existence of Luciferianism.
[37] _Cf._ A. E. Waite, _Real History of the Rosicrucians_, p. 274.
[38] The principal writings ascribed to Eirenaeus Philalethes are _Introitus Apertus in Occlusum Regis Palatium_ (1667), _Tres Tractatus_ (1668), _Experimenta de Praeparatione Mercurii Sophici_ (1668), _Ripley Revived_ (1678), _Enarratio Trium Gebri Medicinarum_ (1678). The works of Eirenaeus Philoponos Philalethes (George Starkey?) are often attributed to him in error. The B. M. Catalogue, s.vv. _Philaletha, Philalethes_, is a mass of confusions. Lenglet-Dufresnoy, _Histoire de la Philosophie Hermetique_ (iii. 261-266), gives a long list of printed and manuscript works. Most of these he had probably never seen. He probably took many items in his list from one in J. M. Faust's edition of the _Introitus Apertus_ (Frankfort, 1706); and this, in its turn, was based on what Eirenaeus Philalethes himself says he has written in the preface to _Ripley Revived_. He there says, after naming other works: "Two English Poems I wrote, declaring the whole secret, which are lost. Also an Enchiridion of Experiments, together with a Diurnal of Meditations, in which were many Philosophical receipts, declaring the whole secret, with an Aenigma annexed; which also fell into such hands which I conceive will never restore it. This last was written in English." Can this Enchiridion and Diurnal be Sl. MS. 1741? I find no "Aenigma." Can Starkey have stolen the poems and published them as the _Marrow of Alchemy_?
[39] The preface to _Ripley Revived_ makes it clear that the _Introitus Apertus_ was originally written in Latin, not in English.
[40] This is recorded in Helvetius' _Vitulus Aureus_ (1667). Helvetius describes his master as 43 or 44 years old, and calls him Elias Artistes.
[41] _See_ the passage from the Epistle to _Euphrates_, quoted by Grosart (Vol. ii., p. 312).
[42] The "legend of Philalethes" has already been exposed by Mr. A. E. Waite in his _Devil Worship in France_ (ch. xiii.). I am also indebted to what Mr. Waite has written on Eirenaeus Philalethes in that book, as well as in his _True History of the Rosicrucians_ (1887) and his _Lives of Alchymistical Philosophers_ (1888).
Bibliography Of Henry Vaughan'S Works.
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF HENRY VAUGHAN'S WORKS.
(1)
POEMS, | WITH | The tenth SATYRE of | IUVENAL | ENGLISHED. | By _Henry Vaughan_, Gent. |--_Tam nil, nulla tibi vendo_ | _Illiade_--| _LONDON_, | Printed for _G. Badger_, and are to be sold at his | shop under Saint _Dunstan's_ Church in | Fleet-street. 1646. [8^vo^.]
The translation from Juvenal has a separate title-page.
IVVENAL'S | TENTH | SATYRE | TRANSLATED. | _Nec verbum verbo curabit reddere fidus_ | _Interpres_--| _LONDON_, | Printed for G. B., and are to be sold at his Shop | under Saint _Dunstan's_ Church. 1646.
(2)
[Emblem] | Silex Scintillans: | _or_ | _SACRED POEMS_ | _and_ | _Priuate Eiaculations_ | _By_ | Henry Vaughan _Silurist_ | LONDON | _Printed by T. W. for H. Blunden_ | _at ye Castle in Cornehill._ 1650. [8^vo^.]
(3)
_OLOR ISCANUS._ | A COLLECTION | OF SOME SELECT | POEMS, | AND | TRANSLATIONS, | Formerly written by | _Mr._ Henry Vaughan _Silurist_. | Published by a Friend. | Virg. Georg. | _Flumina amo, Sylvasq. Inglorius_--| LONDON | Printed by _T. W._ for _Humphrey Moseley_, | and are to be sold at his shop, at the | Signe of the Princes Arms in St. _Pauls_ | Church-yard, 1651. [8^vo^.]
The Preface is dated "Newton by Usk this 17 of Decemb. 1647."
The prose translations in this volume have separate title-pages:
(a) OF THE | BENEFIT | Wee may get by our | ENEMIES. | A DISCOURSE | Written originally in the | Greek by _Plutarchus Chaeronensis_, | translated in to Latin by _I. Reynolds_ Dr. | of Divinitie and lecturer of the Greeke Tongue | In _Corpus Christi_ College In _Oxford_. | _Englished By_ H: V: _Silurist_. |--_Dolus, an virtus quis in hoste requirat._ |--_fas est, et ab hoste doceri._ | LONDON. | Printed for _Humphry Moseley_ [etc.].
(b) OF THE | DISEASES | OF THE | MIND | And the BODY. | A DISCOURSE | Written originally in the | Greek by _Plutarchus Chaeronensis_, | put in to latine by _I. Reynolds D.D._ | Englished by _H: V:_ Silurist. | _Omnia perversae poterunt Corrumpere mentes._ | LONDON. | Printed for _Humphry Moseley_ [etc.].
(c) OF THE DISEASES | OF THE | MIND, | AND THE | BODY, | and which of them is | most pernicious. | The Question stated, and decided | by _Maximus Tirius_, a Platonick Philosopher, written originally in | the Greek, put into Latine by | _John Reynolds_ D.D. | _Englished_ by Henry Vaughan _Silurist_. | LONDON, | Printed for _Humphry Moseley_ [etc.].
(d) THE | PRAISE | AND | HAPPINESSE | OF THE | _COUNTRIE-LIFE_; | Written Originally in | _Spanish_ by _Don Antonio de Guevara_, | Bishop of _Carthagena_, and | Counsellour of Estate to | _Charls_ the Fifth Emperour | of _Germany_. |_Put into English by_ H. Vaughan _Silurist._ | Virgil. Georg. | _O fortunatos nimium, bona si sua norint,_ | _Agricolas!_--| LONDON, | Printed for _Humphry Moseley_ [etc.].
(4)
THE | MOUNT of OLIVES: | OR, | SOLITARY DEVOTIONS. | By | HENRY VAUGHAN _Silurist_. | With | An excellent Discourse of the | blessed State of MAN in GLORY, | written by the most Reverend and | holy Father ANSELM Arch-| Bishop of _Canterbury_, and now | done into English. | Luke 21, v. 39, 37. | [quoted in full]. | LONDON, Printed for WILLIAM LEAKE at the | Crown in Fleet-Street between the two | Temple-Gates. 1652 [12^mo^].
The preface is dated "Newton by Usk this first of October 1651."
The translation from Anselm has a separate title-page:
MAN | IN | GLORY: | OR, | A Discourse of the blessed | state of the Saints in the | New JERUSALEM. | Written in Latin by the most | Reverend and holy Father | _ANSELMUS_ | Archbishop of _Canterbury_, and now | done into English. | Printed _Anno Dom._ 1652.
(5)
_Flores Solitudinis._ | Certaine Rare and Elegant | PIECES; | _Viz._ | Two Excellent Discourses | Of 1. _Temperance, and Patience_; | 2. _Life and Death_. | BY | _I. E._ NIEREMBERGIUS. | THE WORLD | CONTEMNED; | BY | EUCHERIUS, Bp. of LYONS. | And the Life of | PAULINUS, | Bp. of _NOLA_. | Collected in his Sicknesse and Retirement, | BY | _HENRY VAUGHAN_, Silurist. | _Tantus Amor Florum, & generandi gloria Mellis._ | _London_, Printed for _Humphry Moseley_ at the | _Princes Armes_ in St. _Pauls_ Church-yard. 1654. [12^mo^.]
The Preface is dated "Newton by Usk, in South-Wales, April 17, 1652." The pieces have separate title-pages:
(a) Two Excellent | DISCOURSES | Of 1. Temperance and Patience. | 2. Life and Death. | Written in Latin by | _Johan: Euseb: Nierembergius_. | Englished by | HENRY VAUGHAN, Silurist. | ... _Mors vitam temperet, & vita Mortem_. | _LONDON:_ | Printed for _Humphrey Moseley_, etc.
The Preface is dated "Newton by Uske neare Sketh-Rock. 1653."
(b) THE WORLD | CONTEMNED, | IN A | Parenetical Epistle written by | the Reverend Father | _EUCHERIUS_, | Bishop of _Lyons_, to his Kinsman | _VALERIANUS_. | [Texts] | _London_, Printed for _Humphrey Moseley_ [etc.].
(c) Primitive Holiness, | Set forth in the | LIFE | of blessed | PAULINUS, | The most Reverend, and | Learned BISHOP of | _NOLA_: | Collected out of his own Works, | and other Primitive Authors by | _Henry Vaughan_, Silurist. | 2 Kings _cap._ 2. _ver._ 12 | _My Father, my Father, the Chariot of_ | Israel, _and the Horsmen thereof._ | _LONDON_, | Printed for _Humphry Moseley_ [etc.].
(6)
Silex Scintillans: | SACRED | POEMS | And private | EJACULATIONS. | The second Edition, In two Books; | By _Henry Vaughan_, Silurist. | Job chap. 35 ver. 10, 11. | [quoted in full] | _London_, Printed for _Henry Crips_, and _Lodo-_ | _wick Lloyd_, next to the Castle in _Cornhil_, | and in _Popes-head Alley_. 1655. [8^vo^.]
A reissue, with additions and a fresh title-page, of (2). The Preface is dated "Newton by Usk, near Sketh-rock Septem. 30, 1654."
(7)
HERMETICAL | PHYSICK: | _OR_, | The right way to pre-| serve, and to restore | HEALTH | _BY_ | That famous and faith-| full Chymist, | _HENRY NOLLIUS_. | Englished by | HENRY UAUGHAN, Gent. | _LONDON._ | Printed for _Humphrey Moseley_, and | are to be sold at his shop, at the | _Princes Armes_, in S^t _Pauls Church-Yard_, 1655. [12^mo^.]
(8)
_Thalia Rediviva:_ | THE | _Pass-Times_ and _Diversions_ | OF A | COUNTREY-MUSE, | In Choice | POEMS | On several Occasions. | WITH | Some Learned _Remains_ of the Eminent | _Eugenius Philalethes_. | Never made Publick till now. |--Nec erubuit sylvas habitare Thalia. _Virgil._ | Licensed, _Roger L'Estrange_. | _London_, Printed for _Robert Pawlet_ at the Bible in | _Chancery-lane_, near _Fleetstreet_, 1678 [8^vo^.]
The Remains of Eugenius Philalethes [Thomas Vaughan] have a separate title-page.
_Eugenii Philalethis_, | VIRI | INSIGNISSIMI | ET | Poetarum | Sui Saeculi, merito Principis: | _VERTUMNUS_ | ET | _CYNTHIA_, &c. | Q. Horat. |--_Qui praegravat artes Infra se positas,_ | _extinctus am[a]bitur._--| _LONDINI_, | Impensis _Roberti Pawlett_, M.DC.LXXVIII. [12^mo^.]
(9)
Olor Iscanus. A collection of some Select Poems, Together with these Translations following, etc. All Englished by H. Vaughan, Silurist. London: Printed and are to be sold by Peter Parker ... 1679. [8^vo^.]
A reissue, according to Dr. Grosart (ii. 59) and W. C. Hazlitt (_Supplement to Third Series Of Collections_, p. 106), of the 1651 _Olor Iscanus_, with a fresh title-page. I have not seen a copy.
(10)
[Miss L. I. Guiney writes in her essay on _Henry Vaughan, the Silurist_ (Atlantic Monthly, May, 1894): "Mr. Carew Hazlitt has been fortunate enough to discover the advertisement of an eighteenth-century Vaughan reprint."
As to this Mr. Hazlitt writes to me: "I cannot tell where Miss Guiney heard about the Vaughan--not certainly from me. But there is an edition of his 'Spiritual Songs,' 8^vo^, 1706, of which, however, I don't at present know the whereabouts."]
(11)
Silex Scintillans: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations of Henry Vaughan, with Memoir by the Rev. H. F. Lyte. London: William Pickering, 1847. [12^mo^.]
An edition of (6) and part of (8).
(12)
The Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations of Henry Vaughan, with a Memoir by the Rev. H. F. Lyte. Boston [U. S. A.]: Little, Brown and Company, 1856. [8^vo^.]
A reprint of (11).
(13)
Silex Scintillans, etc.: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations, by Henry Vaughan. London: Bell and Daldy. 1858.
A reprint, with a revised text, of (11).
(14)
The Fuller Worthies' Library. The Works in Verse and Prose complete of Henry Vaughan, Silurist, for the first time collected and edited: with Memorial-Introduction: Essay on Life and Writings: and Notes: by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart, St. George's, Blackburn, Lancashire. In four Volumes.... Printed for Private Circulation. 1871.
A reprint of the original editions, with biographical and critical matter. Only 50 4^to^, 106 8^vo^, and 156 12^mo^ copies printed. In Vol. II. are included the Poems of Thomas Vaughan, with a separate title-page.
The English and Latin Verse-Remains of Thomas Vaughan ('Eugenius Philalethes'), twin-brother of the Silurist. For the first time collected and edited: with Memorial-Introduction and Notes: by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart [etc.].
(15)
Silex Scintillans, etc. Sacred Poems and Pious Ejaculations. By Henry Vaughan, "Silurist." With a Memoir by the Rev. H. F. Lyte. Job xxxv. 10, 11 [in full]. London: George Bell and Sons, York Street, Covent Garden. 1883. [8^vo^.]
A reprint, with a text further revised, of (11) and (13), forming a volume of the _Aldine Poets_. Since reprinted in 1891.
(16)
The Jewel Poets. Henry Vaughan. Edinburgh. Macniven and Wallace. 1884.
A selection, with a short preface by W. R. Nicoll.
(17)
Silex Scintillans. Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations, by Henry Vaughan (Silurist). Being a facsimile of the First Edition, published in 1650, with an Introduction by the Rev. William Clare, B.A. (Adelaide). London: Elliot Stock, 62, Paternoster Row. 1885. [12^mo^.]
A facsimile reprint of (2).
(18)
Secular Poems by Henry Vaughan, Silurist. Including a few pieces by his twin-brother Thomas ("Eugenius Philalethes"). Selected and arranged, with Notes and Bibliography, by J. R. Tutin, Editor of "Poems of Richard Crashaw," etc. Hull: J. R. Tutin. 1893.
A selection from Vol. II. of (14).
(19)
The Poems of Henry Vaughan, Silurist. With an Introduction by H. C. Beeching, Rector of Yattendon. [Publishers' Device.] London: Lawrence and Bullen, 16, Henrietta Street, W.C. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 153-157 Fifth Avenue. 1896. [Two vols. 8^vo^.]
The present edition. A hundred copies are printed on large paper.
Poems, With The Tenth Satire Of Juvenal Englished.
POEMS,
WITH THE
TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL
ENGLISHED.
1646.
To All Ingenious Lovers Of Poesy.
TO ALL INGENIOUS LOVERS OF POESY.
Gentlemen,
To you alone, whose more refined spirits out-wing these dull times, and soar above the drudgery of dirty intelligence, have I made sacred these fancies: I know the years, and what coarse entertainment they afford poetry. If any shall question that courage that durst send me abroad so late, and revel it thus in the dregs of an age, they have my silence: only,
Languescente seculo, liceat aegrotari.
My more calm ambition, amidst the common noise, hath thus exposed me to the world: you have here a flame, bright only in its own innocence, that kindles nothing but a generous thought: which though it may warm the blood, the fire at highest is but Platonic; and the commotion, within these limits, excludes danger. For the satire, it was of purpose borrowed to feather some slower hours; and what you see here is but the interest: it is one of his whose Roman pen had as much true passion for the infirmities of that state, as we should have pity to the distractions of our own: honest--I am sure--it is, and offensive cannot be, except it meet with such spirits that will quarrel with antiquity, or purposely arraign themselves. These indeed may think that they have slept out so many centuries in this satire and are now awakened; which, had it been still Latin, perhaps their nap had been everlasting. But enough of these,--it is for you only that I have adventured thus far, and invaded the press with verse; to whose more noble indulgence I shall now leave it, and so am gone.--
H. V. To My Ingenuous Friend, R. W.
H. V.
TO MY INGENUOUS FRIEND, R. W.
When we are dead, and now, no more Our harmless mirth, our wit, and score Distracts the town; when all is spent That the base niggard world hath lent Thy purse, or mine; when the loath'd noise Of drawers, 'prentices and boys Hath left us, and the clam'rous bar Items no pints i' th' Moon or Star; When no calm whisp'rers wait the doors, To fright us with forgotten scores; And such aged long bills carry, As might start an antiquary; When the sad tumults of the maze, Arrests, suits, and the dreadful face Of sergeants are not seen, and we No lawyers' ruffs, or gowns must fee: When all these mulcts are paid, and I From thee, dear wit, must part, and die; We'll beg the world would be so kind, To give's one grave as we'd one mind; There, as the wiser few suspect, That spirits after death affect, Our souls shall meet, and thence will they, Freed from the tyranny of clay, With equal wings, and ancient love Into the Elysian fields remove, Where in those blessed walks they'll find More of thy genius, and my mind. First, in the shade of his own bays, Great Ben they'll see, whose sacred lays The learned ghosts admire, and throng To catch the subject of his song. Then Randolph in those holy meads, His _Lovers_ and _Amyntas_ reads, Whilst his Nightingale, close by, Sings his and her own elegy. From thence dismiss'd, by subtle roads, Through airy paths and sad abodes, They'll come into the drowsy fields Of Lethe, which such virtue yields, That, if what poets sing be true, The streams all sorrow can subdue. Here, on a silent, shady green, The souls of lovers oft are seen, Who, in their life's unhappy space, Were murder'd by some perjur'd face. All these th' enchanted streams frequent, To drown their cares, and discontent, That th' inconstant, cruel sex Might not in death their spirits vex. And here our souls, big with delight Of their new state, will cease their flight: And now the last thoughts will appear, They'll have of us, or any here; But on those flow'ry banks will stay, And drink all sense and cares away. So they that did of these discuss, Shall find their fables true in us.
Les Amours
LES AMOURS
Tyrant, farewell! this heart, the prize And triumph of thy scornful eyes, I sacrifice to heaven, and give To quit my sins, that durst believe A woman's easy faith, and place True joys in a changing face. Yet ere I go: by all those tears And sighs I spent 'twixt hopes and fears; By thy own glories, and that hour Which first enslav'd me to thy power; I beg, fair one, by this last breath, This tribute from thee after death. If, when I'm gone, you chance to see That cold bed where I lodged be, Let not your hate in death appear, But bless my ashes with a tear: This influx from that quick'ning eye, By secret pow'r, which none can spy, The cold dust shall inform, and make Those flames, though dead, new life partake Whose warmth, help'd by your tears, shall bring O'er all the tomb a sudden spring Of crimson flowers, whose drooping heads Shall curtain o'er their mournful beds: And on each leaf, by Heaven's command, These emblems to the life shall stand Two hearts, the first a shaft withstood; The second, shot and wash'd in blood; And on this heart a dew shall stay, Which no heat can court away; But fix'd for ever, witness bears That hearty sorrow feeds on tears. Thus Heaven can make it known, and true That you kill'd me, 'cause I lov'd you.
To Amoret.
TO AMORET.
The Sigh.
Nimble sigh, on thy warm wings, Take this message and depart; Tell Amoret, that smiles and sings, At what thy airy voyage brings, That thou cam'st lately from my heart.
Tell my lovely foe that I Have no more such spies to send, But one or two that I intend, Some few minutes ere I die, To her white bosom to commend.
Then whisper by that holy spring, Where for her sake I would have died, Whilst those water-nymphs did bring Flowers to cure what she had tried; And of my faith and love did sing.
That if my Amoret, if she In after-times would have it read, How her beauty murder'd me, With all my heart I will agree, If she'll but love me, being dead.
To His Friend Being In Love.
TO HIS FRIEND BEING IN LOVE.
Ask, lover, ere thou diest; let one poor breath Steal from thy lips, to tell her of thy death; Doating idolater! can silence bring Thy saint propitious? or will Cupid fling One arrow for thy paleness? leave to try This silent courtship of a sickly eye. Witty to tyranny, she too well knows This but the incense of thy private vows, That breaks forth at thine eyes, and doth betray The sacrifice thy wounded heart would pay; Ask her, fool, ask her; if words cannot move, The language of thy tears may make her love. Flow nimbly from me then; and when you fall On her breast's warmer snow, O may you all, By some strange fate fix'd there, distinctly lie, The much lov'd volume of my tragedy. Where, if you win her not, may this be read, The cold that freez'd you so, did strike me dead.
SONG.
Amyntas go, thou art undone, Thy faithful heart is cross'd by fate; That love is better not begun, Where love is come to love too late.[43]
Had she professed[44] hidden fires, Or show'd one[45] knot that tied her heart, I could have quench'd my first desires, And we had only met to part.
But, tyrant, thus to murder men, And shed a lover's harmless blood, And burn him in those flames again, Which he at first might have withstood.
Yet, who that saw fair Chloris weep Such sacred dew, with such pure[46] grace; Durst think them feigned tears, or seek For treason in an angel's face.
This is her art, though this be true, Men's joys are kill'd with[47] griefs and fears, Yet she, like flowers oppress'd with dew, Doth thrive and flourish in her tears.
This, cruel, thou hast done, and thus That face hath many servants slain, Though th' end be not to ruin us, But to seek glory by our pain.[48]
FOOTNOTES:
[43] MS. _Whose pure offering comes too late._
[44] MS. _profess'd her._
[45] MS. _the._
[46] MS. _such a._
[47] MS. _by._
[48]
MS. _Your aime is sure to ruine us._ _Seeking your glory by our paine_
TO AMORET.
Walking in a Starry Evening.
If, Amoret, that glorious eye, In the first birth of light, And death of Night, Had with those elder fires you spy Scatter'd so high, Received form and sight;
We might suspect in the vast ring, Amidst these golden glories, And fiery stories;[49] Whether the sun had been the king And guide of day, Or your brighter eye should sway.
But, Amoret, such is my fate, That if thy face a star Had shin'd from far, I am persuaded in that state, 'Twixt thee and me, Of some predestin'd sympathy.[50]
For sure such two conspiring minds, Which no accident, or sight, Did thus unite; Whom no distance can confine, Start, or decline, One for another were design'd.
FOOTNOTES:
[49] MS.
MS. _We may suspect in the vast ring_, _Which rolls those fiery spheres_ _Thro' years and years._
[50] MS. _There would be perfect sympathy._
To Amoret Gone From Him.
TO AMORET GONE FROM HIM.
Fancy and I, last evening, walk'd, And Amoret, of thee we talk'd; The West just then had stolen the sun, And his last blushes were begun: We sate, and mark'd how everything Did mourn his absence: how the spring That smil'd and curl'd about his beams, Whilst he was here, now check'd her streams: The wanton eddies of her face Were taught less noise, and smoother grace; And in a slow, sad channel went, Whisp'ring the banks their discontent: The careless ranks of flowers that spread Their perfum'd bosoms to his head. And with an open, free embrace, Did entertain his beamy face, Like absent friends point to the West, And on that weak reflection feast. If creatures then that have no sense, But the loose tie of influence, Though fate and time each day remove Those things that element their love, At such vast distance can agree, Why, Amoret, why should not we?
A Song To Amoret.
A SONG TO AMORET.
If I were dead, and in my place Some fresher youth design'd To warm thee with new fires, and grace Those arms I left behind;
Were he as faithful as the sun, That's wedded to the sphere; His blood as chaste and temp'rate run, As April's mildest tear;
Or were he rich, and with his heaps And spacious share of earth, Could make divine affection cheap, And court his golden birth:
For all these arts I'd not believe, --No, though he should be thine-- The mighty amorist could give So rich a heart as mine.
Fortune and beauty thou might'st find, And greater men than I: But my true resolved mind They never shall come nigh.[51]
For I not for an hour did love, Or for a day desire, But with my soul had from above This endless, holy fire.
FOOTNOTES:
[51]
MS. _But with my true steadfast minde_ _None can pretend to vie._
An Elegy.
AN ELEGY.
'Tis true, I am undone: yet, ere I die, I'll leave these sighs and tears a legacy To after-lovers: that, rememb'ring me, Those sickly flames which now benighted be, Fann'd by their warmer sighs, may love; and prove In them the metempsychosis of love. 'Twas I--when others scorn'd--vow'd you were fair, And sware that breath enrich'd the coarser air, Lent roses to your cheeks, made Flora bring Her nymphs with all the glories of the spring To wait upon thy face, and gave my heart A pledge to Cupid for a quicker dart, To arm those eyes against myself; to me Thou ow'st that tongue's bewitching harmony. I courted angels from those upper joys, And made them leave their spheres to hear thy voice. I made the Indian curse the hours he spent To seek his pearls, and wisely to repent His former folly, and confess a sin, Charm'd by the brighter lustre of thy skin. I borrow'd from the winds the gentler wing Of Zephyrus, and soft souls of the spring; And made--to air those cheeks with fresher grace-- The warm inspirers dwell upon thy face. _Oh! jam satis_ ...
A Rhapsodis:
A RHAPSODIS:
_Occasionally written upon a meeting with some of his friends at the Globe Tavern, in a chamber painted overhead with a cloudy sky and some few dispersed stars, and on the sides with landscapes, hills, shepherds and sheep._
Darkness, and stars i' th' mid-day! They invite Our active fancies to believe it night: For taverns need no sun, but for a sign, Where rich tobacco and quick tapers shine; And royal, witty sack, the poet's soul, With brighter suns than he doth gild the bowl; As though the pot and poet did agree, Sack should to both illuminator be. That artificial cloud, with its curl'd brow, Tells us 'tis late; and that blue space below Is fir'd with many stars: mark! how they break In silent glances o'er the hills, and speak The evening to the plains, where, shot from far, They meet in dumb salutes, as one great star. The room, methinks, grows darker; and the air Contracts a sadder colour, and less fair. Or is't the drawer's skill? hath he no arts To blind us so we can't know pints from quarts? No, no, 'tis night: look where the jolly clown Musters his bleating herd and quits the down. Hark! how his rude pipe frets the quiet air, Whilst ev'ry hill proclaims Lycoris fair. Rich, happy man! that canst thus watch and sleep, Free from all cares, but thy wench, pipe and sheep! But see, the moon is up; view, where she stands Sentinel o'er the door, drawn by the hands Of some base painter, that for gain hath made Her face the landmark to the tippling trade. This cup to her, that to Endymion give; 'Twas wit at first, and wine that made them live. Choke may the painter! and his box disclose No other colours than his fiery nose; And may we no more of his pencil see Than two churchwardens, and mortality. Should we go now a-wand'ring, we should meet With catchpoles, whores and carts in ev'ry street: Now when each narrow lane, each nook and cave, Sign-posts and shop-doors, pimp for ev'ry knave, When riotous sinful plush, and tell-tale spurs Walk Fleet Street and the Strand, when the soft stirs Of bawdy, ruffled silks, turn night to day; And the loud whip and coach scolds all the way; When lust of all sorts, and each itchy blood From the Tower-wharf to Cymbeline, and Lud, Hunts for a mate, and the tir'd footman reels 'Twixt chairmen, torches, and the hackney wheels. Come, take the other dish; it is to him That made his horse a senator: each brim Look big as mine: the gallant, jolly beast Of all the herd--you'll say--was not the least. Now crown the second bowl, rich as his worth I'll drink it to; he, that like fire broke forth Into the Senate's face, cross'd Rubicon, And the State's pillars, with their laws thereon, And made the dull grey beards and furr'd gowns fly Into Brundusium to consult, and lie. This, to brave Sylla! why should it be said We drink more to the living than the dead? Flatt'rers and fools do use it: let us laugh At our own honest mirth; for they that quaff To honour others, do like those that sent Their gold and plate to strangers to be spent. Drink deep; this cup be pregnant, and the wine Spirit of wit, to make us all divine, That big with sack and mirth we may retire Possessors of more souls, and nobler fire; And by the influx of this painted sky, And labour'd forms, to higher matters fly; So, if a nap shall take us, we shall all, After full cups, have dreams poetical.
Let's laugh now, and the press'd grape drink, Till the drowsy day-star wink; And in our merry, mad mirth run Faster, and further than the sun; And let none his cup forsake, Till that star again doth wake; So we men below shall move Equally with the gods above.
TO AMORET, OF THE DIFFERENCE 'TWIXT HIM AND OTHER LOVERS, AND WHAT TRUE LOVE IS.
Mark, when the evening's cooler wings Fan the afflicted air, how the faint sun, Leaving undone, What he begun, Those spurious flames suck'd up from slime and earth To their first, low birth, Resigns, and brings.
They shoot their tinsel beams and vanities, Threading with those false fires their way; But as you stay And see them stray, You lose the flaming track, and subtly they Languish away, And cheat your eyes.
Just so base, sublunary lovers' hearts Fed on loose profane desires, May for an eye Or face comply: But those remov'd, they will as soon depart, And show their art, And painted fires.
Whilst I by pow'rful love, so much refin'd, That my absent soul the same is, Careless to miss A glance or kiss, Can with those elements of lust and sense Freely dispense, And court the mind.
Thus to the North the loadstones move, And thus to them th' enamour'd steel aspires: Thus Amoret I do affect; And thus by winged beams, and mutual fire, Spirits and stars conspire: And this is Love.
TO AMORET WEEPING.
Leave Amoret, melt not away so fast Thy eyes' fair treasure; Fortune's wealthiest cast Deserves not one such pearl; for these, well spent, Can purchase stars, and buy a tenement For us in heaven; though here the pious streams Avail us not; who from that clue of sunbeams Could ever steal one thread? or with a kind Persuasive accent charm the wild loud wind? Fate cuts us all in marble, and the Book Forestalls our glass of minutes; we may look But seldom meet a change; think you a tear Can blot the flinty volume? shall our fear Or grief add to their triumphs? and must we Give an advantage to adversity? Dear, idle prodigal! is it not just We bear our stars? What though I had not dust Enough to cabinet a worm? nor stand Enslav'd unto a little dirt, or sand? I boast a better purchase, and can show The glories of a soul that's simply true. But grant some richer planet at my birth Had spied me out, and measur'd so much earth Or gold unto my share: I should have been Slave to these lower elements, and seen My high-born soul flag with their dross, and lie A pris'ner to base mud, and alchemy. I should perhaps eat orphans, and suck up A dozen distress'd widows in one cup; Nay, further, I should by that lawful stealth, Damn'd usury, undo the commonwealth; Or patent it in soap, and coals, and so Have the smiths curse me, and my laundress too; Geld wine, or his friend tobacco; and so bring The incens'd subject rebel to his king; And after all--as those first sinners fell-- Sink lower than my gold, and lie in hell. Thanks then for this deliv'rance! blessed pow'rs, You that dispense man's fortune and his hours, How am I to you all engag'd! that thus By such strange means, almost miraculous, You should preserve me; you have gone the way To make me rich by taking all away. For I--had I been rich--as sure as fate, Would have been meddling with the king, or State, Or something to undo me; and 'tis fit, We know, that who hath wealth should have no wit, But, above all, thanks to that Providence That arm'd me with a gallant soul, and sense, 'Gainst all misfortunes, that hath breath'd so much Of Heav'n into me, that I scorn the touch Of these low things; and can with courage dare Whatever fate or malice can prepare: I envy no man's purse or mines: I know That, losing them, I've lost their curses too; And Amoret--although our share in these Is not contemptible, nor doth much please-- Yet, whilst content and love we jointly vie, We have a blessing which no gold can buy.
UPON THE PRIORY GROVE, HIS USUAL RETIREMENT.
Hail, sacred shades! cool, leafy house! Chaste treasurer of all my vows And wealth! on whose soft bosom laid My love's fair steps I first betray'd: Henceforth no melancholy flight, No sad wing, or hoarse bird of night, Disturb this air, no fatal throat Of raven, or owl, awake the note Of our laid echo, no voice dwell Within these leaves, but Philomel. The poisonous ivy here no more His false twists on the oak shall score; Only the woodbine here may twine, As th' emblem of her love, and mine; The amorous sun shall here convey His best beams, in thy shades to play; The active air the gentlest show'rs Shall from his wings rain on thy flowers; And the moon from her dewy locks Shall deck thee with her brightest drops. Whatever can a fancy move, Or feed the eye, be on this grove! And when at last the winds and tears Of heaven, with the consuming years, Shall these green curls bring to decay, And clothe thee in an aged grey --If ought a lover can foresee, Or if we poets prophets be-- From hence transplanted, thou shalt stand A fresh grove in th' Elysian land; Where--most bless'd pair!--as here on earth Thou first didst eye our growth, and birth; So there again, thou'lt see us move In our first innocence and love; And in thy shades, as now, so then, We'll kiss, and smile, and walk again.
JUVENAL'S TENTH SATIRE TRANSLATED.
In all the parts of earth, from farthest West, And the Atlantic Isles, unto the East And famous Ganges, few there be that know What's truly good, and what is good, in show, Without mistake: for what is't we desire, Or fear discreetly? to whate'er aspire, So throughly bless'd, but ever as we speed, Repentance seals the very act, and deed? The easy gods, mov'd by no other fate Than our own pray'rs, whole kingdoms ruinate, And undo families: thus strife, and war Are the sword's prize, and a litigious bar The gown's prime wish. Vain confidence to share In empty honours and a bloody care To be the first in mischief, makes him die Fool'd 'twixt ambition and credulity. An oily tongue with fatal, cunning sense, And that sad virtue ever, eloquence, Are th' other's ruin, but the common curse; And each day's ill waits on the rich man's purse; He, whose large acres and imprison'd gold So far exceeds his father's store of old, As British whales the dolphins do surpass. In sadder times therefore, and when the laws Of Nero's fiat reign'd, an armed band Seiz'd on Longinus, and the spacious land Of wealthy Seneca, besieg'd the gates Of Lateranus, and his fair estate Divided as a spoil: in such sad feasts Soldiers--though not invited--are the guests. Though thou small pieces of the blessed mine Hast lodg'd about thee, travelling in the shine Of a pale moon, if but a reed doth shake, Mov'd by the wind, the shadow makes thee quake. Wealth hath its cares, and want has this relief, It neither fears the soldier nor the thief; Thy first choice vows, and to the gods best known, Are for thy stores' increase, that in all town Thy stock be greatest, but no poison lies I' th' poor man's dish; he tastes of no such spice. Be that thy care, when, with a kingly gust, Thou suck'st whole bowls clad in the gilded dust Of some rich mineral, whilst the false wine Sparkles aloft, and makes the draught divine. Blam'st thou the sages, then? because the one Would still be laughing, when he would be gone From his own door; the other cried to see His times addicted to such vanity? Smiles are an easy purchase, but to weep Is a hard act; for tears are fetch'd more deep. Democritus his nimble lungs would tire With constant laughter, and yet keep entire His stock of mirth, for ev'ry object was Addition to his store; though then--alas!-- Sedans, and litters, and our Senate gowns, With robes of honour, fasces, and the frowns Of unbrib'd tribunes were not seen; but had He liv'd to see our Roman praetor clad In Jove's own mantle, seated on his high Embroider'd chariot 'midst the dust and cry Of the large theatre, loaden with a crown, Which scarce he could support--for it would down, But that his servant props it--and close by His page, a witness to his vanity: To these his sceptre and his eagle add, His trumpets, officers, and servants clad In white and purple; with the rest that day, He hir'd to triumph, for his bread, and pay; Had he these studied, sumptuous follies seen, 'Tis thought his wanton and effusive spleen Had kill'd the Abderite, though in that age --When pride and greatness had not swell'd the stage So high as ours--his harmless and just mirth From ev'ry object had a sudden birth. Nor was't alone their avarice or pride, Their triumphs or their cares he did deride; Their vain contentions or ridiculous fears, But even their very poverty and tears. He would at Fortune's threats as freely smile As others mourn; nor was it to beguile His crafty passions; but this habit he By nature had, and grave philosophy. He knew their idle and superfluous vows, And sacrifice, which such wrong zeal bestows, Were mere incendiaries; and that the gods, Not pleas'd therewith, would ever be at odds. Yet to no other air, nor better place Ow'd he his birth, than the cold, homely Thrace; Which shows a man may be both wise and good, Without the brags of fortune, or his blood. But envy ruins all: what mighty names Of fortune, spirit, action, blood, and fame, Hath this destroy'd? yea, for no other cause Than being such; their honour, worth and place, Was crime enough; their statues, arms and crowns Their ornaments of triumph, chariots, gowns, And what the herald, with a learned care, Had long preserv'd, this madness will not spare. So once Sejanus' statue Rome allow'd Her demi-god, and ev'ry Roman bow'd To pay his safety's vows; but when that face Had lost Tiberius once, its former grace Was soon eclips'd; no diff'rence made--alas!-- Betwixt his statue then, and common brass, They melt alike, and in the workman's hand For equal, servile use, like others stand. Go, now fetch home fresh bays, and pay new vows To thy dumb Capitol gods! thy life, thy house, And state are now secur'd: Sejanus lies I' th' lictors' hands. Ye gods! what hearts and eyes Can one day's fortune change? the solemn cry Of all the world is, "Let Sejanus die!" They never lov'd the man, they swear; they know Nothing of all the matter, when, or how, By what accuser, for what cause, or why, By whose command or sentence he must die. But what needs this? the least pretence will hit, When princes fear, or hate a favourite. A large epistle stuff'd with idle fear, Vain dreams, and jealousies, directed here From Caprea does it; and thus ever die Subjects, when once they grow prodigious high. 'Tis well, I seek no more; but tell me how This took his friends? no private murmurs now? No tears? no solemn mourner seen? must all His glory perish in one funeral? O still true Romans! State-wit bids them praise The moon by night, but court the warmer rays O' th' sun by day; they follow fortune still, And hate or love discreetly, as their will And the time leads them. This tumultuous fate Puts all their painted favours out of date. And yet this people that now spurn, and tread This mighty favourite's once honour'd head, Had but the Tuscan goddess, or his stars Destin'd him for an empire, or had wars, Treason, or policy, or some higher pow'r Oppress'd secure Tiberius; that same hour That he receiv'd the sad Gemonian doom, Had crown'd him emp'ror of the world and Rome But Rome is now grown wise, and since that she Her suffrages, and ancient liberty Lost in a monarch's name, she takes no care For favourite or prince; nor will she share Their fickle glories, though in Cato's days She rul'd whole States and armies with her voice. Of all the honours now within her walls, She only dotes on plays and festivals. Nor is it strange; for when these meteors fall, They draw an ample ruin with them: all Share in the storm; each beam sets with the sun, And equal hazard friends and flatt'rers run. This makes, that circled with distractive fear The lifeless, pale Sejanus' limbs they tear, And lest the action might a witness need, They bring their servants to confirm the deed; Nor is it done for any other end, Than to avoid the title of his friend. So falls ambitious man, and such are still All floating States built on the people's will: Hearken all you! whom this bewitching lust Of an hour's glory, and a little dust Swells to such dear repentance! you that can Measure whole kingdoms with a thought or span! Would you be as Sejanus? would you have, So you might sway as he did, such a grave? Would you be rich as he? command, dispose, All acts and offices? all friends and foes? Be generals of armies and colleague Unto an emperor? break or make a league? No doubt you would; for both the good and bad An equal itch of honour ever had. But O! what state can be so great or good, As to be bought with so much shame and blood? Alas! Sejanus will too late confess 'Twas only pride and greatness made him less: For he that moveth with the lofty wind Of Fortune, and Ambition, unconfin'd In act or thought, doth but increase his height, That he may loose it with more force and weight; Scorning a base, low ruin, as if he Would of misfortune make a prodigy. Tell, mighty Pompey, Crassus, and O thou That mad'st Rome kneel to thy victorious brow, What but the weight of honours, and large fame After your worthy acts, and height of name, Destroy'd you in the end? The envious Fates, Easy to further your aspiring States, Us'd them to quell you too; pride, and excess. In ev'ry act did make you thrive the less. Few kings are guilty of grey hairs, or die Without a stab, a draught, or treachery. And yet to see him, that but yesterday Saw letters first, how he will scrape, and pray; And all her feast-time tire Minerva's ears For fame, for eloquence, and store of years To thrive and live in; and then lest he dotes, His boy assists him with his box and notes. Fool that thou art! not to discern the ill These vows include; what, did Rome's consul kill Her Cicero? what, him whose very dust Greece celebrates as yet; whose cause, though just, Scarce banishment could end; nor poison save His free-born person from a foreign grave? All this from eloquence! both head and hand The tongue doth forfeit; petty wits may stand Secure from danger, but the nobler vein With loss of blood the bar doth often stain.
} Carmen _O fortunatam natam me Consule Romam._ } Ciceronianum }
Had all been thus, thou might'st have scorn'd the sword Of fierce Antonius; here is not one word Doth pinch; I like such stuff, 'tis safer far Than thy Philippics, or Pharsalia's war. What sadder end than his, whom Athens saw At once her patriot, oracle, and law? Unhappy then is he, and curs'd in stars Whom his poor father, blind with soot and scars, Sends from the anvil's harmless chine, to wear The factious gown, and tire his client's ear And purse with endless noise. Trophies of war, Old rusty armour, with an honour'd scar, And wheels of captiv'd chariots, with a piece Of some torn British galley, and to these The ensign too, and last of all the train The pensive pris'ner loaden with his chain, Are thought true Roman honours; these the Greek And rude barbarians equally do seek. Thus air, and empty fame, are held a prize Beyond fair virtue; for all virtue dies Without reward; and yet by this fierce lust Of fame, and titles to outlive our dust, And monuments--though all these things must die And perish like ourselves--whole kingdoms lie Ruin'd and spoil'd: put Hannibal i' th' scale, What weight affords the mighty general? This is the man, whom Afric's spacious land Bounded by th' Indian Sea, and Nile's hot sand Could not contain--Ye gods! that give to men Such boundless appetites, why state you them So short a time? either the one deny, Or give their acts and them eternity. All Aethiopia, to the utmost bound Of Titan's course,--than which no land is found Less distant from the sun--with him that ploughs That fertile soil where fam'd[52] Iberus flows, Are not enough to conquer; pass'd now o'er The Pyrrhene hills, the Alps with all its store Of ice, and rocks clad in eternal snow, --As if that Nature meant to give the blow-- Denies him passage; straight on ev'ry side He wounds the hill, and by strong hand divides The monstrous pile; nought can ambition stay. The world and Nature yield to give him way. And now pass'd o'er the Alps, that mighty bar 'Twixt France and Rome, fear of the future war Strikes Italy; success and hope doth fire His lofty spirits with a fresh desire. All is undone as yet--saith he--unless Our Paenish forces we advance, and press Upon Rome's self; break down her gates and wall, And plant our colours in Suburra's vale. O the rare sight! if this great soldier we Arm'd on his Getick elephant might see! But what's the event? O glory, how the itch Of thy short wonders doth mankind bewitch! He that but now all Italy and Spain Had conquer'd o'er, is beaten out again; And in the heart of Afric, and the sight Of his own Carthage, forc'd to open flight. Banish'd from thence, a fugitive he posts To Syria first, then to Bithynia's coasts, Both places by his sword secur'd, though he In this distress must not acknowledg'd be; Where once a general he triumphed, now To show what Fortune can, he begs as low. And thus that soul which through all nations hurl'd Conquest and war, and did amaze the world, Of all those glories robb'd, at his last breath, Fortune would not vouchsafe a soldier's death. For all that blood the field of Cannae boasts, And sad Apulia fill'd with Roman ghosts, No other end--freed from the pile and sword-- Than a poor ring would Fortune him afford. Go now, ambitious man! new plots design, March o'er the snowy Alps and Apennine; That, after all, at best thou may'st but be A pleasing story to posterity! The Macedon one world could not contain, We hear him of the narrow earth complain, And sweat for room, as if Seriphus Isle Or Gyara had held him in exile; But Babylon this madness can allay, And give the great man but his length of clay. The highest thoughts and actions under heaven Death only with the lowest dust lays even. It is believed--if what Greece writes be true-- That Xerxes with his Persian fleet did hew Their ways through mountains, that their sails full blown Like clouds hung over Athos and did drown The spacious continent, and by plain force Betwixt the mount and it, made a divorce; That seas exhausted were, and made firm land, And Sestos joined unto Abydos strand; That on their march his Medes but passing by Drank thee, Scamander, and Melenus dry; With whatsoe'er incredible design Sostratus sings, inspir'd with pregnant wine. But what's the end? He that the other day Divided Hellespont, and forc'd his way Through all her angry billows, that assign'd New punishments unto the waves, and wind, No sooner saw the Salaminian seas But he was driven out by Themistocles, And of that fleet--supposed to be so great, That all mankind shar'd in the sad defeat-- Not one sail sav'd, in a poor fisher's boat, Chas'd o'er the working surge, was glad to float, Cutting his desp'rate course through the tir'd flood, And fought again with carcases, and blood. O foolish mad Ambition! these are still The famous dangers that attend thy will. Give store of days, good Jove, give length of years, Are the next vows; these with religious fears And constancy we pay; but what's so bad As a long, sinful age? what cross more sad Than misery of years? how great an ill Is that which doth but nurse more sorrow still? It blacks the face, corrupt and dulls the blood, Benights the quickest eye, distastes the food, And such deep furrows cuts i' th' checker'd skin As in th' old oaks of Tabraca are seen. Youth varies in most things; strength, beauty, wit, Are several graces; but where age doth hit It makes no difference; the same weak voice, And trembling ague in each member lies: A general hateful baldness, with a curs'd Perpetual pettishness; and, which is worst, A foul, strong flux of humours, and more pain To feed, than if he were to nurse again; So tedious to himself, his wife, and friends, That his own sons, and servants, wish his end. His taste and feeling dies; and of that fire The am'rous lover burns in, no desire: Or if there were, what pleasure could it be, Where lust doth reign without ability? Nor is this all: what matters it, where he Sits in the spacious stage? who can nor see, Nor hear what's acted, whom the stiller voice Of spirited, wanton airs, or the loud noise Of trumpets cannot pierce; whom thunder can But scarce inform who enters, or what man He personates, what 'tis they act, or say? How many scenes are done? what time of day? Besides that little blood his carcase holds Hath lost[53] its native warmth, and fraught with colds Catarrhs, and rheums, to thick black jelly turns, And never but in fits and fevers burns. Such vast infirmities, so huge a stock Of sickness and diseases to him flock, That Hyppia ne'er so many lovers knew, Nor wanton Maura; physic never slew So many patients, nor rich lawyers spoil More wards and widows; it were lesser toil To number out what manors and domains Licinius' razor purchas'd: one complains Of weakness in the back, another pants For lack of breath, the third his eyesight wants; Nay, some so feeble are, and full of pain, That infant-like they must be fed again. These faint too at their meals; their wine they spill, And like young birds, that wait the mother's bill, They gape for meat; but sadder far than this Their senseless ignorance and dotage is; For neither they, their friends, nor servants know, Nay, those themselves begot, and bred up too, No longer now they'll own; for madly they Proscribe them all, and what, on the last day, The misers cannot carry to the grave For their past sins, their prostitutes must have. But grant age lack'd these plagues: yet must they see As great, as many: frail mortality, In such a length of years, hath many falls, And deads a life with frequent funerals. The nimblest hour in all the span can steal A friend, or brother from's; there's no repeal In death, or time; this day a wife we mourn, To-morrow's tears a son; and the next urn A sister fills. Long-livers have assign'd These curses still, that with a restless mind, An age of fresh renewing cares they buy, And in a tide of tears grow old and die. Nestor,--if we great Homer may believe-- In his full strength three hundred years did live: Happy--thou'lt say--that for so long a time Enjoy'd free nature, with the grape and wine Of many autumns; but, I prithee thee, hear What Nestor says himself, when he his dear Antilochus had lost; how he complains Of life's too large extent, and copious pains? Of all he meets, he asks what is the cause He liv'd thus long; for what breach of their laws The gods thus punish'd him? what sin had he Done worthy of a long life's misery. Thus Peleus his Achilles mourned, and he Thus wept that his Ulysses lost at sea. Had Priam died before Phereclus' fleet Was built, or Paris stole the fatal Greek, Troy had yet stood, and he perhaps had gone In peace unto the lower shades; his son Sav'd with his plenteous offspring, and the rest In solemn pomp bearing his fun'ral chest. But long life hinder'd this: unhappy he, Kept for a public ruin, liv'd to see All Asia lost, and ere he could aspire, In his own house saw both the sword and fire; All white with age and cares, his feeble arm Had now forgot the war; but this alarm Gathers his dying spirits; and as we An aged ox worn out with labour see By his ungrateful master, after all His years of toil, a thankless victim fall: So he by Jove's own altar; which shows we Are nowhere safe from heaven, and destiny: Yet died a man; but his surviving queen, Freed from the Greekish sword, was barking seen. I haste to Rome, and Pontus' king let pass, With Lydian Cr[oe]sus, whom in vain--alas!-- Just Solon's grave advice bad to attend, That happiness came not before the end. What man more bless'd in any age to come Or past, could Nature show the world, or Rome, Than Marius was? if amidst the pomp of war, And triumphs fetch'd with Roman blood from far, His soul had fled; exile and fetters then He ne'er had seen, nor known Minturna's fen; Nor had it, after Carthage got, been said A Roman general had begg'd his bread. Thus Pompey th' envious gods, and Rome's ill stars --Freed from Campania's fevers, and the wars-- Doom'd to Achilles' sword: our public vows Made Caesar guiltless; but sent him to lose His head at Nile: this curse Cethegus miss'd: This Lentulus, and this made him resist That mangled by no lictor's axe, fell dead Entirely Catiline, and sav'd his head. The anxious matrons, with their foolish zeal, Are the last votaries, and their appeal Is all for beauty; with soft speech, and slow, They pray for sons, but with a louder vow Commend a female feature: all that can Make woman pleasing now they shift, and scan And when[54] reprov'd, they say, Latona's pair The mother never thinks can be too fair. But sad Lucretia warns to wish no face Like hers: Virginia would bequeath her grace To crook-back Rutila in exchange; for still The fairest children do their parents fill With greatest cares; so seldom chastity Is found with beauty; though some few there be That with a strict, religious care contend Th' old, modest, Sabine customs to defend: Besides, wise Nature to some faces grants An easy blush, and where she freely plants A less instruction serves: but both these join'd, At Rome would both be forc'd or else purloin'd. So steel'd a forehead Vice hath, that dares win, And bribe the father to the children's sin; But whom have gifts defiled not? what good face Did ever want these tempters? pleasing grace Betrays itself; what time did Nero mind A coarse, maim'd shape? what blemish'd youth confin'd His goatish pathic? whence then flow these joys Of a fair issue? whom these sad annoys Wait, and grow up with; whom perhaps thou'lt see Public adulterers, and must be Subject to all the curses, plagues, and awe Of jealous madmen, and the Julian law; Nor canst thou hope they'll find a milder star, Or more escapes than did the god of war. But worse than all, a jealous brain confines His fury to no law; what rage assigns Is present justice: thus the rash sword spills This lecher's blood; the scourge another kills. But thy spruce boy must touch no other face Than a patrician? is of any race So they be rich; Servilia is as good, With wealth, as she that boasts Iulus' blood. To please a servant all is cheap; what thing In all their stock to the last suit, and king, But lust exacts? the poorest whore in this As generous as the patrician is. But thou wilt say what hurt's a beauteous skin With a chaste soul? Ask Theseus' son, and him That Stenob[oe]a murder'd; for both these Can tell how fatal 'twas in them to please. A woman's spleen then carries most of fate, When shame and sorrow aggravate her hate. Resolve me now, had Silius been thy son, In such a hazard what should he have done? Of all Rome's youth, this was the only best, In whom alone beauty and worth did rest. This Messalina saw, and needs he must Be ruin'd by the emp'ror, or her lust. All in the face of Rome, and the world's eye Though Caesar's wife, a public bigamy She dares attempt; and that the act might bear More prodigy, the notaries appear, And augurs to't; and to complete the sin In solemn form, a dowry is brought in. All this--thou'lt say--in private might have pass'd But she'll not have it so; what course at last? What should he do? If Messaline be cross'd, Without redress thy Silius will be lost; If not, some two days' length is all he can Keep from the grave; just so much as will span This news to Hostia, to whose fate he owes That Claudius last his own dishonour knows. But he obeys, and for a few hours' lust Forfeits that glory should outlive his dust; Nor was it much a fault; for whether he Obey'd or not, 'twas equal destiny. So fatal beauty is, and full of waste. That neither wanton can be safe, nor chaste. What then should man pray for? what is't that he Can beg of Heaven, without impiety? Take my advice: first to the gods commit All cares; for they things competent and fit For us foresee; besides, man is more dear To them than to himself; we blindly here, Led by the world and lust, in vain assay To get us portions, wives and sons; but they Already know all that we can intend, And of our children's children see the end. Yet that thou may'st have something to commend With thanks unto the gods for what they send; Pray for a wise and knowing soul; a sad, Discreet, true valour, that will scorn to add A needless horror to thy death; that knows 'Tis but a debt which man to nature owes; That starts not at misfortunes, that can sway And keep all passions under lock and key; That covets nothing, wrongs none, and prefers An honest want, before rich injurers. All this thou hast within thyself, and may Be made thy own, if thou wilt take the way; What boots the world's wild, loose applause? what [can] Frail, perilous honours add unto a man? What length of years, wealth, or a rich fair wife? Virtue alone can make a happy life. To a wise man nought comes amiss: but we Fortune adore, and make our deity.
FOOTNOTES:
[52] The original has _framed_.
[53] The original has _low_.
[54] The original has _why_
OLOR ISCANUS.
1651.
----O quis me gelidis in vallibus Iscae Sistat, et ingenti ramorum protegat umbra!
AD POSTEROS.
Diminuat ne sera dies praesentis honorem Quis, qualisque fui, percipe Posteritas. Cambria me genuit, patulis ubi vallibus errans Subjacet aeriis montibus Isca pater. Inde sinu placido suscepit maximus arte Herbertus, Latiae gloria prima scholae. Bis ternos, illo me conducente, per annos Profeci, et geminam contulit unus opem; Ars et amor, mens atque manus certare solebant, Nec lassata illi mensue, manusue fuit. Hinc qualem cernis crevisse: sed ut mea certus Tempora cognoscas, dura mere, scias. Vixi, divisos cum fregerat haeresis Anglos Inter Tysiphonas presbyteri et populi. His primum miseris per am[oe]na furentibus arva Prostravit sanctam vilis avena rosam, Turbarunt fontes, et fusis pax perit undis, Moestaque coelestes obruit umbra dies. Duret ut integritas tamen, et pia gloria, partem Me nullam in tanta strage fuisse, scias; Credidimus nempe insonti vocem esse cruori, Et vires quae post funera flere docent. Hinc castae, fidaeque pati me more parentis Commonui, et lachrymis fata levare meis; Hinc nusquam horrendis violavi sacra procellis, Nec mihi mens unquam, nec manus atra fuit. Si pius es, ne plura petas; satur ille recedat Qui sapit et nos non scripsimus insipidis.
TO THE TRULY NOBLE AND MOST EXCELLENTLY ACCOMPLISHED, THE LORD KILDARE DIGBY.
My Lord,
It is a position anciently known, and modern experience hath allowed it for a sad truth, that absence and time,--like cold weather, and an unnatural dormition--will blast and wear out of memory the most endearing obligations; and hence it was that some politicians in love have looked upon the former of these two as a main remedy against the fondness of that passion. But for my own part, my Lord, I shall deny this aphorism of the people, and beg leave to assure your Lordship, that, though these reputed obstacles have lain long in my way, yet neither of them could work upon me: for I am now--without adulation--as warm and sensible of those numerous favours and kind influences received sometimes from your Lordship, as I really was at the instant of fruition. I have no plot by preambling thus to set any rate upon this present address, as if I should presume to value a return of this nature equal with your Lordship's deserts, but the design is to let you see that this habit I have got of being troublesome flows from two excusable principles, gratitude and love. These inward counsellors--I know not how discreetly--persuaded me to this attempt and intrusion upon your name, which if your Lordship will vouchsafe to own as the genius to these papers, you will perfect my hopes, and place me at my full height. This was the aim, my Lord, and is the end of this work, which though but a _pazzarello_ to the _voluminose insani_, yet as jessamine and the violet find room in the bank as well as roses and lilies, so happily may this, and--if shined upon by your Lordship--please as much. To whose protection, sacred as your name and those eminent honours which have always attended upon it through so many generations, I humbly offer it, and remain in all numbers of gratitude,
My honoured Lord, Your most affectionate, humblest Servant, Vaughan. Newton by Usk this 17 of Decemb. 1647.
THE PUBLISHER TO THE READER.
It was the glorious Maro that referred his legacies to the fire, and though princes are seldom executors, yet there came a Caesar to his testament, as if the act of a poet could not be repealed but by a king. I am not, Reader, _Augustus vindex_: here is no royal rescue, but here is a Muse that deserves it. The Author had long ago condemned these poems to obscurity, and the consumption of that further fate which attends it. This censure gave them a gust of death, and they have partly known that oblivion which our best labours must come to at last. I present thee then not only with a book, but with a prey, and in this kind the first recoveries from corruption. Here is a flame hath been sometimes extinguished, thoughts that have been lost and forgot, but now they break out again like the Platonic reminiscency. I have not the Author's approbation to the fact, but I have law on my side, though never a sword. I hold it no man's prerogative to fire his own house. Thou seest how saucy I am grown, and it thou dost expect I should commend what is published, I must tell thee, I cry no Seville oranges. I will not say, Here is fine or cheap: that were an injury to the verse itself, and to the effects it can produce. Read on, and thou wilt find thy spirit engaged: not by the deserts of what we call tolerable, but by the commands of a pen that is above it.
UPON THE MOST INGENIOUS PAIR OF TWINS, EUGENIUS PHILALETHES, AND THE AUTHOR OF THESE POEMS.
What planet rul'd your birth? what witty star? That you so like in souls as bodies are! So like in both, that you seem born to free The starry art from vulgar calumny. My doubts are solv'd, from hence my faith begins, Not only your faces but your wits are twins.
When this bright Gemini shall from Earth ascend, They will new light to dull-ey'd mankind lend, Teach the star-gazers, and delight their eyes, Being fix'd a constellation in the skies.
T. Powell, Oxoniensis.
TO MY FRIEND THE AUTHOR UPON THESE HIS POEMS.
I call'd it once my sloth: in such an age So many volumes deep, I not a page? But I recant, and vow 'twas thrifty care That kept my pen from spending on slight ware, And breath'd it for a prize, whose pow'rful shine Doth both reward the striver, and refine. Such are thy poems, friend: for since th' hast writ, I can't reply to any name, but wit; And lest amidst the throng that make us groan, Mine prove a groundless heresy alone, Thus I dispute, Hath there not rev'rence been Paid to the beard at door, for Lord within? Who notes the spindle-leg or hollow eye Of the thin usher, the fair lady by? Thus I sin freely, neighbour to a hand Which, while I aim to strengthen, gives command For my protection; and thou art to me At once my subject and security.
I. Rowlandson, Oxoniensis.
UPON THE FOLLOWING POEMS.
I write not here, as if thy last in store Of learned friends; 'tis known that thou hast more; Who, were they told of this, would find a way To raise a guard of poets without pay, And bring as many hands to thy edition, As th' City should unto their May'r's petition. But thou wouldst none of this, lest it should be Thy muster rather than our courtesy; Thou wouldst not beg as knights do, and appear Poet by voice and suffrage of the shire; That were enough to make my Muse advance Amongst the crutches; nay, it might enhance Our charity, and we should think it fit The State should build an hospital for wit. But here needs no relief: thy richer verse Creates all poets, that can but rehearse, And they, like tenants better'd by their land, Should pay thee rent for what they understand. Thou art not of that lamentable nation Who make a blessed alms of approbation, Whose fardel-notes are briefs in ev'rything, But, that they are not _Licens'd by the king_. Without such scrape-requests thou dost come forth Arm'd--though I speak it--with thy proper worth, And needest not this noise of friends, for we Write out of love, not thy necessity. And though this sullen age possessed be With some strange desamour to poetry, Yet I suspect--thy fancy so delights-- The Puritans will turn thy proselytes, And that thy flame, when once abroad it shines, Will bring thee as many friends as thou hast lines.
Eugenius Philalethes, Oxoniensis.
OLOR ISCANUS.
TO THE RIVER ISCA.
When Daphne's lover here first wore the bays, Eurotas' secret streams heard all his lays, And holy Orpheus, Nature's busy child, By headlong Hebrus his deep hymns compil'd; Soft Petrarch--thaw'd by Laura's flames--did weep On Tiber's banks, when she--proud fair!--could sleep; Mosella boasts Ausonius, and the Thames Doth murmur Sidney's Stella to her streams; While Severn, swoln with joy and sorrow, wears Castara's smiles mix'd with fair Sabrin's tears. Thus poets--like the nymphs, their pleasing themes-- Haunted the bubbling springs and gliding streams; And happy banks! whence such fair flow'rs have sprung, But happier those where they have sat and sung! Poets--like angels--where they once appear Hallow the place, and each succeeding year Adds rev'rence to't, such as at length doth give This aged faith, that there their genii live. Hence th' ancients say, that from this sickly air They pass to regions more refin'd and fair, To meadows strew'd with lilies and the rose, And shades whose youthful green no old age knows; Where all in white they walk, discourse, and sing Like bees' soft murmurs, or a chiding spring. But Isca, whensoe'er those shades I see, And thy lov'd arbours must no more know me, When I am laid to rest hard by thy streams, And my sun sets, where first it sprang in beams, I'll leave behind me such a large, kind light, As shall redeem thee from oblivious night, And in these vows which--living yet--I pay, Shed such a previous and enduring ray, As shall from age to age thy fair name lead, 'Till rivers leave to run, and men to read. First, may all bards born after me --When I am ashes--sing of thee! May thy green banks or streams,--or none-- Be both their hill and Helicon! May vocal groves grow there, and all The shades in them prophetical, Where laid men shall more fair truths see Than fictions were of Thessaly! May thy gentle swains--like flow'rs-- Sweetly spend their youthful hours, And thy beauteous nymphs--like doves-- Be kind and faithful to their loves! Garlands, and songs, and roundelays, Mild, dewy nights, and sunshine days, The turtle's voice, joy without fear, Dwell on thy bosom all the year! May the evet and the toad Within thy banks have no abode, Nor the wily, winding snake Her voyage through thy waters make! In all thy journey to the main No nitrous clay, nor brimstone-vein Mix with thy streams, but may they pass Fresh on the air, and clear as glass, And where the wand'ring crystal treads Roses shall kiss, and couple heads! The factor-wind from far shall bring The odours of the scatter'd Spring, And loaden with the rich arrear, Spend it in spicy whispers there. No sullen heats, nor flames that are Offensive, and canicular, Shine on thy sands, nor pry to see Thy scaly, shading family, But noons as mild as Hesper's rays, Or the first blushes of fair days! What gifts more Heav'n or Earth can add, With all those blessings be thou clad! Honour, Beauty, Faith and Duty, Delight and Truth, With Love and Youth, Crown all about thee! and whatever Fate Impose elsewhere, whether the graver state Or some toy else, may those loud, anxious cares For dead and dying things--the common wares And shows of Time--ne'er break thy peace, nor make Thy repos'd arms to a new war awake! But freedom, safety, joy and bliss, United in one loving kiss, Surround thee quite, and style thy borders The land redeem'd from all disorders!
THE CHARNEL-HOUSE.
Bless me! what damps are here! how stiff an air! Kelder of mists, a second fiat's care, Front'spiece o' th' grave and darkness, a display Of ruin'd man, and the disease of day, Lean, bloodless shamble, where I can descry Fragments of men, rags of anatomy, Corruption's wardrobe, the transplantive bed Of mankind, and th' exchequer of the dead! How thou arrests my sense! how with the sight My winter'd blood grows stiff to all delight! Torpedo to the eye! whose least glance can Freeze our wild lusts, and rescue headlong man. Eloquent silence! able to immure An atheist's thoughts, and blast an epicure. Were I a Lucian, Nature in this dress Would make me wish a Saviour, and confess. Where are you, shoreless thoughts, vast tenter'd hope, Ambitious dreams, aims of an endless scope, Whose stretch'd excess runs on a string too high, And on the rack of self-extension die? Chameleons of state, air-monging band, Whose breath--like gunpowder--blows up a land, Come see your dissolution, and weigh What a loath'd nothing you shall be one day. As th' elements by circulation pass From one to th' other, and that which first was I so again, so 'tis with you; the grave And Nature but complot; what the one gave The other takes; think, then, that in this bed There sleep the relics of as proud a head, As stern and subtle as your own, that hath Perform'd, or forc'd as much, whose tempest-wrath Hath levell'd kings with slaves, and wisely then Calm these high furies, and descend to men. Thus Cyrus tam'd the Macedon; a tomb Check'd him, who thought the world too straight a room. Have I obey'd the powers of face, A beauty able to undo the race Of easy man? I look but here, and straight I am inform'd, the lovely counterfeit Was but a smoother clay. That famish'd slave Beggar'd by wealth, who starves that he may save, Brings hither but his sheet; nay, th' ostrich-man That feeds on steel and bullet, he that can Outswear his lordship, and reply as tough To a kind word, as if his tongue were buff, Is chap-fall'n here: worms without wit or fear Defy him now; Death hath disarm'd the bear. Thus could I run o'er all the piteous score Of erring men, and having done, meet more, Their shuffled wills, abortive, vain intents, Fantastic humours, perilous ascents, False, empty honours, traitorous delights, And whatsoe'er a blind conceit invites; But these and more which the weak vermins swell, Are couch'd in this accumulative cell, Which I could scatter; but the grudging sun Calls home his beams, and warns me to be gone; Day leaves me in a double night, and I Must bid farewell to my sad library. Yet with these notes--Henceforth with thought of thee I'll season all succeeding jollity, Yet damn not mirth, nor think too much is fit; Excess hath no religion, nor wit; But should wild blood swell to a lawless strain, One check from thee shall channel it again.
IN AMICUM F[OE]NERATOREM.
Thanks, mighty Silver! I rejoice to see How I have spoil'd his thrift, by spending thee. Now thou art gone, he courts my wants with more, His decoy gold, and bribes me to restore. As lesser lode-stones with the North consent, Naturally moving to their element, As bodies swarm to th' centre, and that fire Man stole from heaven, to heav'n doth still aspire, So this vast crying sum draws in a less; And hence this bag more Northward laid I guess, For 'tis of pole-star force, and in this sphere Though th' least of many, rules the master-bear. Prerogative of debts! how he doth dress His messages in chink! not an express Without a fee for reading; and 'tis fit, For gold's the best restorative of wit. Oh how he gilds them o'er! with what delight I read those lines, which angels do indite! But wilt have money, Og? must I dispurse Will nothing serve thee but a poet's curse? Wilt rob an altar thus? and sweep at once What Orpheus-like I forc'd from stocks and stones? 'Twill never swell thy bag, nor ring one peal In thy dark chest. Talk not of shreeves, or gaol; I fear them not. I have no land to glut Thy dirty appetite, and make thee strut Nimrod of acres; I'll no speech prepare To court the hopeful cormorant, thine heir. For there's a kingdom at thy beck if thou But kick this dross: Parnassus' flow'ry brow I'll give thee with my Tempe, and to boot That horse which struck a fountain with his foot. A bed of roses I'll provide for thee, And crystal springs shall drop thee melody. The breathing shades we'll haunt, where ev'ry leaf Shall whisper us asleep, though thou art deaf. Those waggish nymphs, too, which none ever yet Durst make love to, we'll teach the loving fit; We'll suck the coral of their lips, and feed Upon their spicy breath, a meal at need: Rove in their amber-tresses, and unfold That glist'ring grove, the curled wood of gold; Then peep for babies, a new puppet play, And riddle what their prattling eyes would say. But here thou must remember to dispurse, For without money all this is a curse. Thou must for more bags call, and so restore This iron age to gold, as once before. This thou must do, and yet this is not all, For thus the poet would be still in thrall, Thou must then--if live thus--my nest of honey Cancel old bonds, and beg to lend more money.
TO HIS FRIEND----
I wonder, James, through the whole history Of ages, such entails of poverty Are laid on poets; lawyers--they say--have found A trick to cut them; would they were but bound To practise on us, though for this thing we Should pay--if possible--their bribes and fee. Search--as thou canst--the old and modern store Of Rome and ours, in all the witty score Thou shalt not find a rich one; take each clime, And run o'er all the pilgrimage of time, Thou'lt meet them poor, and ev'rywhere descry A threadbare, goldless genealogy. Nature--it seems--when she meant us for earth Spent so much of her treasure in the birth As ever after niggards her, and she, Thus stor'd within, beggars us outwardly. Woful profusion! at how dear a rate Are we made up! all hope of thrift and state Lost for a verse. When I by thoughts look back Into the womb of time, and see the rack Stand useless there, until we are produc'd Unto the torture, and our souls infus'd To learn afflictions, I begin to doubt That as some tyrants use from their chain'd rout Of slaves to pick out one whom for their sport They keep afflicted by some ling'ring art; So we are merely thrown upon the stage The mirth of fools and legend of the age. When I see in the ruins of a suit Some nobler breast, and his tongue sadly mute Feed on the vocal silence of his eye, And knowing cannot reach the remedy; When souls of baser stamp shine in their store, And he of all the throng is only poor; When French apes for foreign fashions pay, And English legs are dress'd th' outlandish way, So fine too, that they their own shadows woo, While he walks in the sad and pilgrim shoe; I'm mad at Fate, and angry ev'n to sin, To see deserts and learning clad so thin; To think how th' earthly usurer can brood Upon his bags, and weigh the precious food With palsied hands, as if his soul did fear The scales could rob him of what he laid there. Like devils that on hid treasures sit, or those Whose jealous eyes trust not beyond their nose, They guard the dirt and the bright idol hold Close, and commit adultery with gold. A curse upon their dross! how have we sued For a few scatter'd chips? how oft pursu'd Petitions with a blush, in hope to squeeze For their souls' health, more than our wants, a piece? Their steel-ribb'd chests and purse--rust eat them both!-- Have cost us with much paper many an oath, And protestations of such solemn sense, As if our souls were sureties for the pence. Should we a full night's learned cares present, They'll scarce return us one short hour's content. 'Las! they're but quibbles, things we poets feign, The short-liv'd squibs and crackers of the brain. But we'll be wiser, knowing 'tis not they That must redeem the hardship of our way. Whether a Higher Power, or that star Which, nearest heav'n, is from the earth most far, Oppress us thus, or angell'd from that sphere By our strict guardians are kept luckless here, It matters not, we shall one day obtain Our native and celestial scope again.
TO HIS RETIRED FRIEND, AN INVITATION TO BRECKNOCK.
Since last we met, thou and thy horse--my dear-- Have not so much as drunk, or litter'd here; I wonder, though thyself be thus deceas'd, Thou hast the spite to coffin up thy beast; Or is the palfrey sick, and his rough hide With the penance of one spur mortified? Or taught by thee--like Pythagoras's ox-- Is then his master grown more orthodox Whatever 'tis, a sober cause't must be That thus long bars us of thy company. The town believes thee lost, and didst thou see But half her suff'rings, now distress'd for thee, Thou'ldst swear--like Rome--her foul, polluted walls Were sack'd by Brennus and the savage Gauls. Abominable face of things! here's noise Of banged mortars, blue aprons, and boys, Pigs, dogs, and drums, with the hoarse, hellish notes Of politicly-deaf usurers' throats, With new fine Worships, and the old cast team Of Justices vex'd with the cough and phlegm. 'Midst these the Cross looks sad, and in the Shire- Hall furs of an old Saxon fox appear, With brotherly ruffs and beards, and a strange sight Of high monumental hats, ta'en at the fight Of 'Eighty-eight; while ev'ry burgess foots The mortal pavement in eternal boots. Hadst thou been bach'lor, I had soon divin'd Thy close retirements, and monastic mind; Perhaps some nymph had been to visit, or The beauteous churl was to be waited for, And like the Greek, ere you the sport would miss, You stay'd, and strok'd the distaff for a kiss. But in this age, when thy cool, settled blood Is ti'd t'one flesh, and thou almost grown good, I know not how to reach the strange device, Except--Domitian-like--thou murder'st flies. Or is't thy piety? for who can tell But thou may'st prove devout, and love a cell, And--like a badger--with attentive looks In the dark hole sit rooting up of books. Quick hermit! what a peaceful change hadst thou, Without the noise of haircloth, whip, or vow! But there is no redemption? must there be No other penance but of liberty? Why, two months hence, if thou continue thus, Thy memory will scarce remain with us, The drawers have forgot thee, and exclaim They have not seen thee here since Charles, his reign, Or if they mention thee, like some old man, That at each word inserts--"Sir, as I can Remember"--so the cyph'rers puzzle me With a dark, cloudy character of thee. That--certs!--I fear thou wilt be lost, and we Must ask the fathers ere't be long for thee. Come! leave this sullen state, and let not wine And precious wit lie dead for want of thine. Shall the dull market-landlord with his rout Of sneaking tenants dirtily swill out This harmless liquor? shall they knock and beat For sack, only to talk of rye and wheat? O let not such prepost'rous tippling be In our metropolis; may I ne'er see Such tavern-sacrilege, nor lend a line To weep the rapes and tragedy of wine! Here lives that chymic, quick fire which betrays Fresh spirits to the blood, and warms our lays. I have reserv'd 'gainst thy approach a cup That were thy Muse stark dead, shall raise her up, And teach her yet more charming words and skill Than ever C[oe]lia, Chloris, Astrophil, Or any of the threadbare names inspir'd Poor rhyming lovers with a mistress fir'd. Come then! and while the slow icicle hangs At the stiff thatch, and Winter's frosty pangs Benumb the year, blithe--as of old--let us 'Midst noise and war of peace and mirth discuss. This portion thou wert born for: why should we Vex at the time's ridiculous misery? An age that thus hath fool'd itself, and will --Spite of thy teeth and mine--persist so still. Let's sit then at this fire, and while we steal A revel in the town, let others seal, Purchase or cheat, and who can, let them pay, Till those black deeds bring on the darksome day. Innocent spenders we! a better use Shall wear out our short lease, and leave th' obtuse Rout to their husks; they and their bags at best Have cares in earnest; we care for a jest.
MONSIEUR GOMBAULD.
I've read thy soul's fair nightpiece, and have seen Th' amours and courtship of the silent Queen, Her stoln descents to Earth, and what did move her To juggle first with Heav'n, then with a lover, With Latmos' louder rescue, and--alas!-- To find her out a hue and cry in brass; Thy journal of deep mysteries, and sad Nocturnal pilgrimage, with thy dreams clad In fancies darker than thy cave, thy glass Of sleepy draughts; and as thy soul did pass In her calm voyage what discourse she heard Of spirits, what dark groves and ill-shap'd guard Ismena led thee through, with thy proud flight O'er Periardes, and deep, musing night Near fair Eurotas' banks; what solemn green The neighbour shades wear, and what forms are seen In their large bowers, with that sad path and seat Which none but light-heel'd nymphs and fairies beat;[55] Their solitary life, and how exempt From common frailty, the severe contempt They have of man, their privilege to live A tree, or fountain, and in that reprieve What ages they consume, with the sad vale Of Diophania, and the mournful tale, Of th' bleeding vocal myrtle; these and more Thy richer thoughts, we are upon the score To thy rare fancy for, nor dost thou fall From thy first majesty, or ought at all Betray consumption; thy full vig'rous bays Wear the same green, and scorn the lean decays Of style, or matter. Just so have I known Some crystal spring, that from the neighbour down Deriv'd her birth, in gentle murmurs steal To their next vale, and proudly there reveal Her streams in louder accents, adding still More noise and waters to her channel, till At last swoln with increase she glides along The lawns and meadows in a wanton throng Of frothy billows, and in one great name Swallows the tributary brooks' drown'd fame. Nor are they mere inventions, for we In th' same piece find scatter'd philosophy And hidden, dispers'd truths that folded lie In the dark shades of deep allegory; So neatly weav'd, like arras, they descry Fables with truth, fancy with history. So that thou hast in this thy curious mould Cast that commended mixture wish'd of old, Which shall these contemplations render far Less mutable, and lasting as their star, And while there is a people or a sun, Endymion's story with the moon shall run.
FOOTNOTES:
[55] So Grosart, for the _heat_ of the original.
AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF MR. R. W., SLAIN IN THE LATE UNFORTUNATE DIFFERENCES AT ROUTON HEATH, NEAR CHESTER, 1645.
I am confirmed, and so much wing is given To my wild thoughts, that they dare strike at heav'n. A full year's grief I struggled with, and stood Still on my sandy hopes' uncertain good, So loth was I to yield; to all those fears I still oppos'd thee, and denied my tears. But thou art gone! and the untimely loss Like that one day hath made all others cross. Have you seen on some river's flow'ry brow A well-built elm or stately cedar grow, Whose curled tops gilt with the morning-ray Beckon'd the sun, and whisper'd to the day, When unexpected from the angry North A fatal sullen whirlwind sallies forth, And with a full-mouth'd blast rends from the ground The shady twins, which rushing scatter round Their sighing leaves, whilst overborn with strength Their trembling heads bow to a prostrate length? So forc'd fell he; so immaturely Death Stifled his able heart and active breath. The world scarce knew him yet, his early soul Had but new-broke her day, and rather stole A sight than gave one; as if subtly she Would learn our stock, but hide his treasury. His years--should Time lay both his wings and glass Unto his charge--could not be summ'd--alas!-- To a full score; though in so short a span His riper thoughts had purchas'd more of man Than all those worthless livers, which yet quick Have quite outgone their own arithmetic. He seiz'd perfections, and without a dull And mossy grey possess'd a solid skull; No crooked knowledge neither, nor did he Wear the friend's name for ends and policy, And then lay't by; as those lost youths of th' stage Who only flourish'd for the Play's short age And then retir'd; like jewels, in each part He wore his friends, but chiefly at his heart. Nor was it only in this he did excel, His equal valour could as much, as well. He knew no fear but of his God; yet durst No injury, nor--as some have--e'er purs'd The sweat and tears of others, yet would be More forward in a royal gallantry Than all those vast pretenders, which of late Swell'd in the ruins of their king and State. He weav'd not self-ends and the public good Into one piece, nor with the people's blood Fill'd his own veins; in all the doubtful way Conscience and honour rul'd him. O that day When like the fathers in the fire and cloud I miss'd thy face! I might in ev'ry crowd See arms like thine, and men advance, but none So near to lightning mov'd, nor so fell on. Have you observ'd how soon the nimble eye Brings th' object to conceit, and doth so vie Performance with the soul, that you would swear The act and apprehension both lodg'd there; Just so mov'd he: like shot his active hand Drew blood, ere well the foe could understand. But here I lost him. Whether the last turn Of thy few sands call'd on thy hasty urn, Or some fierce rapid fate--hid from the eye-- Hath hurl'd thee pris'ner to some distant sky, I cannot tell, but that I do believe Thy courage such as scorn'd a base reprieve. Whatever 'twas, whether that day thy breath Suffer'd a civil or the common death, Which I do most suspect, and that I have Fail'd in the glories of so known a grave; Though thy lov'd ashes miss me, and mine eyes Had no acquaintance with thy exequies, Nor at the last farewell, torn from thy sight On the cold sheet have fix'd a sad delight, Yet whate'er pious hand--instead of mine-- Hath done this office to that dust of thine, And till thou rise again from thy low bed Lent a cheap pillow to thy quiet head, Though but a private turf, it can do more To keep thy name and memory in store Than all those lordly fools which lock their bones In the dumb piles of chested brass, and stones Th'art rich in thy own fame, and needest not These marble-frailties, nor the gilded blot Of posthume honours; there is not one sand Sleeps o'er thy grave, but can outbid that hand And pencil too, so that of force we must Confess their heaps show lesser than thy dust. And--blessed soul!--though this my sorrow can Add nought to thy perfections, yet as man Subject to envy, and the common fate, It may redeem thee to a fairer date. As some blind dial, when the day is done, Can tell us at midnight there was a sun, So these perhaps, though much beneath thy fame, May keep some weak remembrance of thy name, And to the faith of better times commend Thy loyal upright life, and gallant end.
_Nomen et arma locum servant, te, amice, nequivi_ _Conspicere_------------
UPON A CLOAK LENT HIM BY MR. J. RIDSLEY.
Here, take again thy sackcloth! and thank heav'n Thy courtship hath not kill'd me; Is't not even Whether we die by piecemeal, or at once? Since both but ruin, why then for the nonce Didst husband my afflictions, and cast o'er Me this forc'd hurdle to inflame the score? Had I near London in this rug been seen Without doubt I had executed been For some bold Irish spy, and 'cross a sledge Had lain mess'd up for their four gates and bridge. When first I bore it, my oppressed feet Would needs persuade me 'twas some leaden sheet; Such deep impressions, and such dangerous holes Were made, that I began to doubt my soles, And ev'ry step--so near necessity-- Devoutly wish'd some honest cobbler by; Besides it was so short, the Jewish rag Seem'd circumcis'd, but had a Gentile shag. Hadst thou been with me on that day, when we Left craggy Biston, and the fatal Dee, When beaten with fresh storms and late mishap It shar'd the office of a cloak, and cap, To see how 'bout my clouded head it stood Like a thick turban, or some lawyer's hood, While the stiff, hollow pleats on ev'ry side Like conduit-pipes rain'd from the bearded hide: I know thou wouldst in spite of that day's fate Let loose thy mirth at my new shape and state, And with a shallow smile or two profess Some Saracen had lost the clouted dress. Didst ever see the good wife--as they say-- March in her short cloak on the christ'ning day, With what soft motions she salutes the church, And leaves the bedrid mother in the lurch; Just so jogg'd I, while my dull horse did trudge Like a circuit-beast, plagu'd with a gouty judge. But this was civil. I have since known more And worser pranks: one night--as heretofore Th' hast known--for want of change--a thing which I And Bias us'd before me--I did lie Pure Adamite, and simply for that end Resolv'd, and made this for my bosom-friend. O that thou hadst been there next morn, that I Might teach thee new Micro-cosmo-graphy! Thou wouldst have ta'en me, as I naked stood, For one of the seven pillars before the flood. Such characters and hieroglyphics were In one night worn, that thou mightst justly swear I'd slept in cere-cloth, or at Bedlam, where The madmen lodge in straw. I'll not forbear To tell thee all; his wild impress and tricks Like Speed's old Britons made me look, or Picts; His villanous, biting, wire-embraces Had seal'd in me more strange forms and faces Than children see in dreams, or thou hast read In arras, puppet-plays, and gingerbread, With angled schemes, and crosses that bred fear Of being handled by some conjurer; And nearer, thou wouldst think--such strokes were drawn-- I'd been some rough statue of Fetter-lane. Nay, I believe, had I that instant been By surgeons or apothecaries seen, They had condemned my raz'd skin to be Some walking herbal, or anatomy. But--thanks to th' day!--'tis off. I'd now advise Thee, friend, to put this piece to merchandise. The pedlars of our age have business yet, And gladly would against the Fair-day fit Themselves with such a roof, that can secure Their wares from dogs and cats rained in shower. It shall perform; or if this will not do 'Twill take the ale-wives sure; 'twill make them two Fine rooms of one, and spread upon a stick Is a partition, without lime or brick. Horn'd obstinacy! how my heart doth fret To think what mouths and elbows it would set In a wet day! have you for twopence ere Seen King Harry's chapel at Westminster, Where in their dusty gowns of brass and stone The judges lie, and mark'd you how each one, In sturdy marble-pleats about the knee, Bears up to show his legs and symmetry? Just so would this, that I think't weav'd upon Some stiffneck'd Brownist's exercising loom. O that thou hadst it when this juggling fate Of soldiery first seiz'd me! at what rate Would I have bought it then; what was there but I would have giv'n for the compendious hut? I do not doubt but--if the weight could please-- 'Twould guard me better than a Lapland-lease. Or a German shirt with enchanted lint Stuff'd through, and th' devil's beard and face weav'd in't. But I have done. And think not, friend, that I This freedom took to jeer thy courtesy. I thank thee for't, and I believe my Muse So known to thee, thou'lt not suspect abuse. She did this, 'cause--perhaps--thy love paid thus Might with my thanks outlive thy cloak, and us.
UPON MR. FLETCHER'S PLAYS, PUBLISHED 1647.
I knew thee not, nor durst attendance strive, Label to wit, verser remonstrative, And in some suburb-page--scandal to thine-- Like Lent before a Christmas scatter mine. This speaks thee not, since at the utmost rate Such remnants from thy piece entreat their date; Nor can I dub the copy, or afford Titles to swell the rear of verse with lord; Nor politicly big, to inch low fame, Stretch in the glories of a stranger's name, And clip those bays I court; weak striver I, But a faint echo unto poetry. I have not clothes t'adopt me, nor must sit For plush and velvet's sake, esquire of wit. Yet modesty these crosses would improve, And rags near thee, some reverence may move. I did believe--great Beaumont being dead-- Thy widow'd Muse slept on his flow'ry bed; But I am richly cozen'd, and can see Wit transmigrates: his spirit stay'd with thee; Which, doubly advantag'd by thy single pen, In life and death now treads the stage again. And thus are we freed from that dearth of wit Which starv'd the land, since into schisms split, Wherein th' hast done so much, we must needs guess Wit's last edition is now i' th' press. For thou hast drain'd invention, and he That writes hereafter, doth but pillage thee. But thou hast plots; and will not the Kirk strain At the designs of such a tragic brain? Will they themselves think safe, when they shall see Thy most abominable policy? Will not the Ears assemble, and think't fit Their Synod fast and pray against thy wit? But they'll not tire in such an idle quest; Thou dost but kill, and circumvent in jest; And when thy anger'd Muse swells to a blow 'Tis but for Field's, or Swansted's overthrow. Yet shall these conquests of thy bays outlive Their Scottish zeal, and compacts made to grieve The peace of spirits: and when such deeds fail Of their foul ends, a fair name is thy bail. But--happy thou!--ne'er saw'st these storms, our air Teem'd with even in thy time, though seeming fair. Thy gentle soul, meant for the shade and ease, Withdrew betimes into the Land of Peace. So nested in some hospitable shore The hermit-angler, when the mid-seas roar, Packs up his lines, and--ere the tempest raves-- Retires, and leaves his station to the waves. Thus thou died'st almost with our peace, and we This breathing time thy last fair issue see, Which I think such--if needless ink not soil So choice a Muse--others are but thy foil. This, or that age may write, but never see A wit that dares run parallel with thee. True, Ben must live! but bate him, and thou hast Undone all future wits, and match'd the past.
UPON THE POEMS AND PLAYS OF THE EVER-MEMORABLE MR. WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT.
I did but see thee! and how vain it is To vex thee for it with remonstrances, Though things in fashion; let those judge, who sit Their twelve pence out, to clap their hands at wit I fear to sin thus near thee; for--great saint!-- 'Tis known true beauty hath no need of paint. Yet, since a label fix'd to thy fair hearse Is all the mode, and tears put into verse Can teach posterity our present grief And their own loss, but never give relief; I'll tell them--and a truth which needs no pass-- That wit in Cartwright at her zenith was. Arts, fancy, language, all conven'd in thee, With those grand miracles which deify The old world's writings, kept yet from the fire Because they force these worst times to admire. Thy matchless genius, in all thou didst write, Like the sun, wrought with such staid heat and light, That not a line--to the most critic he-- Offends with flashes, or obscurity. When thou the wild of humours track'st, thy pen So imitates that motley stock in men, As if thou hadst in all their bosoms been, And seen those leopards that lurk within. The am'rous youth steals from thy courtly page His vow'd address, the soldier his brave rage; And those soft beauteous readers whose looks can Make some men poets, and make any man A lover, when thy slave but seems to die, Turn all his mourners, and melt at the eye. Thus thou thy thoughts hast dress'd in such a strain As doth not only speak, but rule and reign; Nor are those bodies they assum'd dark clouds, Or a thick bark, but clear, transparent shrouds, Which who looks on, the rays so strongly beat They'll brush and warm him with a quick'ning heat; So souls shine at the eyes, and pearls display Through the loose crystal-streams a glance of day. But what's all this unto a royal test? Thou art the man whom great Charles so express'd! Then let the crowd refrain their needless hum, When thunder speaks, then squibs and winds are dumb.
TO THE BEST AND MOST ACCOMPLISHED COUPLE----
Blessings as rich and fragrant crown your heads As the mild heav'n on roses sheds, When at their cheeks--like pearls--they wear The clouds that court them in a tear! And may they be fed from above By Him which first ordain'd your love!
Fresh as the hours may all your pleasures be, And healthful as eternity! Sweet as the flowers' first breath, and close As th' unseen spreadings of the rose, When he unfolds his curtain'd head, And makes his bosom the sun's bed!
Soft as yourselves run your whole lives, and clear As your own glass, or what shines there! Smooth as heav'n's face, and bright as he When without mask or tiffany! In all your time not one jar meet But peace as silent as his feet!
Like the day's warmth may all your comforts be, Untoil'd for, and serene as he, Yet free and full as is that sheaf Of sunbeams gilding ev'ry leaf, When now the tyrant-heat expires And his cool'd locks breathe milder fires!
And as those parcell'd glories he doth shed Are the fair issues of his head, Which, ne'er so distant, are soon known By th' heat and lustre for his own; So may each branch of yours we see Your copies and our wonders be!
And when no more on earth you must remain, Invited hence to heav'n again, Then may your virtuous, virgin-flames Shine in those heirs of your fair names, And teach the world that mystery, Yourselves in your posterity!
So you to both worlds shall rich presents bring, And, gather'd up to heav'n, leave here a spring.
AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF MR. R. HALL, SLAIN AT PONTEFRACT, 1648.
I knew it would be thus! and my just fears Of thy great spirit are improv'd to tears. Yet flow these not from any base distrust Of a fair name, or that thy honour must Confin'd to those cold relics sadly sit In the same cell an obscure anchorite. Such low distempers murder; they that must Abuse thee so, weep not, but wound thy dust. But I past such dim mourners can descry Thy fame above all clouds of obloquy, And like the sun with his victorious rays Charge through that darkness to the last of days. 'Tis true, fair manhood hath a female eye, And tears are beauteous in a victory, Nor are we so high-proof, but grief will find Through all our guards a way to wound the mind; But in thy fall what adds the brackish sum More than a blot unto thy martyrdom? Which scorns such wretched suffrages, and stands More by thy single worth than our whole bands. Yet could the puling tribute rescue ought In this sad loss, or wert thou to be brought Back here by tears, I would in any wise Pay down the sum, or quite consume my eyes. Thou fell'st our double ruin; and this rent Forc'd in thy life shak'd both the Church and tent. Learning in others steals them from the van, And basely wise emasculates the man, But lodg'd in thy brave soul the bookish feat Serv'd only as the light unto thy heat. Thus when some quitted action, to their shame, And only got a discreet coward's name, Thou with thy blood mad'st purchase of renown, And died'st the glory of the sword and gown. Thy blood hath hallow'd Pomfret, and this blow --Profan'd before--hath church'd the Castle now. Nor is't a common valour we deplore, But such as with fifteen a hundred bore, And lightning-like--not coop'd within a wall-- In storms of fire and steel fell on them all. Thou wert no woolsack soldier, nor of those Whose courage lies in winking at their foes, That live at loopholes, and consume their breath On match or pipes, and sometimes peep at death; No, it were sin to number these with thee, But that--thus pois'd--our loss we better see. The fair and open valour was thy shield, And thy known station, the defying field. Yet these in thee I would not virtues call, But that this age must know that thou hadst all. Those richer graces that adorn'd thy mind Like stars of the first magnitude, so shin'd, That if oppos'd unto these lesser lights All we can say is this, they were fair nights. Thy piety and learning did unite, And though with sev'ral beams made up one light, And such thy judgment was, that I dare swear Whole councils might as soon and synods err. But all these now are out! and as some star Hurl'd in diurnal motions from far, And seen to droop at night, is vainly said To fall and find an occidental bed, Though in that other world what we judge West Proves elevation, and a new, fresh East; So though our weaker sense denies us sight, And bodies cannot trace the spirit's flight, We know those graces to be still in thee, But wing'd above us to eternity. Since then--thus flown--thou art so much refin'd That we can only reach thee with the mind, I will not in this dark and narrow glass Let thy scant shadow for perfections pass, But leave thee to be read more high, more quaint, In thy own blood a soldier and a saint.
----_Salve aeternum mihi maxime Palla!_ _Aeternumque vale!_----
TO MY LEARNED FRIEND, MR. T. POWELL, UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF MALVEZZI'S CHRISTIAN POLITICIAN.
We thank you, worthy Sir, that now we see MALVEZZI languag'd like our infancy, And can without suspicion entertain This foreign statesman to our breast or brain; You have enlarg'd his praise, and from your store By this edition made his worth the more. Thus by your learned hand--amidst the coil-- Outlandish plants thrive in our thankless soil, And wise men after death, by a strange fate, Lie leiger here, and beg to serve our State. Italy now, though mistress of the bays, Waits on this wreath, proud of a foreign praise; For, wise Malvezzi, thou didst lie before Confin'd within the language of one shore, And like those stars which near the poles do steer Were't but in one part of the globe seen clear. Provence and Naples were the best and most Thou couldst shine in; fix'd to that single coast, Perhaps some cardinal, to be thought wise, And honest too, would ask, what was thy price? Then thou must pack to Rome, where thou mightst lie Ere thou shouldst have new clothes eternally, For though so near the sev'n hills, ne'ertheless Thou cam'st to Antwerp for thy Roman dress. But now thou art come hither, thou mayst run Through any clime as well known as the sun, And in thy sev'ral dresses, like the year, Challenge acquaintance with each peopled sphere. Come then, rare politicians of the time, Brains of some standing, elders in our clime, See here the method. A wise, solid State Is quick in acting, friendly in debate, Joint in advice, in resolutions just, Mild in success, true to the common trust. It cements ruptures, and by gentle hand Allays the heat and burnings of a land; Religion guides it, and in all the tract Designs so twist, that Heav'n confirms the act. If from these lists you wander as you steer, Look back, and catechize your actions here. These are the marks to which true statesmen tend, And greatness here with goodness hath one end.
TO MY WORTHY FRIEND, MASTER T. LEWES.
Sees not my friend, what a deep snow Candies our country's woody brow? The yielding branch his load scarce bears, Oppress'd with snow and frozen tears; While the dumb rivers slowly float, All bound up in an icy coat. Let us meet then! and while this world In wild eccentrics now is hurl'd, Keep we, like nature, the same key, And walk in our forefathers' way. Why any more cast we an eye On what may come, not what is nigh? Why vex ourselves with fear, or hope And cares beyond our horoscope? Who into future times would peer, Looks oft beyond his term set here, And cannot go into those grounds But through a churchyard, which them bounds. Sorrows and sighs and searches spend And draw our bottom to an end, But discreet joys lengthen the lease, Without which life were a disease; And who this age a mourner goes, Doth with his tears but feed his foes
TO THE MOST EXCELLENTLY ACCOMPLISHED MRS. K. PHILIPS.
Say, witty fair one, from what sphere Flow these rich numbers you shed here? For sure such incantations come From thence, which strike your readers dumb. A strain, whose measures gently meet Like virgin-lovers or Time's feet; Where language smiles, and accents rise As quick and pleasing as your eyes; The poem smooth, and in each line Soft as yourself, yet masculine; Where not coarse trifles blot the page With matter borrow'd from the age, But thoughts as innocent and high As angels have, or saints that die. These raptures when I first did see New miracles in poetry, And by a hand their good would miss His bays and fountains but to kiss, My weaker genius--cross to fashion-- Slept in a silent admiration: A rescue, by whose grave disguise Pretenders oft have pass'd for wise. And yet as pilgrims humbly touch Those shrines to which they bow so much, And clouds in courtship flock, and run To be the mask unto the sun, So I concluded it was true I might at distance worship you, A Persian votary, and say It was your light show'd me the way. So loadstones guide the duller steel, And high perfections are the wheel Which moves the less, for gifts divine Are strung upon a vital line, Which, touch'd by you, excites in all Affections epidemical. And this made me--a truth most fit-- Add my weak echo to your wit; Which pardon, Lady, for assays Obscure as these might blast your bays; As common hands soil flow'rs, and make That dew they wear weep the mistake. But I'll wash off the stain, and vow No laurel grows but for your brow.
AN EPITAPH UPON THE LADY ELIZABETH, SECOND DAUGHTER TO HIS LATE MAJESTY.
Youth, beauty, virtue, innocence, Heav'n's royal and select expense, With virgin-tears and sighs divine Sit here the genii of this shrine; Where now--thy fair soul wing'd away-- They guard the casket where she lay. Thou hadst, ere thou the light couldst see, Sorrows laid up and stor'd for thee; Thou suck'dst in woes, and the breasts lent Their milk to thee but to lament; Thy portion here was grief, thy years Distill'd no other rain but tears, Tears without noise, but--understood-- As loud and shrill as any blood. Thou seem'st a rosebud born in snow, A flower of purpose sprung to bow To headless tempests, and the rage Of an incensed, stormy age. Others, ere their afflictions grow, Are tim'd and season'd for the blow, But thine, as rheums the tend'rest part, Fell on a young and harmless heart. And yet, as balm-trees gently spend Their tears for those that do them rend, So mild and pious thou wert seen, Though full of suff'rings; free from spleen, Thou didst not murmur, nor revile, But drank'st thy wormwood with a smile. As envious eyes blast and infect, And cause misfortunes by aspect, So thy sad stars dispens'd to thee No influx but calamity; They view'd thee with eclipsed rays, And but the back side of bright days.
* * * * *
These were the comforts she had here, As by an unseen Hand 'tis clear, Which now she reads, and, smiling, wears A crown with Him who wipes off tears.
TO SIR WILLIAM D'AVENANT UPON HIS GONDIBERT.
Well, we are rescued! and by thy rare pen Poets shall live, when princes die like men. Th' hast clear'd the prospect to our harmless hill, Of late years clouded with imputed ill, And the soft, youthful couples there may move, As chaste as stars converse and smile above. Th' hast taught their language and their love to flow Calm as rose-leaves, and cool as virgin-snow, Which doubly feasts us, being so refin'd, They both delight and dignify the mind; Like to the wat'ry music of some spring, Whose pleasant flowings at once wash and sing. And where before heroic poems were Made up of spirits, prodigies, and fear, And show'd--through all the melancholy flight-- Like some dark region overcast with night, As if the poet had been quite dismay'd, While only giants and enchantments sway'd; Thou like the sun, whose eye brooks no disguise, Hast chas'd them hence, and with discoveries So rare and learned fill'd the place, that we Those fam'd grandezas find outdone by thee, And underfoot see all those vizards hurl'd Which bred the wonder of the former world. 'Twas dull to sit, as our forefathers did, At crumbs and voiders, and because unbid, Refrain wise appetite. This made thy fire Break through the ashes of thy aged sire, To lend the world such a convincing light As shows his fancy darker than his sight. Nor was't alone the bars and length of days --Though those gave strength and stature to his bays-- Encounter'd thee, but what's an old complaint And kills the fancy, a forlorn restraint. How couldst thou, mur'd in solitary stones, Dress Birtha's smiles, though well thou mightst her groans? And, strangely eloquent, thyself divide 'Twixt sad misfortunes and a bloomy bride? Through all the tenour of thy ample song, Spun from thy own rich store, and shar'd among Those fair adventurers, we plainly see Th' imputed gifts inherent are in thee. Then live for ever--and by high desert-- In thy own mirror, matchless Gondibert, And in bright Birtha leave thy love enshrin'd Fresh as her em'rald, and fair as her mind, While all confess thee--as they ought to do-- The prince of poets, and of lovers too.
[OVID,] TRISTIUM, LIB. V. ELEG. III.
TO HIS FELLOW-POETS AT ROME, UPON THE BIRTHDAY OF BACCHUS.
This is the day--blithe god of sack--which we, If I mistake not, consecrate to thee, When the soft rose we marry to the bays, And, warm'd with thy own wine, rehearse thy praise; 'Mongst whom--while to thy poet fate gave way-- I have been held no small part of the day. But now, dull'd with the cold Bear's frozen seat, Sarmatia holds me, and the warlike Gete. My former life, unlike to this my last, With Rome's best wits of thy full cup did taste, Who since have seen the savage Pontic band, And all the choler of the sea and land. Whether sad chance or Heav'n hath this design'd, And at my birth some fatal planet shin'd, Of right thou shouldst the sisters' knots undo, And free thy votary and poet too; Or are you gods--like us--in such a state As cannot alter the decrees of fate? I know with much ado thou didst obtain Thy jovial godhead, and on earth thy pain Was no whit less, for, wand'ring, thou didst run To the Getes too, and snow-weeping Strymon, With Persia, Ganges, and whatever streams The thirsty Moor drinks in the mid-day beams. But thou wert twice-born, and the Fates to thee --To make all sure--doubled thy misery. My sufferings too are many--if it be Held safe for me to boast adversity-- Nor was't a common blow, but from above, Like his that died for imitating Jove; Which, when thou heardst, a ruin so divine And mother-like should make thee pity mine, And on this day, which poets unto thee Crown with full bowls, ask what's become of me? Help, buxom god, then! so may thy lov'd vine Swarm with the num'rous grape, and big with wine Load the kind elm, and so thy orgies be With priests' loud shouts and satyrs' kept to thee! So may in death Lycurgus ne'er be blest, Nor Pentheus' wand'ring ghost find any rest! And so for ever bright--thy chief desires-- May thy wife's crown outshine the lesser fires! If but now, mindful of my love to thee, Thou wilt, in what thou canst, my helper be. You gods have commerce with yourselves; try then If Caesar will restore me Rome again. And you, my trusty friends--the jolly crew Of careless poets! when, without me, you Perform this day's glad myst'ries, let it be Your first appeal unto his deity, And let one of you--touch'd with my sad name-- Mixing his wine with tears, lay down the same, And--sighing--to the rest this thought commend, O! where is Ovid now, our banish'd friend? This do, if in your breasts I e'er deserv'd So large a share, nor spitefully reserv'd, Nor basely sold applause, or with a brow Condemning others, did myself allow. And may your happier wits grow loud with fame As you--my best of friends!--preserve my name.
[OVID, EPISTOLARUM] DE PONTO, LIB. III. [EPIST. VII.].
TO HIS FRIENDS--AFTER HIS MANY SOLICITATIONS--REFUSING TO PETITION CAESAR FOR HIS RELEASEMENT.
You have consum'd my language, and my pen, Incens'd with begging, scorns to write again. You grant, you knew my suit: my Muse and I Had taught it you in frequent elegy. That I believe--yet seal'd--you have divin'd Our repetitions, and forestall'd my mind, So that my thronging elegies and I Have made you--more than poets--prophesy. But I am now awak'd; forgive my dream Which made me cross the proverb and the stream, And pardon, friends, that I so long have had Such good thoughts of you; I am not so mad As to continue them. You shall no more Complain of troublesome verse, or write o'er How I endanger you, and vex my wife With the sad legends of a banish'd life. I'll bear these plagues myself: for I have pass'd Through greater ones, and can as well at last These petty crosses. 'Tis for some young beast To kick his bands, or wish his neck releas'd From the sad yoke. Know then, that as for me Whom Fate hath us'd to such calamity, I scorn her spite and yours, and freely dare The highest ills your malice can prepare. 'Twas Fortune threw me hither, where I now Rude Getes and Thrace see, with the snowy brow Of cloudy Aemus, and if she decree Her sportive pilgrim's last bed here must be, I am content; nay, more, she cannot do That act which I would not consent unto. I can delight in vain hopes, and desire That state more than her change and smiles; then high'r I hug a strong despair, and think it brave To baffle faith, and give those hopes a grave. Have you not seen cur'd wounds enlarg'd, and he That with the first wave sinks, yielding to th' free Waters, without th' expense of arms or breath, Hath still the easiest and the quickest death. Why nurse I sorrows then? why these desires Of changing Scythia for the sun and fires Of some calm kinder air? what did bewitch My frantic hopes to fly so vain a pitch, And thus outrun myself? Madman! could I Suspect fate had for me a courtesy? These errors grieve: and now I must forget Those pleas'd ideas I did frame and set Unto myself, with many fancied springs And groves, whose only loss new sorrow brings. And yet I would the worst of fate endure, Ere you should be repuls'd, or less secure. But--base, low souls!--you left me not for this, But 'cause you durst not. Caesar could not miss Of such a trifle, for I know that he Scorns the cheap triumphs of my misery. Then since--degen'rate friends--not he, but you Cancel my hopes, and make afflictions new, You shall confess, and fame shall tell you, I At Ister dare as well as Tiber die.
[OVID, EPISTOLARUM] DE PONTO, LIB. IV. EPIST. III.
TO HIS INCONSTANT FRIEND, TRANSLATED FOR THE USE OF ALL THE JUDASES OF THIS TOUCHSTONE-AGE.
Shall I complain, or not? or shall I mask Thy hateful name, and in this bitter task Master my just impatience, and write down Thy crime alone, and leave the rest unknown? Or wilt thou the succeeding years should see And teach thy person to posterity? No, hope it not; for know, most wretched man, 'Tis not thy base and weak detraction can Buy thee a poem, nor move me to give Thy name the honour in my verse to live. Whilst yet my ship did with no storms dispute, And temp'rate winds fed with a calm salute My prosp'rous sails, thou wert the only man That with me then an equal fortune ran; But now since angry heav'n with clouds and night Stifled those sunbeams, thou hast ta'en thy flight; Thou know'st I want thee, and art merely gone To shun that rescue I reli'd upon; Nay, thou dissemblest too, and dost disclaim Not only my acquaintance, but my name. Yet know--though deaf to this--that I am he Whose years and love had the same infancy With thine, thy deep familiar that did share Souls with thee, and partake thy joys or care; Whom the same roof lodg'd, and my Muse those nights So solemnly endear'd to her delights. But now, perfidious traitor, I am grown The abject of thy breast, not to be known In that false closet more; nay, thou wilt not So much as let me know I am forgot. If thou wilt say thou didst not love me, then Thou didst dissemble: or if love again, Why now inconstant? Came the crime from me That wrought this change? Sure, if no justice be Of my side, thine must have it. Why dost hide Thy reasons then? For me, I did so guide Myself and actions, that I cannot see What could offend thee, but my misery. 'Las! if thou wouldst not from thy store allow Some rescue to my wants, at least I know Thou couldst have writ, and with a line or two Reliev'd my famish'd eye, and eas'd me so. I know not what to think! and yet I hear, Not pleas'd with this, th'art witty, and dost jeer. Bad man! thou hast in this those tears kept back I could have shed for thee, shouldst thou but lack. Know'st not that Fortune on a globe doth stand, Whose upper slipp'ry part without command Turns lowest still? the sportive leaves and wind Are but dull emblems of her fickle mind. In the whole world there's nothing I can see Will throughly parallel her ways but thee. All that we hold hangs on a slender twine, And our best states by sudden chance decline. Who hath not heard of Cr[oe]sus' proverb'd gold, Yet knows his foe did him a pris'ner hold? He that once aw'd Sicilia's proud extent By a poor art could famine scarce prevent; And mighty Pompey, ere he made an end, Was glad to beg his slave to be his friend. Nay, he that had so oft Rome's consul been, And forc'd Jugurtha and the Cimbrians in, Great Marius! with much want and more disgrace, In a foul marsh was glad to hide his face. A Divine hand sways all mankind, and we Of one short hour have not the certainty. Hadst thou one day told me the time should be When the Getes' bows, and th' Euxine I should see, I should have check'd thy madness, and have thought Th' hadst need of all Anticyra in a draught. And yet 'tis come to pass! nor, though I might Some things foresee, could I procure a sight Of my whole destiny, and free my state From those eternal, higher ties of fate. Leave then thy pride, and though now brave and high, Think thou mayst be as poor and low as I.
[OVID,] TRISTIUM, LIB. III. ELEG. III.
TO HIS WIFE AT ROME, WHEN HE WAS SICK.
Dearest! if you those fair eyes--wond'ring--stick On this strange character, know I am sick; Sick in the skirts of the lost world, where I Breathe hopeless of all comforts, but to die. What heart--think'st thou?--have I in this sad seat, Tormented 'twixt the Sauromate and Gete? Nor air nor water please: their very sky Looks strange and unaccustom'd to my eye; I scarce dare breathe it, and, I know not how, The earth that bears me shows unpleasant now. Nor diet here's, nor lodging for my ease, Nor any one that studies a disease; No friend to comfort me, none to defray With smooth discourse the charges of the day. All tir'd alone I lie, and--thus--whate'er Is absent, and at Rome, I fancy here. But when thou com'st, I blot the airy scroll, And give thee full possession of my soul. Thee--absent--I embrace, thee only voice. And night and day belie a husband's joys. Nay, of thy name so oft I mention make That I am thought distracted for thy sake. When my tir'd spirits fail, and my sick heart Draws in that fire which actuates each part, If any say, th'art come! I force my pain, And hope to see thee gives me life again. Thus I for thee, whilst thou--perhaps--more blest, Careless of me dost breathe all peace and rest, Which yet I think not, for--dear soul!--too well Know I thy grief, since my first woes befell. But if strict Heav'n my stock of days hath spun, And with my life my error will be gone, How easy then--O Caesar!--were't for thee To pardon one, that now doth cease to be? That I might yield my native air this breath, And banish not my ashes after death. Would thou hadst either spar'd me until dead, Or with my blood redeem'd my absent head! Thou shouldst have had both freely, but O! thou Wouldst have me live to die an exile now. And must I then from Rome so far meet death, And double by the place my loss of breath? Nor in my last of hours on my own bed --In the sad conflict--rest my dying head? Nor my soul's whispers--the last pledge of life,-- Mix with the tears and kisses of a wife? My last words none must treasure, none will rise And--with a tear--seal up my vanquish'd eyes; Without these rites I die, distress'd in all The splendid sorrows of a funeral; Unpitied, and unmourn'd for, my sad head In a strange land goes friendless to the dead. When thou hear'st this, O! how thy faithful soul Will sink, whilst grief doth ev'ry part control! How often wilt thou look this way, and cry, O! where is't yonder that my love doth lie? Yet spare these tears, and mourn not thou for me, Long since--dear heart!--have I been dead to thee. Think then I died, when thee and Rome I lost, That death to me more grief than this hath cost. Now, if thou canst--but thou canst not--best wife, Rejoice, my cares are ended with my life. At least, yield not to sorrows, frequent use Should make these miseries to thee no news. And here I wish my soul died with my breath, And that no part of me were free from death; For, if it be immortal, and outlives The body, as Pythagoras believes, Betwixt these Sarmates' ghosts, a Roman I Shall wander, vex'd to all eternity. But thou--for after death I shall be free-- Fetch home these bones, and what is left of me; A few flow'rs give them, with some balm, and lay Them in some suburb grave, hard by the way; And to inform posterity, who's there, This sad inscription let my marble wear; "Here lies the soft-soul'd lecturer of love, Whose envi'd wit did his own ruin prove. But thou,--whoe'er thou be'st, that, passing by, Lend'st to this sudden stone a hasty eye, If e'er thou knew'st of love the sweet disease, Grudge not to say, May Ovid rest in peace!" This for my tomb: but in my books they'll see More strong and lasting monuments of me, Which I believe--though fatal--will afford An endless name unto their ruin'd lord. And now thus gone, it rests, for love of me, Thou show'st some sorrow to my memory; Thy funeral off'rings to my ashes bear, With wreaths of cypress bath'd in many a tear. Though nothing there but dust of me remain, Yet shall that dust perceive thy pious pain. But I have done, and my tir'd, sickly head, Though I would fain write more, desires the bed; Take then this word--perhaps my last--to tell, Which though I want, I wish it thee, farewell!
AUSONII. IDYLL VI.
CUPIDO [CRUCI AFFIXUS].
In those bless'd fields of everlasting air --Where to a myrtle grove the souls repair Of deceas'd lovers--the sad, thoughtful ghosts Of injur'd ladies meet, where each accosts The other with a sigh, whose very breath Would break a heart, and--kind souls--love in death. A thick wood clouds their walks, where day scarce peeps, And on each hand cypress and poppy sleeps; The drowsy rivers slumber, and springs there Blab not, but softly melt into a tear; A sickly dull air fans them, which can have, When most in force, scarce breath to build a wave. On either bank through the still shades appear A scene of pensive flow'rs, whose bosoms wear Drops of a lover's blood, the emblem'd truths Of deep despair, and love-slain kings and youths. The Hyacinth, and self-enamour'd boy Narcissus flourish there, with Venus' joy, The spruce Adonis, and that prince whose flow'r Hath sorrow languag'd on him to this hour; All sad with love they hang their heads, and grieve As if their passions in each leaf did live; And here--alas!--these soft-soul'd ladies stray, And--O! too late!--treason in love betray. Her blasted birth sad Semele repeats, And with her tears would quench the thund'rer's heats, Then shakes her bosom, as if fir'd again, And fears another lightning's flaming train. The lovely Procris here bleeds, sighs, and swoons, Then wakes, and kisses him that gave her wounds. Sad Hero holds a torch forth, and doth light Her lost Leander through the waves and night, Her boatman desp'rate Sappho still admires, And nothing but the sea can quench her fires. Distracted Phaedra with a restless eye Her disdain'd letters reads, then casts them by. Rare, faithful Thisbe--sequest'red from these-- A silent, unseen sorrow doth best please; For her love's sake and last good-night poor she Walks in the shadow of a mulberry. Near her young Canace with Dido sits, A lovely couple, but of desp'rate wits; Both di'd alike, both pierc'd their tender breasts, This with her father's sword, that with her guest's. Within the thickest textures of the grove Diana in her silver beams doth rove; Her crown of stars the pitchy air invades, And with a faint light gilds the silent shades, Whilst her sad thoughts, fix'd on her sleepy lover, To Latmos hill and his retirements move her. A thousand more through the wide, darksome wood Feast on their cares, the maudlin lover's food; For grief and absence do but edge desire, And death is fuel to a lover's fire. To see these trophies of his wanton bow, Cupid comes in, and all in triumph now-- Rash unadvised boy!--disperseth round The sleepy mists; his wings and quiver wound With noise the quiet air. This sudden stir Betrays his godship, and as we from far A clouded, sickly moon observe, so they Through the false mists his eclips'd torch betray. A hot pursuit they make, and, though with care And a slow wing, he softly stems the air, Yet they--as subtle now as he--surround His silenc'd course, and with the thick night bound Surprise the wag. As in a dream we strive To voice our thoughts, and vainly would revive Our entranc'd tongues, but cannot speech enlarge, 'Till the soul wakes and reassumes her charge; So, joyous of their prize, they flock about And vainly swell with an imagin'd shout. Far in these shades and melancholy coasts A myrtle grows, well known to all the ghosts, Whose stretch'd top--like a great man rais'd by Fate-- Looks big, and scorns his neighbour's low estate; His leafy arms into a green cloud twist, And on each branch doth sit a lazy mist, A fatal tree, and luckless to the gods, Where for disdain in life--Love's worst of odds-- The queen of shades, fair Proserpine, did rack The sad Adonis: hither now they pack This little god, where, first disarm'd, they bind His skittish wings, then both his hands behind His back they tie, and thus secur'd at last, The peevish wanton to the tree make fast. Here at adventure, without judge or jury, He is condemn'd, while with united fury They all assail him. As a thief at bar Left to the law, and mercy of his star, Hath bills heap'd on him, and is question'd there By all the men that have been robb'd that year; So now whatever Fate or their own will Scor'd up in life, Cupid must pay the bill. Their servant's falsehood, jealousy, disdain, And all the plagues that abus'd maids can feign, Are laid on him, and then to heighten spleen, Their own deaths crown the sum. Press'd thus between His fair accusers, 'tis at last decreed He by those weapons, that they died, should bleed. One grasps an airy sword, a second holds Illusive fire, and in vain wanton folds Belies a flame; others, less kind, appear To let him blood, and from the purple tear Create a rose. But Sappho all this while Harvests the air, and from a thicken'd pile Of clouds like Leucas top spreads underneath A sea of mists; the peaceful billows breathe Without all noise, yet so exactly move They seem to chide, but distant from above Reach not the ear, and--thus prepar'd--at once She doth o'erwhelm him with the airy sconce. Amidst these tumults, and as fierce as they, Venus steps in, and without thought or stay Invades her son; her old disgrace is cast Into the bill, when Mars and she made fast In their embraces were expos'd to all The scene of gods, stark naked in their fall. Nor serves a verbal penance, but with haste From her fair brow--O happy flow'rs so plac'd!-- She tears a rosy garland, and with this Whips the untoward boy; they gently kiss His snowy skin, but she with angry haste Doubles her strength, until bedew'd at last With a thin bloody sweat, their innate red, --As if griev'd with the act--grew pale and dead. This laid their spleen; and now--kind souls--no more They'll punish him; the torture that he bore Seems greater than his crime; with joint consent Fate is made guilty, and he innocent. As in a dream with dangers we contest, And fictious pains seem to afflict our rest, So, frighted only in these shades of night, Cupid--got loose--stole to the upper light, Where ever since--for malice unto these-- The spiteful ape doth either sex displease. But O! that had these ladies been so wise To keep his arms, and give him but his eyes!
BOET[HIUS, DE CONSOLATIONE]
LIB. I. METRUM I.
I whose first year flourish'd with youthful verse, In slow, sad numbers now my grief rehearse. A broken style my sickly lines afford, And only tears give weight unto my words. Yet neither fate nor force my Muse could fright, The only faithful consort of my flight. Thus what was once my green years' greatest glory, Is now my comfort, grown decay'd and hoary; For killing cares th' effects of age spurr'd on, That grief might find a fitting mansion; O'er my young head runs an untimely grey, And my loose skin shrinks at my blood's decay. Happy the man, whose death in prosp'rous years Strikes not, nor shuns him in his age and tears! But O! how deaf is she to hear the cry Of th' oppress'd soul, or shut the weeping eye! While treach'rous Fortune with slight honours fed My first estate, she almost drown'd my head, And now since--clouded thus--she hides those rays, Life adds unwelcom'd length unto my days. Why then, my friends, judg'd you my state so good? He that may fall once, never firmly stood.
METRUM II.
O in what haste, with clouds and night Eclips'd, and having lost her light, The dull soul whom distraction rends Into outward darkness tends! How often--by these mists made blind-- Have earthly cares oppress'd the mind! This soul, sometimes wont to survey The spangled Zodiac's fiery way, Saw th' early sun in roses dress'd, With the cool moon's unstable crest, And whatsoever wanton star, In various courses near or far, Pierc'd through the orbs, he could full well Track all her journey, and would tell Her mansions, turnings, rise and fall, By curious calculation all. Of sudden winds the hidden cause, And why the calm sea's quiet face With impetuous waves is curl'd, What spirit wheels th' harmonious world, Or why a star dropp'd in the west Is seen to rise again by east, Who gives the warm Spring temp'rate hours, Decking the Earth with spicy flow'rs, Or how it comes--for man's recruit-- That Autumn yields both grape and fruit, With many other secrets, he Could show the cause and mystery. But now that light is almost out, And the brave soul lies chain'd about With outward cares, whose pensive weight Sinks down her eyes from their first height. And clean contrary to her birth Pores on this vile and foolish Earth.
METRUM IV.
Whose calm soul in a settled state Kicks under foot the frowns of Fate, And in his fortunes, bad or good, Keeps the same temper in his blood; Not him the flaming clouds above, Nor Aetna's fiery tempests move; No fretting seas from shore to shore, Boiling with indignation o'er, Nor burning thunderbolt that can A mountain shake, can stir this man. Dull cowards then! why should we start To see these tyrants act their part? Nor hope, nor fear what may befall, And you disarm their malice all. But who doth faintly fear or wish, And sets no law to what is his, Hath lost the buckler, and--poor elf!-- Makes up a chain to bind himself.
METRUM V.
O Thou great builder of this starry frame, Who fix'd in Thy eternal throne doth tame The rapid spheres, and lest they jar Hast giv'n a law to ev'ry star. Thou art the cause that now the moon With fall orb dulls the stars, and soon Again grows dark, her light being done, The nearer still she's to the sun. Thou in the early hours of night Mak'st the cool evening-star shine bright, And at sun-rising--'cause the least-- Look pale and sleepy in the east. Thou, when the leaves in winter stray, Appoint'st the sun a shorter way, And in the pleasant summer light, With nimble hours dost wing the night. Thy hand the various year quite through Discreetly tempers, that what now The north-wind tears from ev'ry tree In spring again restor'd we see. Then what the winter stars between The furrows in mere seed have seen, The dog-star since--grown up and born-- Hath burnt in stately, full-ear'd corn. Thus by creation's law controll'd All things their proper stations hold, Observing--as Thou didst intend-- Why they were made, and for what end. Only human actions Thou Hast no care of, but to the flow And ebb of Fortune leav'st them all. Hence th' innocent endures that thrall Due to the wicked; whilst alone They sit possessors of his throne. The just are kill'd, and virtue lies Buried in obscurities; And--which of all things is most sad-- The good man suffers by the bad. No perjuries, nor damn'd pretence Colour'd with holy, lying sense Can them annoy, but when they mind To try their force, which most men find, They from the highest sway of things Can pull down great and pious kings. O then at length, thus loosely hurl'd, Look on this miserable world, Whoe'er Thou art, that from above Dost in such order all things move! And let not man--of divine art Not the least, nor vilest part-- By casual evils thus bandied, be The sport of Fate's obliquity. But with that faith Thou guid'st the heaven Settle this earth, and make them even.
METRUM VI.
When the Crab's fierce constellation Burns with the beams of the bright sun, Then he that will go out to sow, Shall never reap, where he did plough, But instead of corn may rather The old world's diet, acorns, gather. Who the violet doth love, Must seek her in the flow'ry grove, But never when the North's cold wind The russet fields with frost doth bind. If in the spring-time--to no end-- The tender vine for grapes we bend, We shall find none, for only--still-- Autumn doth the wine-press fill. Thus for all things--in the world's prime-- The wise God seal'd their proper time, Nor will permit those seasons, He Ordain'd by turns, should mingled be; Then whose wild actions out of season Cross to Nature, and her reason, Would by new ways old orders rend, Shall never find a happy end.
METRUM VII.
Curtain'd with clouds in a dark night, The stars cannot send forth their light. And if a sudden southern blast The sea in rolling waves doth cast, That angry element doth boil, And from the deep with stormy coil Spews up the sands, which in short space Scatter, and puddle his curl'd face. Then those calm waters, which but now Stood clear as heaven's unclouded brow, And like transparent glass did lie Open to ev'ry searcher's eye, Look foully stirr'd and--though desir'd-- Resist the sight, because bemir'd. So often from a high hill's brow Some pilgrim-spring is seen to flow, And in a straight line keep her course, 'Till from a rock with headlong force Some broken piece blocks up the way, And forceth all her streams astray. Then thou that with enlighten'd rays Wouldst see the truth, and in her ways Keep without error; neither fear The future, nor too much give ear To present joys; and give no scope To grief, nor much to flatt'ring hope. For when these rebels reign, the mind Is both a pris'ner, and stark blind.
LIB. II. METRUM I.
Fortune--when with rash hands she quite turmoils The state of things, and in tempestuous foils Comes whirling like Euripus--beats quite down With headlong force the highest monarch's crown, And in his place, unto the throne doth fetch The despis'd looks of some mechanic wretch: So jests at tears and miseries, is proud, And laughs to hear her vassals groan aloud. These are her sports, thus she her wheel doth drive, And plagues man with her blind prerogative; Nor is't a favour of inferior strain, If once kick'd down, she lets him rise again.
METRUM II.
If with an open, bounteous hand --Wholly left at man's command-- Fortune should in one rich flow As many heaps on him bestow Of massy gold, as there be sands Toss'd by the waves and winds rude bands, Or bright stars in a winter night Decking their silent orbs with light; Yet would his lust know no restraints, Nor cease to weep in sad complaints. Though Heaven should his vows regard, And in a prodigal reward Return him all he could implore, Adding new honours to his store, Yet all were nothing. Goods in sight Are scorn'd, and lust in greedy flight Lays out for more; what measure then Can tame these wild desires of men? Since all we give both last and first Doth but inflame, and feed their thirst. For how can he be rich, who 'midst his store Sits sadly pining, and believes he's poor.
METRUM III.
When the sun from his rosy bed The dawning light begins to shed, The drowsy sky uncurtains round, And the--but now bright--stars all drown'd In one great light look dull and tame, And homage his victorious flame. Thus, when the warm Etesian wind The Earth's seal'd bosom doth unbind, Straight she her various store discloses, And purples every grove with roses; But if the South's tempestuous breath Breaks forth, those blushes pine to death. Oft in a quiet sky the deep With unmov'd waves seems fast asleep, And oft again the blust'ring North In angry heaps provokes them forth. If then this world, which holds all nations, Suffers itself such alterations, That not this mighty massy frame, Nor any part of it can claim One certain course, why should man prate, Or censure the designs of Fate? Why from frail honours, and goods lent Should he expect things permanent? Since 'tis enacted by Divine decree That nothing mortal shall eternal be.
METRUM IV.
Who wisely would for his retreat Build a secure and lasting seat, Where stov'd in silence he may sleep Beneath the wind, above the deep; Let him th' high hills leave on one hand, And on the other the false sand. The first to winds lies plain and even, From all the blust'ring points of heaven; The other, hollow and unsure, No weight of building will endure. Avoiding then the envied state Of buildings bravely situate, Remember thou thyself to lock Within some low neglected rock. There when fierce heaven in thunder chides, And winds and waves rage on all sides, Thou happy in the quiet sense Of thy poor cell, with small expense Shall lead a life serene and fair, And scorn the anger of the air.
METRUM V.
Happy that first white age! when we Lived by the Earth's mere charity. No soft luxurious diet then Had effeminated men, No other meat, nor wine had any Than the coarse mast, or simple honey, And by the parents' care laid up Cheap berries did the children sup. No pompous wear was in those days Of gummy silks, or scarlet baize, Their beds were on some flow'ry brink, And clear spring-water was their drink. The shady pine in the sun's heat Was their cool and known retreat, For then 'twas not cut down, but stood The youth and glory of the wood. The daring sailor with his slaves Then had not cut the swelling waves, Nor for desire of foreign store Seen any but his native shore. No stirring drum had scarr'd that age, Nor the shrill trumpet's active rage, No wounds by bitter hatred made With warm blood soil'd the shining blade; For how could hostile madness arm An age of love, to public harm? When common justice none withstood, Nor sought rewards for spilling blood. O that at length our age would raise Into the temper of those days! But--worse than Aetna's fires!--debate And avarice inflame our State. Alas! who was it that first found Gold, hid of purpose under ground, That sought our pearls, and div'd to find Such precious perils for mankind!
METRUM VII.
He that thirsts for glory's prize, Thinking that the top of all, Let him view th' expansed skies, And the earth's contracted ball; 'Twill shame him then: the name he wan Fills not the short walk of one man.
2.
O why vainly strive you then To shake off the bands of Fate, Though Fame through the world of men Should in all tongues your names relate, And with proud titles swell that story: The dark grave scorns your brightest glory.
3.
There with nobles beggars sway, And kings with commons share one dust. What news of Brutus at this day, Or Fabricius the just? Some rude verse, cut in stone, or lead, Keeps up the names, but they are dead.
4.
So shall you one day--past reprieve-- Lie--perhaps--without a name. But if dead you think to live By this air of human fame, Know, when Time stops that posthume breath, You must endure a second death.
METRUM VIII.
That the world in constant force Varies her concordant course; That seeds jarring hot and cold Do the breed perpetual hold; That in his golden coach the sun Brings the rosy day still on; That the moon sways all those lights Which Hesper ushers to dark nights; That alternate tides be found The sea's ambitious waves to bound, Lest o'er the wide earth without end Their fluid empire should extend; All this frame of things that be, Love which rules heaven, land, and sea, Chains, keeps, orders as we see. This, if the reins he once cast by, All things that now by turns comply Would fall to discord, and this frame Which now by social faith they tame, And comely orders, in that fight And jar of things would perish quite. This in a holy league of peace Keeps king and people with increase; And in the sacred nuptial bands Ties up chaste hearts with willing hands; And this keeps firm without all doubt Friends by his bright instinct found out. O happy nation then were you, If love, which doth all things subdue, That rules the spacious heav'n, and brings Plenty and peace upon his wings, Might rule you too! and without guile Settle once more this floating isle!
CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. IV. ODE XXVIII.
Almighty Spirit! Thou that by Set turns and changes from Thy high And glorious throne dost here below Rule all, and all things dost foreknow! Can those blind plots we here discuss Please Thee, as Thy wise counsels us? When Thou Thy blessings here doth strow, And pour on earth, we flock and flow, With joyous strife and eager care, Struggling which shall have the best share In Thy rich gifts, just as we see Children about nuts disagree. Some that a crown have got and foil'd Break it; another sees it spoil'd Ere it is gotten. Thus the world Is all to piecemeals cut, and hurl'd By factious hands. It is a ball Which Fate and force divide 'twixt all The sons of men. But, O good God! While these for dust fight, and a clod, Grant that poor I may smile, and be At rest and perfect peace with Thee!
CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. II. ODE VII.
It would less vex distressed man If Fortune in the same pace ran To ruin him, as he did rise. But highest States fall in a trice; No great success held ever long; A restless fate afflicts the throng Of kings and commons, and less days Serve to destroy them than to raise. Good luck smiles once an age, but bad Makes kingdoms in a minute sad, And ev'ry hour of life we drive, Hath o'er us a prerogative. Then leave--by wild impatience driv'n, And rash resents--to rail at heav'n; Leave an unmanly, weak complaint That death and fate have no restraint. In the same hour that gave thee breath, Thou hadst ordain'd thy hour of death, But he lives most who here will buy, With a few tears, eternity.
CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. III. ODE XXII.
Let not thy youth and false delights Cheat thee of life; those heady flights But waste thy time, which posts away Like winds unseen, and swift as they. Beauty is but mere paint, whose dye With Time's breath will dissolve and fly; 'Tis wax, 'tis water, 'tis a glass, It melts, breaks, and away doth pass. 'Tis like a rose which in the dawn The air with gentle breath doth fawn And whisper to, but in the hours Of night is sullied with smart showers. Life spent is wish'd for but in vain, Nor can past years come back again. Happy the man, who in this vale Redeems his time, shutting out all Thoughts of the world, whose longing eyes Are ever pilgrims in the skies, That views his bright home, and desires To shine amongst those glorious fires!
CASIMIRUS, LYRIC[ORUM] LIB. III. ODE XXIII.
'Tis not rich furniture and gems, With cedar roofs and ancient stems, Nor yet a plenteous, lasting flood Of gold, that makes man truly good. Leave to inquire in what fair fields A river runs which much gold yields; Virtue alone is the rich prize Can purchase stars, and buy the skies. Let others build with adamant, Or pillars of carv'd marble plant, Which rude and rough sometimes did dwell Far under earth, and near to hell. But richer much--from death releas'd-- Shines in the fresh groves of the East The ph[oe]nix, or those fish that dwell With silver'd scales in Hiddekel. Let others with rare, various pearls Their garments dress, and in forc'd curls Bind up their locks, look big and high, And shine in robes of scarlet dye. But in my thoughts more glorious far Those native stars and speckles are Which birds wear, or the spots which we In leopards dispersed see. The harmless sheep with her warm fleece Clothes man, but who his dark heart sees Shall find a wolf or fox within, That kills the castor for his skin. Virtue alone, and nought else can A diff'rence make 'twixt beasts and man; And on her wings above the spheres To the true light his spirit bears.
CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. IV. ODE XV.
Nothing on earth, nothing at all Can be exempted from the thrall Of peevish weariness! The sun, Which our forefathers judg'd to run Clear and unspotted, in our days Is tax'd with sullen eclips'd rays. Whatever in the glorious sky Man sees, his rash audacious eye Dares censure it, and in mere spite At distance will condemn the light. The wholesome mornings, whose beams clear Those hills our fathers walk'd on here, We fancy not; nor the moon's light Which through their windows shin'd at night We change the air each year, and scorn Those seats in which we first were born. Some nice, affected wand'rers love Belgia's mild winters, others remove, For want of health and honesty, To summer it in Italy; But to no end; the disease still Sticks to his lord, and kindly will To Venice in a barge repair, Or coach it to Vienna's air; And then--too late with home content-- They leave this wilful banishment. But he, whose constancy makes sure His mind and mansion, lives secure From such vain tasks, can dine and sup Where his old parents bred him up. Content--no doubt!--most times doth dwell In country shades, or to some cell Confines itself; and can alone Make simple straw a royal throne.
CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. IV. ODE XIII.
If weeping eyes could wash away Those evils they mourn for night and day, Then gladly I to cure my fears With my best jewels would buy tears. But as dew feeds the growing corn, So crosses that are grown forlorn Increase with grief, tears make tears' way, And cares kept up keep cares in pay. That wretch whom Fortune finds to fear, And melting still into a tear, She strikes more boldly, but a face Silent and dry doth her amaze. Then leave thy tears, and tedious tale Of what thou dost misfortunes call. What thou by weeping think'st to ease, Doth by that passion but increase; Hard things to soft will never yield, 'Tis the dry eye that wins the field; A noble patience quells the spite Of Fortune, and disarms her quite.
THE PRAISE OF A RELIGIOUS LIFE BY MATHIAS CASIMIRUS. [EPODON ODE III.] IN ANSWER TO THAT ODE OF HORACE, BEATUS ILLE QUI PROCUL NEGOTIIS, &c.
Flaccus, not so! that worldly he Whom in the country's shade we see Ploughing his own fields, seldom can Be justly styl'd the blessed man. That title only fits a saint, Whose free thoughts, far above restraint And weighty cares, can gladly part With house and lands, and leave the smart, Litigious troubles and loud strife Of this world for a better life. He fears no cold nor heat to blast His corn, for his accounts are cast; He sues no man, nor stands in awe Of the devouring courts of law; But all his time he spends in tears For the sins of his youthful years; Or having tasted those rich joys Of a conscience without noise, Sits in some fair shade, and doth give To his wild thoughts rules how to live. He in the evening, when on high The stars shine in the silent sky, Beholds th' eternal flames with mirth, And globes of light more large than Earth; Then weeps for joy, and through his tears Looks on the fire-enamell'd spheres, Where with his Saviour he would be Lifted above mortality. Meanwhile the golden stars do set, And the slow pilgrim leave all wet With his own tears, which flow so fast They make his sleeps light, and soon past. By this, the sun o'er night deceas'd Breaks in fresh blushes from the East, When, mindful of his former falls, With strong cries to his God he calls, And with such deep-drawn sighs doth move That He turns anger into love. In the calm Spring, when the Earth bears, And feeds on April's breath and tears, His eyes, accustom'd to the skies, Find here fresh objects, and like spies Or busy bees, search the soft flow'rs, Contemplate the green fields and bow'rs, Where he in veils and shades doth see The back parts of the Deity. Then sadly sighing says, "O! how These flow'rs with hasty, stretch'd heads grow And strive for heav'n, but rooted here Lament the distance with a tear! The honeysuckles clad in white, The rose in red, point to the light; And the lilies, hollow and bleak, Look as if they would something speak; They sigh at night to each soft gale, And at the day-spring weep it all. Shall I then only--wretched I!-- Oppress'd with earth, on earth still lie?" Thus speaks he to the neighbour trees, And many sad soliloquies To springs and fountains doth impart, Seeking God with a longing heart. But if to ease his busy breast He thinks of home, and taking rest, A rural cot and common fare Are all his cordials against care. There at the door of his low cell, Under some shade, or near some well Where the cool poplar grows, his plate Of common earth without more state Expect their lord. Salt in a shell, Green cheese, thin beer, draughts that will tell No tales, a hospitable cup, With some fresh berries, do make up His healthful feast; nor doth he wish For the fat carp, or a rare dish Of Lucrine oysters; the swift quist Or pigeon sometimes--if he list-- With the slow goose that loves the stream, Fresh, various salads, and the bean By curious palates never sought, And, to close with, some cheap unbought Dish for digestion, are the most And choicest dainties he can boast. Thus feasted, to the flow'ry groves Or pleasant rivers he removes, Where near some fair oak, hung with mast, He shuns the South's infectious blast. On shady banks sometimes he lies, Sometimes the open current tries, Where with his line and feather'd fly He sports, and takes the scaly fry. Meanwhile each hollow wood and hill Doth ring with lowings long and shrill, And shady lakes with rivers deep Echo the bleating of the sheep; The blackbird with the pleasant thrush And nightingale in ev'ry bush Choice music give, and shepherds play Unto their flock some loving lay! The thirsty reapers, in thick throngs, Return home from the field with songs, And the carts, laden with ripe corn, Come groaning to the well-stor'd barn. Nor pass we by, as the least good, A peaceful, loving neighbourhood, Whose honest wit, and chaste discourse Make none--by hearing it--the worse, But innocent and merry, may Help--without sin--to spend the day. Could now the tyrant usurer, Who plots to be a purchaser Of his poor neighbour's seat, but taste These true delights, O! with what haste And hatred of his ways, would he Renounce his Jewish cruelty, And those curs'd sums, which poor men borrow On use to-day, remit to-morrow!
AD FLUVIUM ISCAM.
Isca parens florum, placido qui spumeus ore Lambis lapillos aureos; Qui maestos hyacinthos, et picti [Greek: anthea] tophi Mulces susurris humidis; Dumque novas pergunt menses consumere lunas C[oe]lumque mortales terit, Accumulas cum sole dies, aevumque per omne Fidelis induras latex; O quis inaccessos et quali murmure lucos Mutumque solaris nemus! Per te discerpti credo Thracis ire querelas Plectrumque divini senis.
VENERABILI VIRO PRAECEPTORI SUO OLIM ET SEMPER COLENDISSIMO MAGISTRO MATHAEO HERBERT.
Quod vixi, Mathaee, dedit pater, haec tamen olim Vita fluat, nec erit fas meminisse datam. Ultra curasti solers, perituraque mecum Nomina post cineres das resonare meos. Divide discipulum: brevis haec et lubrica nostri Pars vertat patri, posthuma vita tibi.
PRAESTANTISSIMO VIRO THOMAE POELLO IN SUUM DE ELEMENTIS OPTICAE LIBELLUM.[56]
Vivaces oculorum ignes et lumina dia Fixit in angusto maximus orbe Deus; Ille explorantes radios dedit, et vaga lustra In quibus intuitus lexque, modusque latent. Hos tacitos jactus, lususque, volubilis orbis Pingis in exiguo, magne[57] Poelle, libro, Excursusque situsque ut Lynceus opticus, edis, Quotque modis fallunt, quotque adhibenda fides. Aemula Naturae manus! et mens conscia c[oe]li. Ilia videre dedit, vestra videre docet.
FOOTNOTES:
[56] The version in _Elementa Opticae_ has _Eximio viro, et amicorum longe optimo, T. P. in hunc suum de Elementis Opticae libellum_.
[57] _El. Opt._ has _docte_.
AD ECHUM.
O quae frondosae per am[oe]na cubilia silvae Nympha volas, lucoque loquax spatiaris in alto, Annosi numen nemoris, saltusque verendi Effatum, cui sola placent postrema relatus! Te per Narcissi morientis verba, precesque Per pueri lassatam animam, et conamina vitae Ultima, palantisque precor suspiria linguae. Da quo secretae haec incaedua devia silvae, Anfractusque loci dubios, et lustra repandam. Sic tibi perpetua--meritoque--haec regna juventa Luxurient, dabiturque tuis, sine fine, viretis Intactas lunae lachrymas, et lambere rorem Virgineum, c[oe]lique animas haurire tepentis. Nec cedant aevo stellis, sed lucida semper Et satiata sacro aeterni medicamine veris Ostendant longe vegetos, ut sidera, vultus! Sic spiret muscata comas, et cinnama passim! Diffundat levis umbra, in funere qualia spargit Ph[oe]nicis rogus aut Pancheae nubila flammae!
THALIA REDIVIVA.
1678.
TO THE MOST HONOURABLE AND TRULY NOBLE HENRY, LORD MARQUIS AND EARL OF WORCESTER, &c.
My Lord,
Though dedications are now become a kind of tyranny over the peace and repose of great men; yet I have confidence I shall so manage the present address as to entertain your lordship without much disturbance; and because my purposes are governed by deep respect and veneration, I hope to find your Lordship more facile and accessible. And I am already absolved from a great part of that fulsome and designing guilt, being sufficiently removed from the causes of it: for I consider, my Lord, that you are already so well known to the world in your several characters and advantages of honour--it was yours by traduction, and the adjunct of your nativity; you were swaddled and rocked in't, bred up and grew in't, to your now wonderful height and eminence--that for me under pretence of the inscription, to give you the heraldry of your family, or to carry your person through the famed topics of mind, body, or estate, were all one as to persuade the world that fire and light were very bright bodies, or that the luminaries themselves had glory. In point of protection I beg to fall in with the common wont, and to be satisfied by the reasonableness of the thing, and abundant worthy precedents; and although I should have secret prophecy and assurance that the ensuing verse would live eternally, yet would I, as I now do, humbly crave it might be fortified with your patronage; for so the sextile aspects and influences are watched for, and applied to the actions of life, thereby to make the scheme and good auguries of the birth pass into Fate, and a success infallible.
My Lord, by a happy obliging intercession, and your own consequent indulgence, I have now recourse to your Lordship, hoping I shall not much displease by putting these twin poets into your hands. The minion and vertical planet of the Roman lustre and bravery, was never better pleased than when he had a whole constellation about him: not his finishing five several wars to the promoting of his own interest, nor particularly the prodigious success at Actium where he held in chase the wealth, beauty and prowess of the East; not the triumphs and absolute dominions which followed: all this gave him not half that serene pride and satisfaction of spirit as when he retired himself to umpire the different excellencies of his insipid friends, and to distribute laurels among his poetic heroes. If now upon the authority of this and several such examples, I had the ability and opportunity of drawing the value and strange worth of a poet, and withal of applying some of the lineaments to the following pieces, I should then do myself a real service, and atone in a great measure for the present insolence. But best of all will it serve my defence and interest, to appeal to your Lordship's own conceptions and image of genuine verse; with which so just, so regular original, if these copies shall hold proportion and resemblance, then am I advanced very far in your Lordship's pardon: the rest will entirely be supplied me by your Lordship's goodness, and my own awful zeal of being, my Lord,
Your Lordship's most obedient, most humbly devoted servant,
J. W.
TO THE READER.
The Nation of Poets above all Writers has ever challenged perpetuity of name, or as they please by their charter of liberty to call it, Immortality. Nor has the World much disputed their claim, either easily resigning a patrimony in itself not very substantial; or, it may be, out of despair to control the authority of inspiration and oracle. Howsoever the price as now quarrelled for among the poets themselves is no such rich bargain: it is only a vanishing interest in the lees and dregs of Time, in the rear of those Fathers and Worthies in the art, who if they know anything of the heats and fury of their successors, must extremely pity them.
I am to assure, that the Author has no portion of that airy happiness to lose, by any injury or unkindness which may be done to his Verse: his reputation is better built in the sentiment of several judicious persons, who know him very well able to give himself a lasting monument, by undertaking any argument of note in the whole circle of learning.
But even these his Diversions have been valuable with the matchless Orinda; and since they deserved her esteem and commendations, who so thinks them not worth the publishing, will put himself in the opposite scale, where his own arrogance will blow him up.
I. W.
TO MR. HENRY VAUGHAN THE SILURIST: UPON THESE AND HIS FORMER POEMS.[58]
Had I ador'd the multitude, and thence Got an antipathy to wit and sense, And hugg'd that fate, in hope the world would grant 'Twas good affection to be ignorant;[59] Yet the least ray of thy bright fancy seen, I had converted, or excuseless been. For each birth of thy Muse to after-times Shall expiate for all this Age's crimes. First shines thy Amoret, twice crown'd by thee, Once by thy love, next by thy poetry; Where thou the best of unions dost dispense, Truth cloth'd in wit, and Love in innocence; So that the muddy lover may learn here, No fountains can be sweet that are not clear. There Juvenal, by thee reviv'd, declares How flat man's joys are, and how mean his cares; And wisely doth upbraid[60] the world, that they Should such a value for their ruin pay. But when thy sacred Muse diverts her quil The landscape to design of Sion's hill,[61] As nothing else was worthy her, or thee, So we admire almost t' idolatry. What savage breast would not be rapt to find Such jewels in such cabinets enshrin'd? Thou fill'd with joys--too great to see or count-- Descend'st from thence, like Moses from the Mount, And with a candid, yet unquestion'd awe Restor'st the Golden Age, when Verse was Law. Instructing us, thou so secur'st[62] thy fame, That nothing can disturb it but my name: Nay, I have hopes that standing so near thine 'Twill lose its dross, and by degrees refine. Live! till the disabused world consent All truths of use, of strength or ornament, Are with such harmony by thee display'd As the whole world was first by number made, And from the charming rigour thy Muse brings Learn, there's no pleasure but in serious things!
Orinda.
FOOTNOTES:
[58] 1664-1667 have To _Mr. Henry Vaughan, Silurist, on his Poems_.
[59] So 1664-1667. _Thalia Rediviva_ has _the ignorant_.
[60] 1664 has _generally upbraids_; 1667, _generously upbraids_
[61] 1664-1667 have _Leon's hill_.
[62] 1664 has _thou who securest_.
UPON THE INGENIOUS POEMS OF HIS LEARNED FRIEND, MR. HENRY VAUGHAN, THE SILURIST.
Fairly design'd! to charm our civil rage With verse, and plant bays in an iron age! But hath steel'd Mars so ductible a soul, That love and poesy may it control? Yes! brave Tyrtaeus, as we read of old, The Grecian armies as he pleas'd could mould; They march'd to his high numbers, and did fight With that instinct and rage, which he did write. When he fell lower, they would straight retreat, Grow soft and calm, and temper their bold heat. Such magic is in Virtue! See here a young Tyrtaeus too, whose sweet persuasive song Can lead our spirits any way, and move To all adventures, either war or love. Then veil the bright Etesia, that choice she, Lest Mars--Timander's friend--his rival be. So fair a nymph, dress'd by a Muse so neat, Might warm the North, and thaw the frozen Gete.
Tho. Powell, D.D.
TO THE INGENIOUS AUTHOR OF THALIA REDIVIVA.
ODE I.
Where reverend bards of old have sate And sung the pleasant interludes of Fate, Thou takest the hereditary shade Which Nature's homely art had made, And thence thou giv'st thy Muse her swing, and she Advances to the galaxy; There with the sparkling Cowley she above Does hand in hand in graceful measures move. We grovelling mortals gaze below, And long in vain to know Her wondrous paths, her wondrous flight: In vain, alas! we grope,[63] In vain we use our earthly telescope, We're blinded by an intermedial night. Thine eagle-Muse can only face The fiery coursers in their race, While with unequal paces we do try To bear her train aloft, and keep her company.
II.
The loud harmonious Mantuan Once charm'd the world; and here's the Uscan swan In his declining years does chime, And challenges the last remains of Time. Ages run on, and soon give o'er, They have their graves as well as we; Time swallows all that's past and more, Yet time is swallow'd in eternity: This is the only profits poets see. There thy triumphant Muse shall ride in state And lead in chains devouring Fate; Claudian's bright Ph[oe]nix she shall bring Thee an immortal offering; Nor shall my humble tributary Muse Her homage and attendance too refuse; She thrusts herself among the crowd, And joining in th' applause she strives to clap aloud
III.
Tell me no more that Nature is severe, Thou great philosopher! Lo! she has laid her vast exchequer here. Tell me no more that she has sent So much already, she is spent; Here is a vast America behind Which none but the great Silurist could find. Nature her last edition was the best, As big, as rich as all the rest: So will we here admit Another world of wit. No rude or savage fancy here shall stay The travelling reader in his way, But every coast is clear: go where he will, Virtue's the road Thalia leads him still. Long may she live, and wreath thy sacred head For this her happy resurrection from the dead.
N. W., Jes. Coll., Oxon.
FOOTNOTES:
[63] The original has _flight In raine; alas! we grope_.
TO MY WORTHY FRIEND, MR. HENRY VAUGHAN THE SILURIST.
See what thou wert! by what Platonic round Art thou in thy first youth and glories found? Or from thy Muse does this retrieve accrue? Does she which once inspir'd thee, now renew, Bringing thee back those golden years which Time Smooth'd to thy lays, and polish'd with thy rhyme? Nor is't to thee alone she does convey Such happy change, but bountiful as day, On whatsoever reader she does shine, She makes him like thee, and for ever thine.
And first thy manual op'ning gives to see Eclipse and suff'rings burnish majesty, Where thou so artfully the draught hast made That we best read the lustre in the shade, And find our sov'reign greater in that shroud: So lightning dazzles from its night and cloud, So the First Light Himself has for His throne Blackness, and darkness his pavilion.
Who can refuse thee company, or stay, By thy next charming summons forc'd away, If that be force which we can so resent, That only in its joys 'tis violent: Upward thy Eagle bears us ere aware, Till above storms and all tempestuous air We radiant worlds with their bright people meet, Leaving this little all beneath our feet. But now the pleasure is too great to tell, Nor have we other bus'ness than to dwell, As on the hallow'd Mount th' Apostles meant To build and fix their glorious banishment. Yet we must know and find thy skilful vein Shall gently bear us to our homes again; By which descent thy former flight's impli'd To be thy ecstacy and not thy pride. And here how well does the wise Muse demean Herself, and fit her song to ev'ry scene! Riot of courts, the bloody wreaths of war, Cheats of the mart, and clamours of the bar, Nay, life itself thou dost so well express, Its hollow joys, and real emptiness, That Dorian minstrel never did excite, Or raise for dying so much appetite.
Nor does thy other softer magic move Us less thy fam'd Etesia to love; Where such a character thou giv'st, that shame Nor envy dare approach the vestal dame: So at bright prime ideas none repine, They safely in th' eternal poet shine.
Gladly th' Assyrian ph[oe]nix now resumes From thee this last reprisal of his plumes; He seems another more miraculous thing, Brighter of crest, and stronger of his wing, Proof against Fate in spicy urns to come, Immortal past all risk of martyrdom.
Nor be concern'd, nor fancy thou art rude T' adventure from thy Cambrian solitude: Best from those lofty cliffs thy Muse does spring Upwards, and boldly spreads her cherub wing.
So when the sage of Memphis would converse With boding skies, and th' azure universe, He climbs his starry pyramid, and thence Freely sucks clean prophetic influence, And all serene, and rapt and gay he pries Through the ethereal volume's mysteries, Loth to come down, or ever to know more The Nile's luxurious, but dull foggy shore.
I. W., A.M. Oxon.
CHOICE POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
TO HIS LEARNED FRIEND AND LOYAL FELLOW-PRISONER, THOMAS POWEL OF CANT[REFF], DOCTOR OF DIVINITY.
If sever'd friends by sympathy can join, And absent kings be honour'd in their coin; May they do both, who are so curb'd? but we Whom no such abstracts torture, that can see And pay each other a full self-return, May laugh, though all such metaphysics burn. 'Tis a kind soul in magnets, that atones Such two hard things as iron are and stones, And in their dumb compliance we learn more Of love, than ever books could speak before. For though attraction hath got all the name, As if that power but from one side came, Which both unites; yet, where there is no sense There is no passion, nor intelligence: And so by consequence we cannot state A commerce, unless both we animate. For senseless things, though ne'er so called upon, Are deaf, and feel no invitation, But such as at the last day shall be shed By the great Lord of life into the dead. 'Tis then no heresy to end the strife With such rare doctrine as gives iron life. For were it otherwise--which cannot be, And do thou judge my bold philosophy-- Then it would follow that if I were dead, Thy love, as now in life, would in that bed Of earth and darkness warm me, and dispense Effectual informing influence. Since then 'tis clear, that friendship is nought else But a joint, kind propension, and excess In none, but such whose equal, easy hearts Comply and meet both in their whole and parts, And when they cannot meet, do not forget To mingle souls, but secretly reflect And some third place their centre make, where they Silently mix, and make an unseen stay: Let me not say--though poets may be bold-- Thou art more hard than steel, than stones more cold, But as the marigold in feasts of dew And early sunbeams, though but thin and few, Unfolds itself, then from the Earth's cold breast Heaves gently, and salutes the hopeful East: So from thy quiet cell, the retir'd throne Of thy fair thoughts, which silently bemoan Our sad distractions, come! and richly dress'd With reverend mirth and manners, check the rest Of loose, loath'd men! Why should I longer be Rack'd 'twixt two evils? I see and cannot see.
THE KING DISGUISED.
_Written about the same time that Mr. John Cleveland wrote his._
A king and no king! Is he gone from us, And stoln alive into his coffin thus? This was to ravish death, and so prevent The rebels' treason and their punishment. He would not have them damn'd, and therefore he Himself deposed his own majesty. Wolves did pursue him, and to fly the ill He wanders--royal saint!--in sheepskin still. Poor, obscure shelter, if that shelter be Obscure, which harbours so much majesty. Hence, profane eyes! the mystery's so deep, Like Esdras books, the vulgar must not see't. Thou flying roll, written with tears and woe, Not for thy royal self, but for thy foe! Thy grief is prophecy, and doth portend, Like sad Ezekiel's sighs, the rebel's end. Thy robes forc'd off, like Samuel's when rent, Do figure out another's punishment. Nor grieve thou hast put off thyself awhile, To serve as prophet to this sinful isle; These are our days of Purim, which oppress The Church, and force thee to the wilderness. But all these clouds cannot thy light confine, The sun in storms and after them, will shine. Thy day of life cannot be yet complete, 'Tis early, sure, thy shadow is so great. But I am vex'd, that we at all can guess This change, and trust great Charles to such a dress. When he was first obscur'd with this coarse thing, He grac'd plebeians, but profan'd the king: Like some fair church, which zeal to charcoals burn'd, Or his own court now to an alehouse turn'd. But full as well may we blame night, and chide His wisdom, Who doth light with darkness hide, Or deny curtains to thy royal bed, As take this sacred cov'ring from thy head. Secrets of State are points we must not know; This vizard is thy privy-council now, Thou royal riddle, and in everything The true white prince, our hieroglyphic king! Ride safely in His shade, Who gives thee light, And can with blindness thy pursuers smite. O! may they wander all from thee as far As they from peace are, and thyself from war! And wheresoe'er thou dost design to be With thy--now spotted--spotless majesty, Be sure to look no sanctuary there, Nor hope for safety in a temple, where Buyers and sellers trade: O! strengthen not With too much trust the treason of a Scot!
THE EAGLE.
Tis madness sure; and I am in the fit, To dare an eagle with my unfledg'd wit. For what did ever Rome or Athens sing In all their lines, as lofty as his wing? He that an eagle's powers would rehearse Should with his plumes first feather all his verse. I know not, when into thee I would pry, Which to admire, thy wing first, or thine eye; Or whether Nature at thy birth design'd More of her fire for thee, or of her wind. When thou in the clear heights and upmost air Dost face the sun and his dispersed hair, Ev'n from that distance thou the sea dost spy And sporting in its deep, wide lap, the fry. Not the least minnow there but thou canst see: Whole seas are narrow spectacles to thee. Nor is this element of water here Below of all thy miracles the sphere. If poets ought may add unto thy store, Thou hast in heav'n of wonders many more. For when just Jove to earth his thunder bends, And from that bright, eternal fortress sends His louder volleys, straight this bird doth fly To Aetna, where his magazine doth lie, And in his active talons brings him more Of ammunition, and recruits his store. Nor is't a low or easy lift. He soars 'Bove wind and fire; gets to the moon, and pores With scorn upon her duller face; for she Gives him but shadows and obscurity. Here much displeas'd, that anything like night Should meet him in his proud and lofty flight, That such dull tinctures should advance so far, And rival in the glories of a star, Resolv'd he is a nobler course to try, And measures out his voyage with his eye. Then with such fury he begins his flight, As if his wings contended with his sight. Leaving the moon, whose humble light doth trade With spots, and deals most in the dark and shade, To the day's royal planet he doth pass With daring eyes, and makes the sun his glass. Here doth he plume and dress himself, the beams Rushing upon him like so many streams; While with direct looks he doth entertain The thronging flames, and shoots them back again. And thus from star to star he doth repair, And wantons in that pure and peaceful air. Sometimes he frights the starry swan, and now Orion's fearful hare, and then the crow. Then with the orb itself he moves, to see Which is more swift, th' intelligence or he. Thus with his wings his body he hath brought Where man can travel only in a thought. I will not seek, rare bird, what spirit 'tis That mounts thee thus; I'll be content with this, To think that Nature made thee to express Our soul's bold heights in a material dress.
TO MR. M. L. UPON HIS REDUCTION OF THE PSALMS INTO METHOD.
Sir,
You have oblig'd the patriarch, and 'tis known He is your debtor now, though for his own. What he wrote is a medley: we can see Confusion trespass on his piety. Misfortunes did not only strike at him, They charged further, and oppress'd his pen; For he wrote as his crosses came, and went By no safe rule, but by his punishment. His quill mov'd by the rod; his wits and he Did know no method, but their misery. You brought his Psalms now into tune. Nay all His measures thus are more than musical; Your method and his airs are justly sweet, And--what's church music right--like anthems meet. You did so much in this, that I believe He gave the matter, you the form did give. And yet I wish you were not understood, For now 'tis a misfortune to be good! Why then you'll say, all I would have, is this: None must be good, because the time's amiss. For since wise Nature did ordain the night, I would not have the sun to give us light. Whereas this doth not take the use away, But urgeth the necessity of day. Proceed to make your pious work as free, Stop not your seasonable charity. Good works despis'd or censur'd by bad times Should be sent out to aggravate their crimes. They should first share and then reject our store, Abuse our good, to make their guilt the more. 'Tis war strikes at our sins, but it must be A persecution wounds our piety.
TO THE PIOUS MEMORY OF C[HARLES] W[ALBEOFFE] ESQUIRE, WHO FINISHED HIS COURSE HERE, AND MADE HIS ENTRANCE INTO IMMORTALITY UPON THE 13 OF SEPTEMBER, IN THE YEAR OF REDEMPTION, 1653.
Now that the public sorrow doth subside, And those slight tears which custom springs are dried; While all the rich and outside mourners pass Home from thy dust, to empty their own glass; I--who the throng affect not, nor their state-- Steal to thy grave undress'd, to meditate On our sad loss, accompanied by none, An obscure mourner that would weep alone. So, when the world's great luminary sets, Some scarce known star into the zenith gets, Twinkles and curls, a weak but willing spark, As glow-worms here do glitter in the dark. Yet, since the dimmest flame that kindles there An humble love unto the light doth bear, And true devotion from an hermit's cell Will Heav'n's kind King as soon reach and as well, As that which from rich shrines and altars flies, Led by ascending incense to the skies: 'Tis no malicious rudeness, if the might Of love makes dark things wait upon the bright, And from my sad retirements calls me forth, The just recorder of thy death and worth. Long didst thou live--if length be measured by The tedious reign of our calamity-- And counter to all storms and changes still Kept'st the same temper, and the selfsame will. Though trials came as duly as the day, And in such mists, that none could see his way, Yet thee I found still virtuous, and saw The sun give clouds, and Charles give both the law. When private interest did all hearts bend, And wild dissents the public peace did rend, Thou, neither won, nor worn, wert still thyself, Not aw'd by force, nor basely brib'd with pelf. What the insuperable stream of times Did dash thee with, those suff'rings were, not crimes. So the bright sun eclipses bears; and we, Because then passive, blame him not. Should he For enforc'd shades, and the moon's ruder veil Much nearer us than him, be judg'd to fail? Who traduce thee, so err. As poisons by Correction are made antidotes, so thy Just soul did turn ev'n hurtful things to good, Us'd bad laws so they drew not tears, nor blood. Heav'n was thy aim, and thy great, rare design Was not to lord it here, but there to shine. Earth nothing had, could tempt thee. All that e'er Thou pray'd'st for here was peace, and glory there. For though thy course in Time's long progress fell On a sad age, when war and open'd hell Licens'd all arts and sects, and made it free To thrive by fraud, and blood, and blasphemy: Yet thou thy just inheritance didst by No sacrilege, nor pillage multiply. No rapine swell'd thy state, no bribes, nor fees, Our new oppressors' best annuities. Such clean pure hands hadst thou! and for thy heart, Man's secret region, and his noblest part; Since I was privy to't, and had the key Of that fair room, where thy bright spirit lay, I must affirm it did as much surpass Most I have known, as the clear sky doth glass. Constant and kind, and plain, and meek, and mild It was, and with no new conceits defil'd. Busy, but sacred thoughts--like bees--did still Within it stir, and strive unto that hill Where redeem'd spirits, evermore alive, After their work is done, ascend and hive. No outward tumults reach'd this inward place: 'Twas holy ground, where peace, and love, and grace Kept house, where the immortal restless life, In a most dutiful and pious strife, Like a fix'd watch, mov'd all in order still; The will serv'd God, and ev'ry sense the will! In this safe state Death met thee, Death, which is But a kind usher of the good to bliss, Therefore to weep because thy course is run, Or droop like flow'rs, which lately lost the sun, I cannot yield, since Faith will not permit A tenure got by conquest to the pit. For the great Victor fought for us, and He Counts ev'ry dust that is laid up of thee. Besides, Death now grows decrepit, and hath Spent the most part both of its time and wrath. That thick, black night, which mankind fear'd, is torn By troops of stars, and the bright day's forlorn. The next glad news--most glad unto the just!-- Will be the trumpet's summons from the dust. Then I'll not grieve; nay, more, I'll not allow My soul should think thee absent from me now. Some bid their dead "Good night!" but I will say "Good morrow to dear Charles!" for it is day.
IN ZODIACUM MARCELLI PALINGENII.
It is perform'd! and thy great name doth run Through ev'ry sign, an everlasting sun, Not planet-like, but fixed; and we can see Thy genius stand still in his apogee. For how canst thou an aux eternal miss, Where ev'ry house thy exaltation is? Here's no ecliptic threatens thee with night, Although the wiser few take in thy light. They are not at that glorious pitch, to be In a conjunction with divinity. Could we partake some oblique ray of thine, Salute thee in a sextile, or a trine, It were enough; but thou art flown so high, The telescope is turn'd a common eye. Had the grave Chaldee liv'd thy book to see, He had known no astrology but thee; Nay, more--for I believe't--thou shouldst have been Tutor to all his planets, and to him. Thus, whosoever reads thee, his charm'd sense Proves captive to thy zodiac's influence. Were it not foul to err so, I should look Here for the Rabbins' universal book: And say, their fancies did but dream of thee, When first they doted on that mystery. Each line's a _via lactea_, where we may See thy fair steps, and tread that happy way Thy genius led thee in. Still I will be Lodg'd in some sign, some face, and some degree Of thy bright zodiac; thus I'll teach my sense To move by that, and thee th' intelligence.
TO LYSIMACHUS, THE AUTHOR BEING WITH HIM IN LONDON.
Saw not, Lysimachus, last day, when we Took the pure air in its simplicity, And our own too, how the trimm'd gallants went Cringing, and pass'd each step some compliment? What strange, fantastic diagrams they drew With legs and arms; the like we never knew In Euclid, Archimede, nor all of those Whose learned lines are neither verse nor prose? What store of lace was there? how did the gold Run in rich traces, but withal made bold To measure the proud things, and so deride The fops with that, which was part of their pride? How did they point at us, and boldly call, As if we had been vassals to them all, Their poor men-mules, sent thither by hard fate To yoke ourselves for their sedans, and state? Of all ambitions, this was not the least, Whose drift translated man into a beast. What blind discourse the heroes did afford! This lady was their friend, and such a lord. How much of blood was in it! one could tell He came from Bevis and his Arundel; Morglay was yet with him, and he could do More feats with it than his old grandsire too. Wonders my friend at this? what is't to thee, Who canst produce a nobler pedigree, And in mere truth affirm thy soul of kin To some bright star, or to a cherubin? When these in their profuse moods spend the night, With the same sins they drive away the light. Thy learned thrift puts her to use, while she Reveals her fiery volume unto thee; And looking on the separated skies, And their clear lamps, with careful thoughts and eyes, Thou break'st through Nature's upmost rooms and bars To heav'n, and there conversest with the stars. Well fare such harmless, happy nights, that be Obscur'd with nothing but their privacy, And missing but the false world's glories do Miss all those vices which attend them too! Fret not to hear their ill-got, ill-giv'n praise; Thy darkest nights outshine their brightest days.
ON SIR THOMAS BODLEY'S LIBRARY, THE AUTHOR BEING THEN IN OXFORD.
Boast not, proud Golgotha, that thou canst show The ruins of mankind, and let us know How frail a thing is flesh! though we see there But empty skulls, the Rabbins still live here. They are not dead, but full of blood again; I mean the sense, and ev'ry line a vein. Triumph not o'er their dust; whoever looks In here, shall find their brains all in their books. Nor is't old Palestine alone survives; Athens lives here, more than in Plutarch's Lives. The stones, which sometimes danc'd unto the strain Of Orpheus, here do lodge his Muse again. And you, the Roman spirits, learning has Made your lives longer than your empire was. Caesar had perish'd from the world of men Had not his sword been rescu'd by his pen. Rare Seneca, how lasting is thy breath! Though Nero did, thou couldst not bleed to death. How dull the expert tyrant was, to look For that in thee which lived in thy book! Afflictions turn our blood to ink, and we Commence, when writing, our eternity. Lucilius here I can behold, and see His counsels and his life proceed from thee. But what care I to whom thy Letters be? I change the name, and thou dost write to me; And in this age, as sad almost as thine, Thy stately Consolations are mine. Poor earth! what though thy viler dust enrolls The frail enclosures of these mighty souls? Their graves are all upon record; not one But is as bright and open as the sun. And though some part of them obscurely fell, And perish'd in an unknown, private cell, Yet in their books they found a glorious way To live unto the Resurrection-day! Most noble Bodley! we are bound to thee For no small part of our eternity. Thy treasure was not spent on horse and hound, Nor that new mode which doth old states confound. Thy legacies another way did go: Nor were they left to those would spend them so. Thy safe, discreet expense on us did flow; Walsam is in the midst of Oxford now. Th' hast made us all thine heirs; whatever we Hereafter write, 'tis thy posterity. This is thy monument! here thou shalt stand Till the times fail in their last grain of sand. And wheresoe'er thy silent relics keep, This tomb will never let thine honour sleep, Still we shall think upon thee; all our fame Meets here to speak one letter of thy name. Thou canst not die! here thou art more than safe, Where every book is thy large epitaph.
THE IMPORTUNATE FORTUNE, WRITTEN TO DR. POWEL, OF CANTRE[FF].
For shame desist, why shouldst thou seek my fall? It cannot make thee more monarchical. Leave off; thy empire is already built; To ruin me were to enlarge thy guilt, Not thy prerogative. I am not he Must be the measure to thy victory. The Fates hatch more for thee; 'twere a disgrace If in thy annals I should make a clause. The future ages will disclose such men Shall be the glory, and the end of them. Nor do I flatter. So long as there be Descents in Nature, or posterity, There must be fortunes; whether they be good, As swimming in thy tide and plenteous flood, Or stuck fast in the shallow ebb, when we Miss to deserve thy gorgeous charity. Thus, Fortune, the great world thy period is; Nature and you are parallels in this. But thou wilt urge me still. Away, be gone, I am resolv'd, I will not be undone. I scorn thy trash, and thee: nay, more, I do Despise myself, because thy subject too. Name me heir to thy malice, and I'll be; Thy hate's the best inheritance for me. I care not for your wondrous hat and purse, Make me a Fortunatus with thy curse. How careful of myself then should I be, Were I neglected by the world and thee? Why dost thou tempt me with thy dirty ore, And with thy riches make my soul so poor? My fancy's pris'ner to thy gold and thee, Thy favours rob me of my liberty. I'll to my speculations. Is't best To be confin'd to some dark, narrow chest And idolize thy stamps, when I may be Lord of all Nature, and not slave to thee? The world's my palace. I'll contemplate there, And make my progress into ev'ry sphere. The chambers of the air are mine; those three Well-furnish'd stories my possession be. I hold them all _in capite_, and stand Propp'd by my fancy there. I scorn your land, It lies so far below me. Here I see How all the sacred stars do circle me. Thou to the great giv'st rich food, and I do Want no content; I feed on manna too. They have their tapers; I gaze without fear On flying lamps and flaming comets here. Their wanton flesh in silks and purple shrouds, And fancy wraps me in a robe of clouds. There some delicious beauty they may woo, And I have Nature for my mistress too. But these are mean; the archetype I can see, And humbly touch the hem of majesty. The power of my soul is such, I can Expire, and so analyze all that's man. First my dull clay I give unto the Earth, Our common mother, which gives all their birth. My growing faculties I send as soon, Whence first I took them, to the humid moon. All subtleties and every cunning art To witty Mercury I do impart. Those fond affections which made me a slave To handsome faces, Venus, thou shalt have. And saucy pride--if there was aught in me-- Sol, I return it to thy royalty. My daring rashness and presumptions be To Mars himself an equal legacy. My ill-plac'd avarice--sure 'tis but small-- Jove, to thy flames I do bequeath it all. And my false magic, which I did believe, And mystic lies, to Saturn I do give. My dark imaginations rest you there, This is your grave and superstitious sphere. Get up, my disentangled soul, thy fire Is now refin'd, and nothing left to tire Or clog thy wings. Now my auspicious flight Hath brought me to the empyrean light. I am a sep'rate essence, and can see The emanations of the Deity, And how they pass the seraphims, and run Through ev'ry throne and domination. So rushing through the guard the sacred streams Flow to the neighbour stars, and in their beams --A glorious cataract!--descend to earth, And give impressions unto ev'ry birth. With angels now and spirits I do dwell, And here it is my nature to do well. Thus, though my body you confined see, My boundless thoughts have their ubiquity. And shall I then forsake the stars and signs, To dote upon thy dark and cursed mines? Unhappy, sad exchange! what, must I buy Guiana with the loss of all the sky? Intelligences shall I leave, and be Familiar only with mortality? Must I know nought, but thy exchequer? shall My purse and fancy be symmetrical? Are there no objects left but one? must we In gaining that, lose our variety? Fortune, this is the reason I refuse Thy wealth; it puts my books all out of use. 'Tis poverty that makes me wise; my mind Is big with speculation, when I find My purse as Randolph's was, and I confess There is no blessing to an emptiness! The species of all things to me resort And dwell then in my breast, as in their port. Then leave to court me with thy hated store; Thou giv'st me that, to rob my soul of more.
TO I. MORGAN OF WHITEHALL, ESQ., UPON HIS SUDDEN JOURNEY AND SUCCEEDING MARRIAGE.
So from our cold, rude world, which all things tires, To his warm Indies the bright sun retires. Where, in those provinces of gold and spice, Perfumes his progress, pleasures fill his eyes, Which, so refresh'd, in their return convey Fire into rubies, into crystals, day; And prove, that light in kinder climates can Work more on senseless stones, than here on man. But you, like one ordain'd to shine, take in Both light and heat, can love and wisdom spin Into one thread, and with that firmly tie The same bright blessings on posterity: Which so entail'd, like jewels of the crown, Shall, with your name, descend still to your own. When I am dead, and malice or neglect The worst they can upon my dust reflect; --For poets yet have left no names, but such As men have envied or despis'd too much-- You above both--and what state more excels, Since a just fame like health, nor wants, nor swells?-- To after ages shall remain entire, And shine still spotless, like your planet's fire. No single lustre neither; the access Of your fair love will yours adorn and bless; Till, from that bright conjunction, men may view A constellation circling her and you. So two sweet rose-buds from their virgin-beds First peep and blush, then kiss and couple heads, Till yearly blessings so increase their store, Those two can number two-and-twenty more, And the fair bank--by Heav'n's free bounty crown'd-- With choice of sweets and beauties doth abound, Till Time, which families, like flowers, far spreads, Gives them for garlands to the best of heads. Then late posterity--if chance, or some Weak echo, almost quite expir'd and dumb, Shall tell them who the poet was, and how He liv'd and lov'd thee too, which thou dost know-- Straight to my grave will flowers and spices bring, With lights and hymns, and for an offering There vow this truth, that love--which in old times Was censur'd blind, and will contract worse crimes If hearts mend not--did for thy sake in me Find both his eyes, and all foretell and see.
FIDA; OR, THE COUNTRY BEAUTY. TO LYSIMACHUS.
Now I have seen her; and by Cupid The young Medusa made me stupid! A face, that hath no lovers slain, Wants forces, and is near disdain. For every fop will freely peep At majesty that is asleep. But she--fair tyrant!--hates to be Gaz'd on with such impunity. Whose prudent rigour bravely bears And scorns the trick of whining tears, Or sighs, those false alarms of grief, Which kill not, but afford relief. Nor is it thy hard fate to be Alone in this calamity, Since I who came but to be gone, Am plagu'd for merely looking on. Mark from her forehead to her foot What charming sweets are there to do't. A head adorn'd with all those glories That wit hath shadow'd in quaint stories, Or pencil with rich colours drew In imitation of the true. Her hair, laid out in curious sets And twists, doth show like silken nets, Where--since he play'd at hit or miss-- The god of Love her pris'ner is, And fluttering with his skittish wings Puts all her locks in curls and rings. Like twinkling stars her eyes invite All gazers to so sweet a light, But then two arched clouds of brown Stand o'er, and guard them with a frown. Beneath these rays of her bright eyes, Beauty's rich bed of blushes lies. Blushes which lightning-like come on, Yet stay not to be gaz'd upon; But leave the lilies of her skin As fair as ever, and run in, Like swift salutes--which dull paint scorn-- 'Twixt a white noon and crimson morn. What coral can her lips resemble? For hers are warm, swell, melt, and tremble: And if you dare contend for red, This is alive, the other dead. Her equal teeth--above, below-- All of a size and smoothness grow. Where under close restraint and awe --Which is the maiden tyrant law-- Like a cag'd, sullen linnet, dwells Her tongue, the key to potent spells. Her skin, like heav'n when calm and bright, Shows a rich azure under white, With touch more soft than heart supposes, And breath as sweet as new-blown roses. Betwixt this headland and the main, Which is a rich and flow'ry plain, Lies her fair neck, so fine and slender, That gently how you please 'twill bend her. This leads you to her heart, which ta'en, Pants under sheets of whitest lawn, And at the first seems much distress'd, But, nobly treated, lies at rest. Here, like two balls of new fall'n snow, Her breasts, Love's native pillows, grow; And out of each a rose-bud peeps, Which infant Beauty sucking sleeps. Say now, my Stoic, that mak'st sour faces At all the beauties and the graces, That criest, unclean! though known thyself To ev'ry coarse and dirty shelf: Couldst thou but see a piece like this, A piece so full of sweets and bliss, In shape so rare, in soul so rich, Wouldst thou not swear she is a witch?
FIDA FORSAKEN.
Fool that I was! to believe blood, While swoll'n with greatness, then most good; And the false thing, forgetful man, To trust more than our true god, Pan. Such swellings to a dropsy tend, And meanest things such great ones bend.
Then live deceived! and, Fida, by That life destroy fidelity. For living wrongs will make some wise, While Death chokes loudest injuries: And screens the faulty, making blinds To hide the most unworthy minds.
And yet do what thou can'st to hide, A bad tree's fruit will be describ'd. For that foul guilt which first took place In his dark heart, now damns his face; And makes those eyes, where life should dwell, Look like the pits of Death and Hell.
Blood, whose rich purple shows and seals Their faith in Moors, in him reveals A blackness at the heart, and is Turn'd ink to write his faithlessness. Only his lips with blood look red, As if asham'd of what they fed.
Then, since he wears in a dark skin The shadows of his hell within, Expose him no more to the light, But thine own epitaph thus write "Here burst, and dead and unregarded Lies Fida's heart! O well rewarded!"
TO THE EDITOR OF THE MATCHLESS ORINDA.
Long since great wits have left the stage Unto the drollers of the age, And noble numbers with good sense Are, like good works, grown an offence. While much of verse--worse than old story-- Speaks but Jack-Pudding or John-Dory. Such trash-admirers made us poor, And pies turn'd poets out of door; For the nice spirit of rich verse Which scorns absurd and low commerce, Although a flame from heav'n, if shed On rooks or daws warms no such head. Or else the poet, like bad priest, Is seldom good, but when oppress'd; And wit as well as piety Doth thrive best in adversity For since the thunder left our air Their laurels look not half so fair. However 'tis, 'twere worse than rude, Not to profess our gratitude And debts to thee, who at so low An ebb dost make us thus to flow; And when we did a famine fear, Hast bless'd us with a fruitful year. So while the world his absence mourns, The glorious sun at last returns, And with his kind and vital looks Warms the cold earth and frozen brooks, Puts drowsy Nature into play, And rids impediments away, Till flow'rs and fruits and spices through Her pregnant lap get up and grow. But if among those sweet things, we A miracle like that could see Which Nature brought but once to pass, A Muse, such as Orinda was, Ph[oe]bus himself won by these charms Would give her up into thy arms; And recondemn'd to kiss his tree, Yield the young goddess unto thee.
UPON SUDDEN NEWS OF THE MUCH LAMENTED DEATH OF JUDGE TREVERS.
Learning and Law, your day is done, And your work too; you may be gone Trever, that lov'd you, hence is fled: And Right, which long lay sick, is dead. Trever! whose rare and envied part Was both a wise and winning heart, Whose sweet civilities could move Tartars and Goths to noblest love. Bold vice and blindness now dare act, And--like the grey groat--pass, though crack'd; While those sage lips lie dumb and cold, Whose words are well-weigh'd and tried gold. O, how much to discreet desires Differs pure light from foolish fires! But nasty dregs outlast the wine, And after sunset glow-worms shine.
TO ETESIA (FOR TIMANDER); THE FIRST SIGHT.
What smiling star in that fair night Which gave you birth gave me this sight, And with a kind aspect tho' keen Made me the subject, you the queen? That sparkling planet is got now Into your eyes, and shines below, Where nearer force and more acute It doth dispense, without dispute; For I who yesterday did know Love's fire no more than doth cool snow, With one bright look am since undone, Yet must adore and seek my sun. Before I walk'd free as the wind And if but stay'd--like it--unkind; I could like daring eagles gaze And not be blinded by a face; For what I saw till I saw thee, Was only not deformity. Such shapes appear--compar'd with thine-- In arras, or a tavern-sign, And do but mind me to explore A fairer piece, that is in store. So some hang ivy to their wine, To signify there is a vine. Those princely flow'rs--by no storms vex'd-- Which smile one day, and droop the next, The gallant tulip and the rose, Emblems which some use to disclose Bodied ideas--their weak grace Is mere imposture to thy face. For Nature in all things, but thee, Did practise only sophistry; Or else she made them to express How she could vary in her dress: But thou wert form'd, that we might see Perfection, not variety. Have you observ'd how the day-star Sparkles and smiles and shines from far; Then to the gazer doth convey A silent but a piercing ray? So wounds my love, but that her eyes Are in effects the better skies. A brisk bright agent from them streams Arm'd with no arrows, but their beams, And with such stillness smites our hearts, No noise betrays him, nor his darts. He, working on my easy soul, Did soon persuade, and then control; And now he flies--and I conspire-- Through all my blood with wings of fire, And when I would--which will be never-- With cold despair allay the fever, The spiteful thing Etesia names, And that new-fuels all my flames.
THE CHARACTER, TO ETESIA.
Go catch the ph[oe]nix, and then bring A quill drawn for me from his wing. Give me a maiden beauty's blood, A pure, rich crimson, without mud, In whose sweet blushes that may live, Which a dull verse can never give. Now for an untouch'd, spotless white, For blackest things on paper write, Etesia, at thine own expense Give me the robes of innocence. Could we but see a spring to run Pure milk, as sometimes springs have done, And in the snow-white streams it sheds, Carnations wash their bloody heads, While ev'ry eddy that came down Did--as thou dost--both smile and frown. Such objects, and so fresh would be But dull resemblances of thee. Thou art the dark world's morning-star, Seen only, and seen but from far; Where, like astronomers, we gaze Upon the glories of thy face, But no acquaintance more can have, Though all our lives we watch and crave. Thou art a world thyself alone, Yea, three great worlds refin'd to one; Which shows all those, and in thine eyes The shining East and Paradise. Thy soul--a spark of the first fire-- Is like the sun, the world's desire; And with a nobler influence Works upon all, that claim to sense; But in summers hath no fever, And in frosts is cheerful ever. As flow'rs besides their curious dress Rich odours have, and sweetnesses, Which tacitly infuse desire, And ev'n oblige us to admire: Such, and so full of innocence Are all the charms, thou dost dispense; And like fair Nature without arts At once they seize, and please our hearts. O, thou art such, that I could be A lover to idolatry! I could, and should from heav'n stray, But that thy life shows mine the way, And leave a while the Deity To serve His image here in thee.
TO ETESIA LOOKING FROM HER CASEMENT AT THE FULL MOON.
See you that beauteous queen, which no age tames? Her train is azure, set with golden flames: My brighter fair, fix on the East your eyes, And view that bed of clouds, whence she doth rise. Above all others in that one short hour Which most concern'd me,[64] she had greatest pow'r. This made my fortunes humorous as wind, But fix'd affections to my constant mind. She fed me with the tears of stars, and thence I suck'd in sorrows with their influence. To some in smiles, and store of light she broke, To me in sad eclipses still she spoke. She bent me with the motion of her sphere, And made me feel what first I did but fear. But when I came to age, and had o'ergrown Her rules, and saw my freedom was my own, I did reply unto the laws of Fate, And made my reason my great advocate: I labour'd to inherit my just right; But then--O, hear Etesia!--lest I might Redeem myself, my unkind starry mother Took my poor heart, and gave it to another.
FOOTNOTES:
[64] The original has _concerned in_.
TO ETESIA PARTED FROM HIM, AND LOOKING BACK.
O, subtle Love! thy peace is war, It wounds and kills without a scar, It works unknown to any sense, Like the decrees of Providence, And with strange silence shoots me through, The fire of Love doth fell like snow. Hath she no quiver, but my heart? Must all her arrows hit that part? Beauties like heav'n their gifts should deal Not to destroy us, but to heal. Strange art of Love! that can make sound, And yet exasperates the wound: That look she lent to ease my heart, Hath pierc'd it, and improv'd the smart.
IN ETESIAM LACHRYMANTEM.
O Dulcis Iuctus, risuque potentior omni! Quem decorant lachrimis sidera tanta suis. Quam tacitae spirant aurae! vultusque nitentes Contristant veneres, collachrimantque suae! Ornat gutta genas, oculisque simillima gemma: Et tepido vivas irrigat imbre rosas. Dicite Chaldaei! quae me fortuna fatigat, [C?D?]um formosa dies et sine nube perit[65]?
FOOTNOTES:
[65] The original has _peruit_.
TO ETESIA GOING BEYOND SEA.
Go, if you must! but stay--and know And mind before you go, my vow. To ev'ry thing, but heav'n and you, With all my heart I bid adieu! Now to those happy shades I'll go Where first I saw my beauteous foe! I'll seek each silent path where we Did walk; and where you sat with me I'll sit again, and never rest Till I can find some flow'r you press'd. That near my dying heart I'll keep, And when it wants dew I will weep: Sadly I will repeat past joys And words, which you did sometimes voice I'll listen to the woods, and hear The echo answer for you there. But famish'd with long absence I, Like infants left, at last shall cry, And tears--as they do milk--will sup Until you come, and take me up.
ETESIA ABSENT.
Love, the world's life! what a sad death Thy absence is! to lose our breath At once and die, is but to live Enlarg'd, without the scant reprieve Of pulse and air; whose dull returns And narrow circles the soul mourns. But to be dead alive, and still To wish, but never have our will, To be possess'd, and yet to miss, To wed a true but absent bliss, Are ling'ring tortures, and their smart Dissects and racks and grinds the heart! As soul and body in that state Which unto us, seems separate, Cannot be said to live, until Reunion; which days fulfil And slow-pac'd seasons; so in vain Through hours and minutes--Time's long train-- I look for thee, and from thy sight, As from my soul, for life and light. For till thine eyes shine so on me, Mine are fast-clos'd and will not see.
TRANSLATIONS.
SOME ODES OF THE EXCELLENT AND KNOWING [ANICIUS MANLIUS] SEVERINUS [BOETHIUS], ENGLISHED.
[DE CONSOLATIONE] LIB. III. METRUM XII.
Happy is he, that with fix'd eyes The fountain of all goodness spies! Happy is he that can break through Those bonds which tie him here below! The Thracian poet long ago, Kind Orpheus, full of tears and woe, Did for his lov'd Eurydice In such sad numbers mourn, that he Made the trees run in to his moan, And streams stand still to hear him groan. The does came fearless in one throng With lions to his mournful song, And charmed by the harmonious sound, The hare stay'd by the quiet hound. But when Love height'n'd by despair And deep reflections on his fair Had swell'd his heart, and made it rise And run in tears out at his eyes, And those sweet airs, which did appease Wild beasts, could give their lord no ease; Then, vex'd that so much grief and love Mov'd not at all the gods above, With desperate thoughts and bold intent, Towards the shades below he went; For thither his fair love was fled, And he must have her from the dead. There in such lines, as did well suit With sad airs and a lover's lute, And in the richest language dress'd That could be thought on or express'd, Did he complain; whatever grief Or art or love--which is the chief, And all ennobles--could lay out, In well-tun'd woes he dealt about. And humbly bowing to the prince Of ghosts begg'd some intelligence Of his Eurydice, and where His beauteous saint resided there. Then to his lute's instructed groans He sigh'd out new melodious moans; And in a melting, charming strain Begg'd his dear love to life again. The music flowing through the shade And darkness did with ease invade The silent and attentive ghosts; And Cerberus, which guards those coasts With his loud barkings, overcome By the sweet notes, was now struck dumb. The Furies, us'd to rave and howl And prosecute each guilty soul, Had lost their rage, and in a deep Transport, did most profusely weep. Ixion's wheel stopp'd, and the curs'd Tantalus, almost kill'd with thirst, Though the streams now did make no haste, But wait'd for him, none would taste. That vulture, which fed still upon Tityus his liver, now was gone To feed on air, and would not stay, Though almost famish'd, with her prey. Won with these wonders, their fierce prince At last cried out, "We yield! and since Thy merits claim no less, take hence Thy consort for thy recompense: But Orpheus, to this law we bind Our grant: you must not look behind, Nor of your fair love have one sight, Till out of our dominions quite." Alas! what laws can lovers awe? Love is itself the greatest law! Or who can such hard bondage brook To be in love, and not to look? Poor Orpheus almost in the light Lost his dear love for one short sight; And by those eyes, which Love did guide, What he most lov'd unkindly died! This tale of Orpheus and his love Was meant for you, who ever move Upwards, and tend into that light, Which is not seen by mortal sight. For if, while you strive to ascend, You droop, and towards Earth once bend Your seduc'd eyes, down you will fall Ev'n while you look, and forfeit all.
LIB. III. METRUM II.
What fix'd affections, and lov'd laws --Which are the hid, magnetic cause-- Wise Nature governs with, and by What fast, inviolable tie The whole creation to her ends For ever provident she bends: All this I purpose to rehearse In the sweet airs of solemn verse. Although the Libyan lions should Be bound in chains of purest gold, And duly fed were taught to know Their keeper's voice, and fear his blow: Yet, if they chance to taste of blood, Their rage which slept, stirr'd by that food In furious roaring will awake, And fiercely for their freedom make. No chains nor bars their fury brooks, But with enrag'd and bloody looks They will break through, and dull'd with fear Their keeper all to pieces tear. The bird, which on the wood's tall boughs Sings sweetly, if you cage or house, And out of kindest care should think To give her honey with her drink, And get her store of pleasant meat, Ev'n such as she delights to eat: Yet, if from her close prison she The shady groves doth chance to see, Straightway she loathes her pleasant food, And with sad looks longs for the wood. The wood, the wood alone she loves! And towards it she looks and moves: And in sweet notes--though distant from-- Sings to her first and happy home! That plant, which of itself doth grow Upwards, if forc'd, will downwards bow; But give it freedom, and it will Get up, and grow erectly still. The sun, which by his prone descent Seems westward in the evening bent, Doth nightly by an unseen way Haste to the East, and bring up day. Thus all things long for their first state, And gladly to't return, though late. Nor is there here to anything A course allow'd, but in a ring: Which, where it first began, must end, And to that point directly tend.
LIB. IV. METRUM VI.
Who would unclouded see the laws Of the supreme, eternal Cause, Let him with careful thoughts and eyes Observe the high and spacious skies. There in one league of love the stars Keep their old peace, and show our wars. The sun, though flaming still and hot, The cold, pale moon annoyeth not. Arcturus with his sons--though they See other stars go a far way, And out of sight--yet still are found Near the North Pole, their noted bound. Bright Hesper--at set times--delights To usher in the dusky nights: And in the East again attends To warn us, when the day ascends. So alternate Love supplies Eternal courses still, and vies Mutual kindness; that no jars Nor discord can disturb the stars.
The same sweet concord here below Makes the fierce elements to flow And circle without quarrel still, Though temper'd diversely; thus will The hot assist the cold; the dry Is a friend to humidity: And by the law of kindness they The like relief to them repay. The fire, which active is and bright, Tends upward, and from thence gives light. The earth allows it all that space And makes choice of the lower place; For things of weight haste to the centre, A fall to them is no adventure.
From these kind turns and circulation Seasons proceed, and generation. This makes the Spring to yield us flow'rs, And melts the clouds to gentle show'rs. The Summer thus matures all seeds And ripens both the corn and weeds. This brings on Autumn, which recruits Our old, spent store, with new fresh fruits. And the cold Winter's blust'ring season Hath snow and storms for the same reason. This temper and wise mixture breed And bring forth ev'ry living seed. And when their strength and substance spend --For while they live, they drive and tend Still to a change--it takes them hence And shifts their dress! and to our sense Their course is over, as their birth: And hid from us they turn to earth.
But all this while the Prince of life Sits without loss, or change, or strife: Holding the reins, by which all move --And those His wisdom, power, love And justice are--and still what He The first life bids, that needs must be, And live on for a time; that done He calls it back, merely to shun The mischief, which His creature might Run into by a further flight. For if this dear and tender sense Of His preventing providence, Did not restrain and call things back, Both heav'n and earth would go to rack, And from their great Preserver part; As blood let out forsakes the heart And perisheth, but what returns With fresh and brighter spirits burns.
This is the cause why ev'ry living Creature affects an endless being. A grain of this bright love each thing Had giv'n at first by their great King; And still they creep--drawn on by this-- And look back towards their first bliss. For, otherwise, it is most sure, Nothing that liveth could endure: Unless its love turn'd retrograde Sought that First Life, which all things made.
LIB. IV. METRUM III.
If old tradition hath not fail'd, Ulysses, when from Troy he sail'd Was by a tempest forc'd to land Where beauteous Circe did command. Circe, the daughter of the sun, Which had with charms and herbs undone Many poor strangers, and could then Turn into beasts the bravest men. Such magic in her potions lay, That whosoever passed that way And drank, his shape was quickly lost. Some into swine she turn'd, but most To lions arm'd with teeth and claws; Others like wolves with open jaws Did howl; but some--more savage--took The tiger's dreadful shape and look. But wise Ulysses, by the aid Of Hermes, had to him convey'd A flow'r, whose virtue did suppress The force of charms, and their success: While his mates drank so deep, that they Were turn'd to swine, which fed all day On mast, and human food had left, Of shape and voice at once bereft; Only the mind--above all charms-- Unchang'd did mourn those monstrous harms. O, worthless herbs, and weaker arts, To change their limbs, but not their hearts! Man's life and vigour keep within, Lodg'd in the centre, not the skin. Those piercing charms and poisons, which His inward parts taint and bewitch, More fatal are, than such, which can Outwardly only spoil the man. Those change his shape and make it foul, But these deform and kill his soul.
LIB. III. METRUM VI.
All sorts of men, that live on Earth, Have one beginning and one birth. For all things there is one Father, Who lays out all, and all doth gather. He the warm sun with rays adorns, And fills with brightness the moon's horns. The azur'd heav'ns with stars He burnish'd, And the round world with creatures furnish'd. But men--made to inherit all-- His own sons He was pleas'd to call, And that they might be so indeed, He gave them souls of divine seed. A noble offspring surely then Without distinction are all men. O, why so vainly do some boast Their birth and blood and a great host Of ancestors, whose coats and crests Are some rav'nous birds or beasts! If extraction they look for, And God, the great Progenitor, No man, though of the meanest state, Is base, or can degenerate, Unless, to vice and lewdness bent, He leaves and taints his true descent.
THE OLD MAN OF VERONA OUT OF CLAUDIAN, [EPIGRAMMA II.]
_Felix, qui propriis avum transegit in arvis, Una domus puerum, &c._
Most happy man! who in his own sweet fields Spent all his time; to whom one cottage yields In age and youth a lodging; who, grown old, Walks with his staff on the same soil and mould Where he did creep an infant, and can tell Many fair years spent in one quiet cell! No toils of fate made him from home far known, Nor foreign waters drank, driv'n from his own. No loss by sea, no wild land's wasteful war Vex'd him, not the brib'd coil of gowns at bar. Exempt from cares, in cities never seen, The fresh field-air he loves, and rural green. The year's set turns by fruits, not consuls, knows; Autumn by apples, May by blossom'd boughs. Within one hedge his sun doth set and rise, The world's wide day his short demesnes comprise; Where he observes some known, concrescent twig Now grown an oak, and old, like him, and big. Verona he doth for the Indies take, And as the Red Sea counts Benacus' Lake. Yet are his limbs and strength untir'd, and he, A lusty grandsire, three descents doth see. Travel and sail who will, search sea or shore; This man hath liv'd, and that hath wander'd more.
THE SPHERE OF ARCHIMEDES OUT OF CLAUDIAN, [EPIGRAMMA XVIII.]
_Jupiter in parvo cum cerneret aethera vitro_ _Risit, et ad superos, &c._
When Jove a heav'n of small glass did behold, He smil'd, and to the gods these words he told. "Comes then the power of man's art to this? In a frail orb my work new acted is, The poles' decrees, the fate of things, God's laws, Down by his art old Archimedes draws. Spirits inclos'd the sev'ral stars attend, And orderly the living work they bend. A feigned Zodiac measures out the year, Ev'ry new month a false moon doth appear. And now bold industry is proud, it can Wheel round its world, and rule the stars by man. Why at Salmoneus' thunder do I stand? Nature is rivall'd by a single hand."
THE PH[OE]NIX OUT OF CLAUDIAN, [IDYLL I.]
_Oceani summo circumfluus aequore lucus_ _Trans Indos, Eurumque viret, &c._
A grove there grows, round with the sea confin'd, Beyond the Indies and the Eastern wind, Which, as the sun breaks forth in his first beam, Salutes his steeds, and hears him whip his team; When with his dewy coach the Eastern bay Crackles, whence blusheth the approaching Day, And blasted with his burnish'd wheels the Night In a pale dress doth vanish from the light. This the bless'd Ph[oe]nix' empire is, here he, Alone exempted from mortality, Enjoys a land, where no diseases reign, And ne'er afflicted like our world with pain. A bird most equal to the gods, which vies For length of life and durance with the skies, And with renew'd limbs tires ev'ry age His appetite he never doth assuage With common food. Nor doth he use to drink When thirsty on some river's muddy brink. A purer, vital heat shot from the sun Doth nourish him, and airy sweets that come From Tethys lap he tasteth at his need; On such abstracted diet doth he feed. A secret light there streams from both his eyes, A fiery hue about his cheeks doth rise. His crest grows up into a glorious star Giv'n t' adorn his head, and shines so far, That piercing through the bosom of the night It rends the darkness with a gladsome light. His thighs like Tyrian scarlet, and his wings --More swift than winds are--have sky-colour'd rings Flow'ry and rich: and round about enroll'd Their utmost borders glister all with gold. He's not conceiv'd, nor springs he from the Earth, But is himself the parent, and the birth. None him begets; his fruitful death reprieves Old age, and by his funerals he lives. For when the tedious Summer's gone about A thousand times: so many Winters out, So many Springs: and May doth still restore Those leaves, which Autumn had blown off before; Then press'd with years his vigour doth decline, Foil'd with the number; as a stately pine Tir'd out with storms bends from the top and height Of Caucasus, and falls with its own weight, Whose part is torn with daily blasts, with rain Part is consum'd, and part with age again; So now his eyes grown dusky, fail to see Far off, and drops of colder rheums there be Fall'n slow and dreggy from them; such in sight The cloudy moon is, having spent her light. And now his wings, which used to contend With tempests, scarce from the low earth ascend. He knows his time is out! and doth provide New principles of life; herbs he brings dried From the hot hills, and with rich spices frames A pile, shall burn, and hatch him with its flames. On this the weakling sits; salutes the sun With pleasant noise, and prays and begs for some Of his own fire, that quickly may restore The youth and vigour, which he had before. Whom, soon as Ph[oe]bus spies, stopping his reins, He makes a stand and thus allays his pains. O thou that buriest old age in thy grave, And art by seeming funerals to have A new return of life, whose custom 'tis To rise by ruin, and by death to miss Ev'n death itself, a new beginning take, And that thy wither'd body now forsake! Better thyself by this thy change! This said He shakes his locks, and from his golden head Shoots one bright beam, which smites with vital fire The willing bird; to burn is his desire, That he may live again: he's proud in death, And goes in haste to gain a better breath. The spicy heap fir'd with celestial rays Doth burn the aged Ph[oe]nix, when straight stays The chariot of th' amazed moon; the pole Resists the wheeling swift orbs, and the whole Fabric of Nature at a stand remains, Till the old bird a new young being gains. All stop and charge the faithful flames, that they Suffer not Nature's glory to decay. By this time, life which in the ashes lurks Hath fram'd the heart, and taught new blood new works; The whole heap stirs, and ev'ry part assumes Due vigour; th' embers too are turn'd to plumes; The parent in the issue now revives, But young and brisk; the bounds of both these lives, With very little space between the same, Were parted only by the middle flame. To Nilus straight he goes to consecrate His parent's ghost; his mind is to translate His dust to Egypt. Now he hastes away Into a distant land, and doth convey The ashes in a turf. Birds do attend His journey without number, and defend His pious flight, like to a guard; the sky Is clouded with the army, as they fly. Nor is there one of all those thousands dares Affront his leader: they with solemn cares Attend the progress of their youthful king; Not the rude hawk, nor th' eagle that doth bring Arms up to Jove, fight now, lest they displease; The miracle enacts a common peace. So doth the Parthian lead from Tigris' side His barbarous troops, full of a lavish pride In pearls and habit; he adorns his head With royal tires: his steed with gold is led; His robes, for which the scarlet fish is sought, With rare Assyrian needle-work are wrought; And proudly reigning o'er his rascal bands, He raves and triumphs in his large commands. A city of Egypt, famous in all lands For rites, adores the sun; his temple stands There on a hundred pillars by account, Digg'd from the quarries of the Theban mount. Here, as the custom did require--they say-- His happy parent's dust down he doth lay; Then to the image of his lord he bends And to the flames his burden straight commends. Unto the altars thus he destinates His own remains; the light doth gild the gates; Perfumes divine the censers up do send: While th' Indian odour doth itself extend To the Pelusian fens, and filleth all The men it meets with the sweet storm. A gale, To which compar'd nectar itself is vile, Fills the sev'n channels of the misty Nile. O happy bird! sole heir to thy own dust! Death, to whose force all other creatures must Submit, saves thee. Thy ashes make thee rise; 'Tis not thy nature, but thy age that dies. Thou hast seen all! and to the times that run Thou art as great a witness as the sun. Thou saw'st the deluge, when the sea outvied The land, and drown'd the mountains with the tide. What year the straggling Phaeton did fire The world, thou know'st. And no plagues can conspire Against thy life; alone thou dost arise Above mortality; the destinies Spin not thy days out with their fatal clue; They have no law, to which thy life is due.
PIOUS THOUGHTS AND EJACULATIONS.
TO HIS BOOKS.
Bright books! the perspectives to our weak sights, The clear projections of discerning lights, Burning and shining thoughts, man's posthume day, The track of fled souls, and their Milky Way, The dead alive and busy, the still voice Of enlarg'd spirits, kind Heav'n's white decoys! Who lives with you, lives like those knowing flow'rs, Which in commerce with light spend all their hours: Which shut to clouds, and shadows nicely shun, But with glad haste unveil to kiss the sun. Beneath you, all is dark, and a dead night, Which whoso lives in, wants both health and sight. By sucking you, the wise--like bees--do grow Healing and rich, though this they do most slow, Because most choicely; for as great a store Have we of books, as bees of herbs, or more: And the great task, to try, then know, the good. To discern weeds, and judge of wholesome food, Is a rare, scant performance: for man dies Oft ere 'tis done, while the bee feeds and flies. But you were all choice flow'rs, all set and drest By old sage florists, who well knew the best: And I amidst you all am turned a weed! Not wanting knowledge, but for want of heed. Then thank thyself, wild fool, that wouldst not be Content to know--what was too much for thee!
LOOKING BACK.
Fair shining mountains of my pilgrimage And flowery vales, whose flow'rs were stars, The days and nights of my first happy age; An age without distaste and wars! When I by thoughts ascend your sunny heads, And mind those sacred midnight lights By which I walk'd, when curtain'd rooms and beds Confin'd or seal'd up others' sights: O then, how bright, And quick a light Doth brush my heart and scatter night; Chasing that shade, Which my sins made, While I so spring, as if I could not fade! How brave a prospect is a bright back-side! Where flow'rs and palms refresh the eye! And days well spent like the glad East abide, Whose morning-glories cannot die!
THE SHOWER.
Waters above! eternal springs! The dew that silvers the Dove's wings! O welcome, welcome to the sad! Give dry dust drink; drink that makes glad! Many fair ev'nings, many flow'rs Sweeten'd with rich and gentle showers, Have I enjoy'd, and down have run Many a fine and shining sun; But never, till this happy hour, Was blest with such an evening-shower!
DISCIPLINE.
Fair Prince of Light! Light's living Well Who hast the keys of death and Hell! If the mole[66] man despise Thy day, Put chains of darkness in his way. Teach him how deep, how various are The counsels of Thy love and care. When acts of grace and a long peace, Breed but rebellion, and displease, Then give him his own way and will, Where lawless he may run, until His own choice hurts him, and the sting Of his foul sins full sorrows bring. If Heaven and angels, hopes and mirth, Please not the mole so much as earth: Give him his mine to dig, or dwell, And one sad scheme of hideous Hell.
FOOTNOTES:
[66] The original edition has _mule_.
THE ECLIPSE.
Whither, O whither didst thou fly When I did grieve Thine holy eye? When Thou didst mourn to see me lost, And all Thy care and counsels cross'd. O do not grieve, where'er Thou art! Thy grief is an undoing smart, Which doth not only pain, but break My heart, and makes me blush to speak. Thy anger I could kiss, and will; But O Thy grief, Thy grief, doth kill.
AFFLICTION.
O come, and welcome! come, refine! For Moors, if wash'd by Thee, will shine. Man blossoms at Thy touch; and he, When Thou draw'st blood is Thy rose-tree. Crosses make straight his crooked ways, And clouds but cool his dog-star days; Diseases too, when by Thee blest, Are both restoratives and rest. Flow'rs that in sunshines riot still, Die scorch'd and sapless; though storms kill, The fall is fair, e'en to desire, Where in their sweetness all expire. O come, pour on! what calms can be So fair as storms, that appease Thee?
RETIREMENT.
Fresh fields and woods! the Earth's fair face! God's footstool! and man's dwelling-place! I ask not why the first believer Did love to be a country liver? Who, to secure pious content, Did pitch by groves and wells his tent; Where he might view the boundless sky, And all those glorious lights on high, With flying meteors, mists, and show'rs, Subjected hills, trees, meads, and flow'rs, And ev'ry minute bless the King And wise Creator of each thing.
I ask not why he did remove To happy Mamre's holy grove, Leaving the cities of the plain To Lot and his successless train? All various lusts in cities still Are found; they are the thrones of ill, The dismal sinks, where blood is spill'd, Cages with much uncleanness fill'd: But rural shades are the sweet sense Of piety and innocence; They are the meek's calm region, where Angels descend and rule the sphere; Where Heaven lies leiguer, and the Dove Duly as dew comes from above. If Eden be on Earth at all, 'Tis that which we the country call.
THE REVIVAL.
Unfold! unfold! Take in His light, Who makes thy cares more short than night. The joys which with His day-star rise He deals to all but drowsy eyes; And, what the men of this world miss, Some drops and dews of future bliss.
Hark! how His winds have chang'd their note! And with warm whispers call thee out; The frosts are past, the storms are gone, And backward life at last comes on. The lofty groves in express joys Reply unto the turtle's voice; And here in dust and dirt, O here The lilies of His love appear!
THE DAY SPRING.
Early, while yet the dark was gay And gilt with stars, more trim than day, Heav'n's Lily, and the Earth's chaste Rose, The green immortal Branch arose; } And in a solitary place } S. Mark, Bow'd to His Father His blest face. } c. 1, v. 35- If this calm season pleased my Prince, Whose fulness no need could evince, Why should not I, poor silly sheep, His hours, as well as practice, keep? Not that His hand is tied to these, From whom Time holds his transient lease But mornings new creations are, When men, all night sav'd by His care, Are still reviv'd; and well He may Expect them grateful with the day. So for that first draught of His hand, } Which finish'd heav'n, and sea, and land, } Job, c. 38, The sons of God their thanks did bring, } v. 7- And all the morning stars did sing. } Besides, as His part heretofore The firstlings were of all that bore So now each day from all He saves Their soul's first thoughts and fruits He craves. This makes Him daily shed and show'r His graces at this early hour; Which both His care and kindness show, Cheering the good, quickening the slow. As holy friends mourn at delay, And think each minute an hour's stay, So His Divine and loving Dove With longing throes[67] doth heave and move, And soar about us while we sleep; Sometimes quite through that lock doth peep, And shine, but always without fail, Before the slow sun can unveil, In new compassions breaks, like light, And morning-looks, which scatter night. And wilt Thou let Thy creature be, When Thou hast watch'd, asleep to Thee? Why to unwelcome loath'd surprises Dost leave him, having left his vices? Since these, if suffer'd, may again Lead back the living to the slain. O, change this scourge; or, if as yet None less will my transgressions fit, Dissolve, dissolve! Death cannot do What I would not submit unto.
FOOTNOTES:
[67] The original has _throws_.
THE RECOVERY.
I.
Fair vessel of our daily light, whose proud And previous glories gild that blushing cloud; Whose lively fires in swift projections glance From hill to hill, and by refracted chance Burnish some neighbour-rock, or tree, and then Fly off in coy and winged flames again: If thou this day Hold on thy way, Know, I have got a greater light than thine; A light, whose shade and back-parts make thee shine. Then get thee down! then get thee down! I have a Sun now of my own.
II.
Those nicer livers, who without thy rays Stir not abroad, those may thy lustre praise; And wanting light--light, which no wants doth know-- To thee--weak shiner!--like blind Persians bow. But where that Sun, which tramples on thy head, From His own bright eternal eye doth shed One living ray, There thy dead day Is needless, and man to a light made free, Which shows that thou canst neither show nor see. Then get thee down! then get thee down! I have a Sun now of my own.
THE NATIVITY.
Written in the year 1656.
Peace? and to all the world? Sure One, And He the Prince of Peace, hath none! He travels to be born, and then Is born to travel more again. Poor Galilee! thou canst not be The place for His Nativity. His restless mother's call'd away, And not deliver'd till she pay.
A tax? 'tis so still! we can see The Church thrive in her misery, And, like her Head at Beth'lem, rise, When she, oppress'd with troubles, lies. Rise?--should all fall, we cannot be In more extremities than He. Great Type of passions! Come what will, Thy grief exceeds all copies still. Thou cam'st from Heav'n to Earth, that we Might go from Earth to Heav'n with Thee: And though Thou found'st no welcome here, Thou didst provide us mansions there. A stable was Thy Court, and when Men turn'd to beasts, beasts would be men: They were Thy courtiers; others none; And their poor manger was Thy throne. No swaddling silks Thy limbs did fold, Though Thou couldst turn Thy rays to gold. No rockers waited on Thy birth, No cradles stirr'd, nor songs of mirth; But her chaste lap and sacred breast, Which lodg'd Thee first, did give Thee rest.
But stay: what light is that doth stream And drop here in a gilded beam? It is Thy star runs page, and brings Thy tributary Eastern kings. Lord! grant some light to us, that we May with them find the way to Thee! Behold what mists eclipse the day! How dark it is! Shed down one ray, To guide us out of this dark night, And say once more, "Let there be light!"
THE TRUE CHRISTMAS.
So, stick up ivy and the bays, And then restore the heathen ways. Green will remind you of the spring, Though this great day denies the thing; And mortifies the earth, and all But your wild revels, and loose hall. Could you wear flow'rs, and roses strow Blushing upon your breasts' warm snow, That very dress your lightness will Rebuke, and wither at the ill. The brightness of this day we owe Not unto music, masque, nor show, Nor gallant furniture, nor plate, But to the manger's mean estate. His life while here, as well as birth, Was but a check to pomp and mirth; And all man's greatness you may see Condemned by His humility.
Then leave your open house and noise, To welcome Him with holy joys, And the poor shepherds' watchfulness, Whom light and hymns from Heav'n did bless. What you abound with, cast abroad To those that want, and ease your load. Who empties thus, will bring more in; But riot is both loss and sin. Dress finely what comes not in sight, And then you keep your Christmas right.
THE REQUEST.
O thou who didst deny to me This world's ador'd felicity, And ev'ry big imperious lust, Which fools admire in sinful dust, With those fine subtle twists, that tie Their bundles of foul gallantry-- Keep still my weak eyes from the shine Of those gay things which are not Thine! And shut my ears against the noise Of wicked, though applauded, joys! For Thou in any land hast store Of shades and coverts for Thy poor; Where from the busy dust and heat, As well as storms, they may retreat. A rock or bush are downy beds, When Thou art there, crowning their heads With secret blessings, or a tire Made of the Comforter's live fire. And when Thy goodness in the dress Of anger will not seem to bless, Yet dost Thou give them that rich rain, Which, as it drops, clears all again. O what kind visits daily pass 'Twixt Thy great self and such poor grass: With what sweet looks doth Thy love shine On those low violets of Thine, While the tall tulip is accurst, And crowns imperial die with thirst! O give me still those secret meals, Those rare repasts which Thy love deals! Give me that joy, which none can grieve, And which in all griefs doth relieve! This is the portion Thy child begs; Not that of rust, and rags, and dregs.
JORDANIS.
Quid celebras auratam undam, et combusta pyropis Flumina, vel medio quae serit aethra salo? Aeternum refluis si pernoctaret in undis Ph[oe]bus, et incertam sidera suda Tethyn Si colerent, tantae gemmae! nil caerula librem: Sorderet rubro in littore dives Eos. Pactoli mea lympha macras ditabit arenas, Atque universum gutta minuta Tagum. O caram caput! O cincinnos unda beatos Libata! O Domini balnea sancta mei! Quod fortunatum voluit spectare canalem, Hoc erat in laudes area parva tuas. Jordanis in medio perfusus flumine lavit, Divinoque tuas ore beavit aquas. Ah! Solyma infelix rivis obsessa prophanis! Amisit genium porta Bethesda suum. Hic Orientis aquae currunt, et apostata Parphar, Atque Abana immundo turbidus amne fluit, Ethnica te totam cum f[oe]davere fluenta, Mansit Christicola Jordanis unus aqua.
SERVILII FATUM, SIVE VINDICTA DIVINA.
Et sic in cithara, sic in dulcedine vitae Et facti et luctus regnat amarities. Quam subito in fastum extensos atque esseda[68] vultus Ultrici oppressit vilis arena sinu! Si violae, spiransque crocus: si lilium [Greek: aeinon] Non nisi justorum nascitur e cinere: Spinarum, tribulique atque infelicis avenae Quantus in hoc tumulo et qualis acervus erit? Dii superi! damnosa piis sub sidera longum Mansuris stabilem conciliate fidem! Sic olim in c[oe]lum post nimbos clarius ibunt, Supremo occidui tot velut astra die. Quippe ruunt horae, qualisque in corpore vixit, Talis it in tenebras bis moriturus homo.
FOOTNOTES:
[68] The original edition misprints _essera_.
DE SALMONE
_Ad virum optimum, et sibi familiarius notum: D. Thomam Poellum Cantrevensem: S. S. Theologiae Doctorem._
Accipe praerapido salmonem in gurgite captum, Ex imo in summas cum penetrasset aquas, Mentitae culicis quem forma elusit inanis: Picta coloratis plumea musca notis. Dum captat, capitur; vorat inscius, ipse vorandus; Fitque cibi raptor grata rapina mali. Alma quies! miserae merces ditissima vitae, Quam tuto in tacitis hic latuisset aquis! Qui dum spumosi fremitus et murmura rivi Quaeritat, hamato sit cita praeda cibo, Quam grave magnarum specimen dant ludicra rerum? Gurges est mundus: salmo, homo: pluma, dolus.
THE WORLD.
Can any tell me what it is? Can you That wind your thoughts into a clue To guide out others, while yourselves stay in, And hug the sin? I, who so long have in it liv'd, That, if I might, In truth I would not be repriev'd, Have neither sight Nor sense that knows These ebbs and flows: But since of all all may be said, And likeliness doth but upbraid And mock the truth, which still is lost In fine conceits, like streams in a sharp frost; I will not strive, nor the rule break, Which doth give losers leave to speak. Then false and foul world, and unknown Ev'n to thy own, Here I renounce thee, and resign Whatever thou canst say is thine.
Thou art not Truth! for he that tries Shall find thee all deceit and lies, Thou art not Friendship! for in thee 'Tis but the bait of policy; Which like a viper lodg'd in flow'rs, Its venom through that sweetness pours; And when not so, then always 'tis A fading paint, the short-liv'd bliss Of air and humour; out and in, Like colours in a dolphin's skin; But must not live beyond one day, Or convenience; then away. Thou art not Riches! for that trash, Which one age hoards, the next doth wash And so severely sweep away, That few remember where it lay. So rapid streams the wealthy land About them have at their command; And shifting channels here restore, There break down, what they bank'd before. Thou art not Honour! for those gay Feathers will wear and drop away; And princes to some upstart line Gives new ones, that are full as fine. Thou art not Pleasure! for thy rose Upon a thorn doth still repose; Which, if not cropp'd, will quickly shed, But soon as cropp'd, grows dull and dead. Thou art the sand, which fills one glass, And then doth to another pass; And could I put thee to a stay, Thou art but dust! Then go thy way, And leave me clean and bright, though poor; Who stops thee doth but daub his floor; And, swallow-like, when he hath done, To unknown dwellings must be gone! Welcome, pure thoughts, and peaceful hours, Enrich'd with sunshine and with show'rs; Welcome fair hopes, and holy cares, The not to be repented shares Of time and business; the sure road Unto my last and lov'd abode! O supreme Bliss! The Circle, Centre, and Abyss Of blessings, never let me miss Nor leave that path which leads to Thee, Who art alone all things to me! I hear, I see, all the long day The noise and pomp of the broad way. I note their coarse and proud approaches, Their silks, perfumes, and glittering coaches. But in the narrow way to Thee I observe only poverty, And despis'd things; and all along The ragged, mean, and humble throng Are still on foot; and as they go They sigh, and say, their Lord went so. Give me my staff then, as it stood When green and growing in the wood; --Those stones, which for the altar serv'd, Might not be smooth'd, nor finely carv'd-- With this poor stick I'll pass the ford, As Jacob did; and Thy dear word, As Thou hast dress'd it, not as wit And deprav'd tastes have poison'd it, Shall in the passage be my meat, And none else will Thy servant eat. Thus, thus, and in no other sort, Will I set forth, though laugh'd at for't; And leaving the wise world their way, Go through, though judg'd to go astray.
THE BEE.
From fruitful beds and flow'ry borders, Parcell'd to wasteful ranks and orders, Where State grasps more than plain Truth needs, And wholesome herbs are starv'd by weeds, To the wild woods I will be gone, And the coarse meals of great Saint John.
When truth and piety are miss'd Both in the rulers and the priest; When pity is not cold, but dead, And the rich eat the poor like bread; While factious heads with open coil And force, first make, then share, the spoil; To Horeb then Elias goes, And in the desert grows the rose. Hail crystal fountains and fresh shades, Where no proud look invades, No busy worldling hunts away The sad retirer all the day! Hail, happy, harmless solitude! Our sanctuary from the rude And scornful world; the calm recess Of faith, and hope, and holiness! Here something still like Eden looks; Honey in woods, juleps in brooks, And flow'rs, whose rich, unrifled sweets With a chaste kiss the cool dew greets, When the toils of the day are done, And the tir'd world sets with the sun. Here flying winds and flowing wells Are the wise, watchful hermit's bells; Their busy murmurs all the night To praise or prayer do invite, And with an awful sound arrest, And piously employ his breast.
When in the East the dawn doth blush, Here cool, fresh spirits the air brush; Herbs straight get up, flow'rs peep and spread, Trees whisper praise, and bow the head: Birds, from the shades of night releas'd, Look round about, then quit the nest, And with united gladness sing The glory of the morning's King. The hermit hears, and with meek voice Offers his own up, and their joys: Then prays that all the world may be Bless'd with as sweet an unity.
If sudden storms the day invade, They flock about him to the shade: Where wisely they expect the end, Giving the tempest time to spend; And hard by shelters on some bough Hilarion's servant, the sage crow.
O purer years of light and grace! The diff'rence is great as the space 'Twixt you and us, who blindly run After false fires, and leave the sun. Is not fair Nature of herself Much richer than dull paint or pelf? And are not streams at the spring-head More sweet than in carv'd stone or lead? But fancy and some artist's tools Frame a religion for fools.
The truth, which once was plainly taught, With thorns and briars now is fraught. Some part is with bold fables spotted, Some by strange comments wildly blotted; And Discord--old Corruption's crest-- With blood and blame hath stain'd the rest. So snow, which in its first descents A whiteness, like pure Heav'n, presents, When touch'd by man is quickly soil'd, And after, trodden down and spoil'd.
O lead me, where I may be free In truth and spirit to serve Thee! Where undisturb'd I may converse With Thy great Self; and there rehearse Thy gifts with thanks; and from Thy store, Who art all blessings, beg much more. Give me the wisdom of the bee, And her unwearied industry! That from the wild gourds of these days, I may extract health, and Thy praise, Who canst turn darkness into light, And in my weakness show Thy might.
Suffer me not in any want To seek refreshment from a plant Thou didst not set; since all must be Pluck'd up, whose growth is not from Thee. 'Tis not the garden, and the bow'rs, Nor sense and forms, that give to flow'rs Their wholesomeness, but Thy good will, Which truth and pureness purchase still.
Then since corrupt man hath driv'n hence Thy kind and saving influence, And balm is no more to be had In all the coasts of Gilead; Go with me to the shade and cell, Where Thy best servants once did dwell. There let me know Thy will, and see Exil'd Religion own'd by Thee; For Thou canst turn dark grots to halls, And make hills blossom like the vales; Decking their untill'd heads with flow'rs, And fresh delights for all sad hours; Till from them, like a laden bee, I may fly home, and hive with Thee
TO CHRISTIAN RELIGION.
Farewell, thou true and tried reflection Of the still poor, and meek election: Farewell, soul's joy, the quick'ning health Of spirits, and their secret wealth! Farewell, my morning-star, the bright And dawning looks of the True Light! O blessed shiner, tell me whither Thou wilt be gone, when night comes hither! A seer that observ'd thee in Thy course, and watch'd the growth of sin, Hath giv'n his judgment, and foretold, That westward hence thy course will hold; And when the day with us is done, There fix, and shine a glorious sun. O hated shades and darkness! when You have got here the sway again, And like unwholesome fogs withstood The light, and blasted all that's good, Who shall the happy shepherds be, To watch the next nativity Of truth and brightness, and make way For the returning, rising day? O what year will bring back our bliss? Or who shall live, when God doth this? Thou Rock of Ages! and the Rest Of all, that for Thee are oppress'd! Send down the Spirit of Thy truth, That Spirit, which the tender youth, And first growths of Thy Spouse did spread Through all the world, from one small head! Then if to blood we must resist, Let Thy mild Dove, and our High-Priest, Help us, when man proves false or frowns, To bear the Cross, and save our crowns. O honour those that honour Thee! Make babes to still the enemy! And teach an infant of few days To perfect by his death Thy praise! Let none defile what Thou didst wed, Nor tear the garland from her head! But chaste and cheerful let her die, And precious in the Bridegroom's eye So to Thy glory and her praise, These last shall be her brightest days.
Revel[ation] chap. last, vers. 17. "_The Spirit and the Bride say, Come._"
DAPHNIS.
_An Elegiac Eclogue. The Interlocutors, Damon, Menalcas._
_Damon._
What clouds, Menalcas, do oppress thy brow, Flow'rs in a sunshine never look so low? Is Nisa still cold flint? or have thy lambs Met with the fox by straying from their dams?
_Menalcas._
Ah, Damon, no! my lambs are safe; and she Is kind, and much more white than they can be. But what doth life when most serene afford Without a worm which gnaws her fairest gourd? Our days of gladness are but short reliefs, Giv'n to reserve us for enduring griefs: So smiling calms close tempests breed, which break Like spoilers out, and kill our flocks when weak. I heard last May--and May is still high Spring-- The pleasant Philomel her vespers sing. The green wood glitter'd with the golden sun. And all the west like silver shin'd; not one Black cloud; no rags, nor spots did stain The welkin's beauty; nothing frown'd like rain. But ere night came, that scene of fine sights turn'd To fierce dark show'rs; the air with lightnings burn'd; The wood's sweet syren, rudely thus oppress'd, Gave to the storm her weak and weary breast. I saw her next day on her last cold bed: And Daphnis so, just so is Daphnis, dead!
_Damon._
So violets, so doth the primrose, fall, At once the Spring's pride, and its funeral. Such easy sweets get off still in their prime, And stay not here to wear the soil of time; While coarser flow'rs, which none would miss, if past, To scorching Summers and cold Autumns last.
_Menalcas._
Souls need not time. The early forward things Are always fledg'd, and gladly use their wings. Or else great parts, when injur'd, quit the crowd, To shine above still, not behind, the cloud. And is't not just to leave those to the night That madly hate and persecute the light? Who, doubly dark, all negroes do exceed, And inwardly are true black Moors indeed?
_Damon._
The punishment still manifests the sin, As outward signs show the disease within. While worth oppress'd mounts to a nobler height, And palm-like bravely overtops the weight. So where swift Isca from our lofty hills With loud farewells descends, and foaming fills A wider channel, like some great port-vein With large rich streams to fill the humble plain: I saw an oak, whose stately height and shade, Projected far, a goodly shelter made; And from the top with thick diffused boughs In distant rounds grew like a wood-nymph's house. Here many garlands won at roundel-lays Old shepherds hung up in those happy days With knots and girdles, the dear spoils and dress Of such bright maids as did true lovers bless. And many times had old Amphion made His beauteous flock acquainted with this shade: His flock, whose fleeces were as smooth and white As those the welkin shows in moonshine night. Here, when the careless world did sleep, have I In dark records and numbers nobly high, The visions of our black, but brightest bard From old Amphion's mouth full often heard; With all those plagues poor shepherds since have known, And riddles more, which future time must own: While on his pipe young Hylas play'd, and made Music as solemn as the song and shade. But the curs'd owner from the trembling top To the firm brink did all those branches lop; And in one hour what many years had bred, The pride and beauty of the plain, lay dead. The undone swains in sad songs mourn'd their loss, While storms and cold winds did improve the cross; But nature, which--like virtue--scorns to yield, Brought new recruits and succours to the field; For by next spring the check'd sap wak'd from sleep, And upwards still to feel the sun did creep; Till at those wounds, the hated hewer made, There sprang a thicker and a fresher shade.
_Menalcas._
So thrives afflicted Truth, and so the light When put out gains a value from the night. How glad are we, when but one twinkling star Peeps betwixt clouds more black than is our tar: And Providence was kind, that order'd this To the brave suff'rer should be solid bliss: Nor is it so till this short life be done, But goes hence with him, and is still his sun.
_Damon._
Come, shepherds, then, and with your greenest bays Refresh his dust, who lov'd your learned lays. Bring here the florid glories of the spring, And, as you strew them, pious anthems sing, Which to your children and the years to come May speak of Daphnis, and be never dumb. While prostrate I drop on his quiet urn My tears, not gifts; and like the poor that mourn With green but humble turfs, write o'er his hearse For false, foul prose-men this fair truth in verse.
"Here Daphnis sleeps, and while the great watch goes Of loud and restless Time, takes his repose. Fame is but noise; all Learning but a thought; Which one admires, another sets at nought, Nature mocks both, and Wit still keeps ado: But Death brings knowledge and assurance too."
_Menalcas._
Cast in your garlands! strew on all the flow'rs, Which May with smiles or April feeds with show'rs, Let this day's rites as steadfast as the sun Keep pace with Time and through all ages run; The public character and famous test Of our long sorrows and his lasting rest. And when we make procession on the plains, Or yearly keep the holiday of swains, Let Daphnis still be the recorded name, And solemn honour of our feasts and fame. For though the Isis and the prouder Thames Can show his relics lodg'd hard by their streams: And must for ever to the honour'd name Of noble Murrey chiefly owe that fame: Yet here his stars first saw him, and when Fate Beckon'd him hence, it knew no other date. Nor will these vocal woods and valleys fail, Nor Isca's louder streams, this to bewail; But while swains hope, and seasons change, will glide With moving murmurs because Daphnis died.
_Damon._
A fatal sadness, such as still foregoes, Then runs along with public plagues and woes, Lies heavy on us; and the very light, Turn'd mourner too, hath the dull looks of night. Our vales, like those of death, a darkness show More sad than cypress or the gloomy yew; And on our hills, where health with height complied, Thick drowsy mists hang round, and there reside. Not one short parcel of the tedious year In its old dress and beauty doth appear. Flow'rs hate the spring, and with a sullen bend Thrust down their heads, which to the root still tend. And though the sun, like a cold lover, peeps A little at them, still the day's-eye sleeps. But when the Crab and Lion with acute And active fires their sluggish heat recruit, Our grass straight russets, and each scorching day Drinks up our brooks as fast as dew in May; Till the sad herdsman with his cattle faints, And empty channels ring with loud complaints.
_Menalcas._
Heaven's just displeasure, and our unjust ways, Change Nature's course; bring plagues, dearth, and decays. This turns our lands to dust, the skies to brass, Makes old kind blessings into curses pass: And when we learn unknown and foreign crimes, Brings in the vengeance due unto those climes. The dregs and puddle of all ages now, Like rivers near their fall, on us do flow. Ah, happy Daphnis! who while yet the streams Ran clear and warm, though but with setting beams, Got through, and saw by that declining light, His toil's and journey's end before the night.
_Damon._
A night, where darkness lays her chains and bars, And feral fires appear instead of stars. But he, along with the last looks of day, Went hence, and setting--sunlike--pass'd away. What future storms our present sins do hatch Some in the dark discern, and others watch; Though foresight makes no hurricane prove mild, Fury that's long fermenting is most wild. But see, while thus our sorrows we discourse, Ph[oe]bus hath finish'd his diurnal course; The shades prevail: each bush seems bigger grown; Darkness--like State--makes small things swell and frown: The hills and woods with pipes and sonnets round, And bleating sheep our swains drive home, resound.
_Menalcas._
What voice from yonder lawn tends hither? Hark! 'Tis Thyrsis calls! I hear Lycanthe bark! His flocks left out so late, and weary grown, Are to the thickets gone, and there laid down.
_Damon._
Menalcas, haste to look them out! poor sheep, When day is done, go willingly to sleep: And could bad man his time spend as they do, He might go sleep, or die, as willing too.
_Menalcas._
Farewell! kind Damon! now the shepherd's star With beauteous looks smiles on us, though from far. All creatures that were favourites of day Are with the sun retir'd and gone away. While feral birds send forth unpleasant notes, And night--the nurse of thoughts--sad thoughts promotes: But joy will yet come with the morning light, Though sadly now we bid good night!
_Damon._
Good night!
FRAGMENTS AND TRANSLATIONS.
From _Eucharistica Oxoniensia in Caroli Regis nostri e Scotia Reditum Gratulatoria_ (1641).
[TO CHARLES THE FIRST.]
As kings do rule like th' heavens, who dispense To parts remote and near their influence; So doth our Charles move also; while he posts From south to north, and back to southern coasts; Like to the starry orb, which in its round Moves to those very points; but while 'tis bound For north, there is--some guess--a trembling fit And shivering in the part that's opposite. What were our fears and pantings, what dire fame Heard we of Irish tumults, sword, and flame! Which now we think but blessings, as being sent Only as matter, whereupon 'twas meant, The British thus united might express, The strength of joined Powers to suppress, Or conquer foes. This is Great Britain's bliss; The island in itself a just world is. Here no commotion shall we find or fear, But of the Court's removal, no sad tear Or cloudy brow, but when you leave us. Then Discord is loyalty professed, when Nations do strive, which shall the happier be T' enjoy your bounteous rays of majesty Which yet you throw in undivided dart, For things divine allow no share or part. The same kind virtue doth at once disclose The beauty of their thistle and our rose. Thus you do mingle souls and firmly knit What were but join'd before; you Scotsmen fit Closely with us, and reuniter prove; You fetch'd the crown before, and now their love.
H. Vaughan, Ies. Col.
From _Of the Benefit we may get by our Enemies_: translated from Plutarch (1651).
1. [HOMER. ILIAD, I. 255-6.]
Sure Priam will to mirth incline, And all that are of Priam's line.
2. [AESCHYLUS. SEPTEM CONTRA THEBES, 600-1.]
Feeding on fruits which in the heavens do grow, Whence all divine and holy counsels flow.
3. [EURIPIDES. ORESTES, 251-2.]
Excel then if thou canst, be not withstood, But strive and overcome the evil with good.
4. [EURIPIDES. FRAGM. MLXXI.]
You minister to others' wounds a cure, But leave your own all rotten and impure.
5. [EURIPIDES. CRESPHONTES, FRAGM. CCCCLV.]
Chance, taking from me things of highest price, At a dear rate hath taught me to be wise.
6. [INCERTI.]
[He] Knaves' tongues and calumnies no more doth prize Than the vain buzzing of so many flies.
7. [PINDAR. FRAGM. C.]
His deep, dark heart--bent to supplant-- Is iron, or else adamant.
8. [SOLON. FRAGM. XV.]
What though they boast their riches unto us? Those cannot say that they are virtuous.
From _Of the Diseases of the Mind and the Body_: translated from Plutarch (1651).
1. [HOMER. ILIAD, XVII. 446-7.]
That man for misery excell'd All creatures which the wide world held.
2. [EURIPIDES. BACCHAE, 1170-4.]
A tender kid--see, where 'tis put-- I on the hills did slay, Now dress'd and into quarters cut, A pleasant, dainty prey.
From _Of the Diseases of the Mind and the Body_: translated from Maximus Tyrius (1651).
1. [ARIPHRON.]
O health, the chief of gifts divine! I would I might with thee and thine Live all those days appointed mine!
From _The Mount of Olives_ (1652).
1. [DEATH.]
Draw near, fond man, and dress thee by this glass, Mark how thy bravery and big looks must pass Into corruption, rottenness and dust; The frail supporters which betray'd thy trust. O weigh in time thy last and loathsome state! To purchase heav'n for tears is no hard rate. Our glory, greatness, wisdom, all we have, If mis-employ'd, but add hell to the grave: Only a fair redemption of evil times Finds life in death, and buries all our crimes.
2. [HADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL.]
My soul, my pleasant soul, and witty, The guest and consort of my body. Into what place now all alone Naked and sad wilt thou be gone? No mirth, no wit, as heretofore, Nor jests wilt thou afford me more.
3. [PAULINUS. CARM. APP. I. 35-40.]
What is't to me that spacious rivers run Whole ages, and their streams are never done? Those still remain: but all my fathers died, And I myself but for few days abide.
4. [ANEURIN. ENGLYNION Y MISOEDD, III. 1-4.]
In March birds couple, a new birth Of herbs and flow'rs breaks through the earth; But in the grave none stirs his head, Long is the impris'ment of the dead.
5. [INCERTI.]
So our decays God comforts by The stars' concurrent state on high.
6. [JUVENAL. SATIRE XIII. 86-8.]
There are that do believe all things succeed By chance or fortune: and that nought's decreed By a divine, wise Will; but blindly call Old Time and Nature rulers over all.
7. [INCERTI.]
From the first hour the heavens were made Unto the last, when all shall fade, Count--if thou canst--the drops of dew, The stars of heav'n and streams that flow, The falling snow, the dropping show'rs, And in the month of May, the flow'rs, Their scents and colours, and what store Of grapes and apples Autumn bore, How many grains the Summer bears, What leaves the wind in Winter tears; Count all the creatures in the world, The motes which in the air are hurl'd, The hairs of beasts and mankind, and The shore's innumerable sand, The blades of grass, and to these last Add all the years which now are past, With those whose course is yet to come, And all their minutes in one sum. When all is done, the damned's state Outruns them still, and knows no date.
8. [VIRGIL. GEORGICS, IV. 12-138.]
I saw beneath Tarentum's stately towers An old Cilician spend his peaceful hours. Some few bad acres in a waste, wild field, Which neither grass, nor corn, nor vines would yield, He did possess. There--amongst thorns and weeds-- Cheap herbs and coleworts, with the common seeds Of chesboule or tame poppies, he did sow, And vervain with white lilies caused to grow. Content he was, as are successful kings, And late at night come home--for long work brings The night still home--with unbought messes laid On his low table he his hunger stay'd. Roses he gather'd in the youthful Spring, And apples in the Autumn home did bring: And when the sad, cold Winter burst with frost The stones, and the still streams in ice were lost, He would soft leaves of bear's-foot crop, and chide The slow west winds and ling'ring Summer-tide!
9. [VIRGIL. AENEID, III. 515.]
And rising at midnight the stars espied, All posting westward in a silent glide.
10. [VIRGIL. GEORGICS, II. 58.]
The trees we set grow slowly, and their shade Stays for our sons, while we--the planters--fade. From _Man in Glory_: translated from Anselm (1652).
1. [ANSELM.]
Here holy Anselm lives in ev'ry page, And sits archbishop still, to vex the age. Had he foreseen--and who knows but he did?-- This fatal wrack, which deep in time lay hid, 'Tis but just to believe, that little hand Which clouded him, but now benights our land, Had never--like Elias--driv'n him hence, A sad retirer for a slight offence. For were he now, like the returning year, Restor'd, to view these desolations here, He would do penance for his old complaint, And--weeping--say, that Rufus was a saint.
From the Epistle-Dedicatory to _Flores Solitudinis_ (1654).
1. [BISSELLIUS.]
The whole wench--how complete soe'er--was but A specious bait; a soft, sly, tempting slut; A pleasing witch; a living death; a fair, Thriving disease; a fresh, infectious air; A precious plague; a fury sweetly drawn; Wild fire laid up and finely dress'd in lawn.
2. [AUGURELLIUS.]
Peter, when thou this pleasant world dost see, Believe, thou seest mere dreams and vanity, Not real things, but false, and through the air Each-where an empty, slipp'ry scene, though fair. The chirping birds, the fresh woods' shady boughs, The leaves' shrill whispers, when the west wind blows, The swift, fierce greyhounds coursing on the plains, The flying hare, distress'd 'twixt fear and pains, The bloomy maid decking with flow'rs her head, The gladsome, easy youth by light love led; And whatsoe'er here with admiring eyes Thou seem'st to see, 'tis but a frail disguise Worn by eternal things, a passive dress Put on by beings that are passiveless.
From a Discourse _Of Temperance and Patience_: translated from Nierembergius (1654).
1. [INCERTI.]
The naked man too gets the field, And often makes the armed foe to yield.
2. [LUCRETIUS, IV. 1012-1020.]
[Some] struggle and groan as if by panthers torn, Or lions' teeth, which makes them loudly mourn; Some others seem unto themselves to die; Some climb steep solitudes and mountains high, From whence they seem to fall inanely down, Panting with fear, till wak'd, and scarce their own They feel about them if in bed they lie, Deceiv'd with dreams, and Night's imagery.
In vain with earnest strugglings they contend To ease themselves: for when they stir and bend Their greatest force to do it, even then most Of all they faint, and in their hopes are cross'd. Nor tongue, nor hand, nor foot will serve their turn, But without speech and strength within, they mourn.
3. [INCERTI.]
Thou the nepenthe easing grief Art, and the mind's healing relief.
4. [INCERTI.]
Base man! and couldst thou think Cato alone Wants courage to be dry? and but him, none? Look'd I so soft? breath'd I such base desires, Not proof against this Lybic sun's weak fires? That shame and plague on thee more justly lie! To drink alone, when all our troops are dry.
* * * * *
For with brave rage he flung it on the sand, And the spilt draught suffic'd each thirsty band
5. [INCERTI.]
[Death keeps off] And will not bear the cry Of distress'd man, nor shut his weeping eye
6. [MAXIMUS.]
It lives when kill'd, and brancheth when 'tis lopp'd.
7. [MAXIMUS.]
Like some fair oak, that when her boughs Are cut by rude hands, thicker grows; And from those wounds the iron made Resumes a rich and fresher shade.
8. [GREGORY NAZIANZEN.]
Patience digesteth misery.
9. [MARIUS VICTOR.]
----They fain would--if they might-- Descend to hide themselves in Hell. So light Of foot is Vengeance; and so near to sin, That soon as done, the actors do begin To fear and suffer by themselves: Death moves Before their eyes; sad dens and dusky groves They haunt, and hope--vain hope which Fear doth guide!-- That those dark shades their inward guilt can hide.
10. [INCERTI.]
But night and day doth his own life molest, And bears his judge and witness in his breast.
11. [THEODOTUS.]
Virtue's fair cares some people measure For poisonous works that hinder pleasure.
12. [INCERTI.]
Man should with virtue arm'd and hearten'd be, And innocently watch his enemy: For fearless freedom, which none can control, Is gotten by a pure and upright soul.
13. [INCERTI.]
Whose guilty soul, with terrors fraught, doth frame New torments still, and still doth blow that flame Which still burns him, nor sees what end can be Of his dire plagues, and fruitful penalty; But fears them living, and fears more to die; Which makes his life a constant tragedy.
14. [INCERTI.]
And for life's sake to lose the crown of life.
15. [INCERTI.]
Nature even for herself doth lay a snare, And handsome faces their own traitors are.
16. [MENANDER.]
True life in this is shown, To live for all men's good, not for our own.
17. [INCERTI.]
As Egypt's drought by Nilus is redress'd, So thy wise tongue doth comfort the oppress'd.
18. [INCERTI.]
[Like] to speedy posts, bear hence the lamp of life.
19. [DIONYSIUS LYRINENSIS.]
All worldly things, even while they grow, decay; As smoke doth, by ascending, waste away.
20. [INCERTI.]
To live a stranger unto life.
From a _Discourse of Life and Death_: translated from Nierembergius (1654).
1. [INCERTI.]
Whose hissings fright all Nature's monstrous ills; His eye darts death, more swift than poison kills. All monsters by instinct to him give place, They fly for life, for death lives in his face; And he alone by Nature's hid commands Reigns paramount, and prince of all the sands.
2. [INCERTI.]
The plenteous evils of frail life fill the old: Their wasted limbs the loose skin in dry folds Doth hang about: their joints are numb'd, and through Their veins, not blood, but rheums and waters flow. Their trembling bodies with a staff they stay, Nor do they breathe, but sadly sigh all day. Thoughts tire their hearts, to them their very mind Is a disease; their eyes no sleep can find.
3. [MIMNERMUS.]
Against the virtuous man we all make head, And hate him while he lives, but praise him dead.
4. [INCERTI.]
Long life, oppress'd with many woes, Meets more, the further still it goes.
5. [JUVENAL. SATIRE X. 278-286.]
What greater good had deck'd great Pompey's crown Than death, if in his honours fully blown, And mature glories he had died? those piles Of huge success, loud fame, and lofty styles Built in his active youth, long lazy life Saw quite demolish'd by ambitious strife. He lived to wear the weak and melting snow Of luckless age, where garlands seldom grow, But by repining Fate torn from the head Which wore them once, are on another shed.
6. [MENANDER. FRAGM. CXXVIII.]
Whom God doth take care for, and love, He dies young here, to live above.
7. [INCERTI.]
Sickness and death, you are but sluggish things, And cannot reach a heart that hath got wings.
From _Primitive Holiness, set forth in the Life of Blessed Paulinus_ (1654).
1. [AUSONIUS. EPIST. XXIV. 115-16.]
Let me not weep to see thy ravish'd house All sad and silent, without lord or spouse, And all those vast dominions once thine own Torn 'twixt a hundred slaves to me unknown.
2. [AUSONIUS. EPIST. XXIII. 30-1; XXV. 5-9, 14, 17.]
How could that paper sent, That luckless paper, merit thy contempt? Ev'n foe to foe--though furiously--replies, And the defied his enemy defies. Amidst the swords and wounds, there's a salute, Rocks answer man, and though hard are not mute. Nature made nothing dumb, nothing unkind: The trees and leaves speak trembling to the wind. If thou dost fear discoveries, and the blot Of my love, Tanaquil shall know it not.
3. [PAULINUS. CARM. XI. 1-5; X. 189-92.]
Obdurate still and tongue-tied, you accuse --Though yours is ever vocal--my dull muse; You blame my lazy, lurking life, and add I scorn your love, a calumny most sad; Then tell me, that I fear my wife, and dart Harsh, cutting words against my dearest heart. Leave, learned father, leave this bitter course, My studies are not turn'd unto the worse; I am not mad, nor idle, nor deny Your great deserts, and my debt, nor have I A wife like Tanaquil, as wildly you Object, but a Lucretia, chaste and true.
4. [PAULINUS. CARM. XXXI. 581-2, 585-90, 601-2, 607-12.]
This pledge of your joint love, to heaven now fled, With honey-combs and milk of life is fed. Or with the Bethlem babes--whom Herod's rage Kill'd in their tender, happy, holy age-- Doth walk the groves of Paradise, and make Garlands, which those young martyrs from him take. With these his eyes on the mild Lamb are fix'd, A virgin-child with virgin-infants mix'd. Such is my Celsus too, who soon as given, Was taken back--on the eighth day--to heaven To whom at Alcala I sadly gave Amongst the martyrs' tombs a little grave. He now with yours--gone both the blessed way-- Amongst the trees of life doth smile and play; And this one drop of our mix'd blood may be A light for my Therasia, and for me.
5. [AUSONIUS. EPIST. XXV. 50, 56-7, 60-2.]
Sweet Paulinus, and is thy nature turn'd? Have I so long in vain thy absence mourn'd? Wilt thou, my glory, and great Rome's delight, The Senate's prop, their oracle, and light, In Bilbilis and Calagurris dwell, Changing thy ivory-chair for a dark cell? Wilt bury there thy purple, and contemn All the great honours of thy noble stem?
6. [PAULINUS. CARM. X. 110-331.]
Shall I believe you can make me return, Who pour your fruitless prayers when you mourn, Not to your Maker? Who can hear you cry, But to the fabled nymphs of Castaly? You never shall by such false gods bring me Either to Rome, or to your company. As for those former things you once did know, And which you still call mine, I freely now Confess, I am not he, whom you knew then; I have died since, and have been born again. Nor dare I think my sage instructor can Believe it error, for redeemed man To serve his great Redeemer. I grieve not But glory so to err. Let the wise knot Of worldlings call me fool; I slight their noise, And hear my God approving of my choice. Man is but glass, a building of no trust, A moving shade, and, without Christ, mere dust. His choice in life concerns the chooser much: For when he dies, his good or ill--just such As here it was--goes with him hence, and stays Still by him, his strict judge in the last days. These serious thoughts take up my soul, and I, While yet 'tis daylight, fix my busy eye Upon His sacred rules, life's precious sum Who in the twilight of the world shall come To judge the lofty looks, and show mankind The diff'rence 'twixt the ill and well inclin'd. This second coming of the world's great King Makes my heart tremble, and doth timely bring A saving care into my watchful soul, Lest in that day all vitiated and foul I should be found--that day, Time's utmost line, When all shall perish but what is divine; When the great trumpet's mighty blast shall shake The earth's foundations, till the hard rocks quake And melt like piles of snow; when lightnings move Like hail, and the white thrones are set above: That day, when sent in glory by the Father, The Prince of Life His blest elect shall gather; Millions of angels round about Him flying, While all the kindreds of the Earth are crying; And He enthron'd upon the clouds shall give His last just sentence, who must die, who live. This is the fear, this is the saving care That makes me leave false honours, and that share Which fell to me of this frail world, lest by A frequent use of present pleasures I Should quite forget the future, and let in Foul atheism, or some presumptuous sin. Now by their loss I have secur'd my life, And bought my peace ev'n with the cause of strife. I live to Him Who gave me life and breath, And without fear expect the hour of death. If you like this, bid joy to my rich state, If not, leave me to Christ at any rate.
7. [PAULINUS.]
And is the bargain thought too dear, To give for heaven our frail subsistence here? To change our mortal with immortal homes, And purchase the bright stars with darksome stones? Behold! my God--a rate great as His breath!-- On the sad cross bought me with bitter death, Did put on flesh, and suffer'd for our good, For ours--vile slaves!--the loss of His dear blood.
8. [EPITAPH ON MARCELLINA.]
Life, Marcellina, leaving thy fair frame, Thou didst contemn those tombs of costly fame, Built by thy Roman ancestors, and liest At Milan, where great Ambrose sleeps in Christ. Hope, the dead's life, and faith, which never faints, Made thee rest here, that thou mayst rise with saints.
9. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 3.]
You that to wash your flesh and souls draw near, Ponder these two examples set you here: Great Martin shows the holy life, and white, Paulinus to repentance doth invite; Martin's pure, harmless life, took heaven by force, Paulinus took it by tears and remorse; Martin leads through victorious palms and flow'rs, Paulinus leads you through the pools and show'rs; You that are sinners, on Paulinus look, You that are saints, great Martin is your book; The first example bright and holy is, The last, though sad and weeping, leads to bliss
10. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 5.]
Here the great well-spring of wash'd souls with beams Of living light quickens the lively streams; The Dove descends, and stirs them with her wings, So weds these waters to the upper springs. They straight conceive; a new birth doth proceed From the bright streams by an immortal seed. O the rare love of God! sinners wash'd here Come forth pure saints, all justified and clear. So blest in death and life, man dies to sins, And lives to God: sin dies, and life begins To be reviv'd: old Adam falls away And the new lives, born for eternal sway.
11. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 12.]
Through pleasant green fields enter you the way To bliss; and well through shades and blossoms may The walks lead here, from whence directly lies The good man's path to sacred Paradise.
12. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 14.]
The painful cross with flowers and palms is crown'd, Which prove, it springs; though all in blood 'tis drown'd; The doves above it show with one consent, Heaven opens only to the innocent.
13. [PAULINUS. CARM. XXVII. 387-92.]
You see what splendour through the spacious aisle, As if the Church were glorified, doth smile. The ivory-wrought beams seem to the sight Engraven, while the carv'd roof looks curl'd and bright. On brass hoops to the upmost vaults we tie The hovering lamps, which nod and tremble by The yielding cords; fresh oil doth still repair The waving flames, vex'd with the fleeting air.
14. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 17.]
The pains of Saints and Saints' rewards are twins, The sad cross, and the crown which the cross wins. Here Christ, the Prince both of the cross and crown, Amongst fresh groves and lilies fully blown Stands, a white Lamb bearing the purple cross: White shows His pureness, red His blood's dear loss. To ease His sorrows the chaste turtle sings, And fans Him, sweating blood, with her bright wings; While from a shining cloud the Father eyes His Son's sad conflict with His enemies, And on His blessed head lets gently down Eternal glory made into a crown. About Him stand two flocks of diff'ring notes, One of white sheep, and one of speckled goats; The first possess His right hand, and the last Stand on His left; the spotted goats are cast All into thick, deep shades, while from His right The white sheep pass into a whiter light.
15. [PAULINUS.]
Those sacred days by tedious Time delay'd, While the slow years' bright line about is laid, I patiently expect, though much distrest By busy longing and a love-sick breast. I wish they may outshine all other days; Or, when they come, so recompense delays As to outlast the summer hours' bright length; Or that fam'd day, when stopp'd by divine strength The sun did tire the world with his long light, Doubling men's labours, and adjourning night. As the bright sky with stars, the field with flow'rs, The years with diff'ring seasons, months and hours, God hath distinguished and mark'd, so He With sacred feasts did ease and beautify The working days: because that mixture may Make men--loth to be holy ev'ry day-- After long labours, with a freer will, Adore their Maker, and keep mindful still Of holiness, by keeping holy days: For otherwise they would dislike the ways Of piety as too severe. To cast Old customs quite off, and from sin to fast Is a great work. To run which way we will, On plains is easy, not so up a hill. Hence 'tis our good God--Who would all men bring Under the covert of His saving wing-- Appointed at set times His solemn feasts, That by mean services men might at least Take hold of Christ as by the hem, and steal Help from His lowest skirts, their souls to heal. For the first step to heaven is to live well All our life long, and each day to excel In holiness; but since that tares are found In the best corn, and thistles will confound And prick my heart with vain cares, I will strive To weed them out on feast-days, and so thrive By handfuls, 'till I may full life obtain, And not be swallow'd of eternal pain.
16. [PAULINUS (?). CARM. APP. I.]
Come, my true consort in my joys and care! Let this uncertain and still wasting share Of our frail life be giv'n to God. You see How the swift days drive hence incessantly, And the frail, drooping world--though still thought gay[69]-- In secret, slow consumption wears away. All that we have pass from us, and once past Return no more; like clouds, they seem to last, And so delude loose, greedy minds. But where Are now those trim deceits? to what dark sphere Are all those false fires sunk, which once so shin'd, They captivated souls, and rul'd mankind? He that with fifty ploughs his lands did sow, Will scarce be trusted for two oxen now; His rich, loud coach, known to each crowded street, Is sold, and he quite tir'd walks on his feet. Merchants that--like the sun--their voyage made From East to West, and by wholesale did trade, Are now turn'd sculler-men, or sadly sweat In a poor fisher's boat, with line and net. Kingdoms and cities to a period tend; Earth nothing hath, but what must have an end; Mankind by plagues, distempers, dearth and war, Tortures and prisons, die both near and far; Fury and hate rage in each living breast, Princes with princes, States with States contest; An universal discord mads each land, Peace is quite lost, the last times are at hand. But were these days from the Last Day secure, So that the world might for more years endure, Yet we--like hirelings--should our term expect, And on our day of death each day reflect. For what--Therasia--doth it us avail That spacious streams shall flow and never fail, That aged forests hie to tire the winds, And flow'rs each Spring return and keep their kinds! Those still remain: but all our fathers died, And we ourselves but for few days abide. This short time then was not giv'n us in vain, To whom Time dies, in which we dying gain, But that in time eternal life should be Our care, and endless rest our industry. And yet this task, which the rebellious deem Too harsh, who God's mild laws for chains esteem, Suits with the meek and harmless heart so right That 'tis all ease, all comfort and delight. "To love our God with all our strength and will; To covet nothing; to devise no ill Against our neighbours; to procure or do Nothing to others, which we would not to Our very selves; not to revenge our wrong; To be content with little, not to long For wealth and greatness; to despise or jeer No man, and if we be despised, to bear; To feed the hungry; to hold fast our crown; To take from others naught; to give our own," --These are His precepts: and--alas!--in these What is so hard, but faith can do with ease? He that the holy prophets doth believe, And on God's words relies, words that still live And cannot die; that in his heart hath writ His Saviour's death and triumph, and doth yet With constant care, admitting no neglect, His second, dreadful coming still expect: To such a liver earthy things are dead, With Heav'n alone, and hopes of Heav'n, he's fed, He is no vassal unto worldly trash, Nor that black knowledge which pretends to wash, But doth defile: a knowledge, by which men With studied care lose Paradise again. Commands and titles, the vain world's device, With gold--the forward seed of sin and vice-- He never minds: his aim is far more high, And stoops to nothing lower than the sky. Nor grief, nor pleasures breed him any pain, He nothing fears to lose, would nothing gain, Whatever hath not God, he doth detest, He lives to Christ, is dead to all the rest. This Holy One sent hither from above A virgin brought forth, shadow'd by the Dove; His skin with stripes, with wicked hands His face And with foul spittle soil'd and beaten was; A crown of thorns His blessed head did wound. Nails pierc'd His hands and feet, and He fast bound Stuck to the painful Cross, where hang'd till dead, With a cold spear His heart's dear blood was shed. All this for man, for bad, ungrateful man, The true God suffer'd! not that suff'rings can Add to His glory aught, Who can receive Access from nothing, Whom none can bereave Of His all-fulness: but the blest design Of His sad death was to save me from mine: He dying bore my sins, and the third day His early rising rais'd me from the clay. To such great mercies what shall I prefer, Or who from loving God shall me deter? Burn me alive, with curious, skilful pain, Cut up and search each warm and breathing vein; When all is done, death brings a quick release, And the poor mangled body sleeps in peace. Hale me to prisons, shut me up in brass, My still free soul from thence to God shall pass. Banish or bind me, I can be nowhere A stranger, nor alone; my God is there. I fear not famine; how can he be said To starve who feeds upon the Living Bread? And yet this courage springs not from my store, Christ gave it me, Who can give much, much more I of myself can nothing dare or do, He bids me fight, and makes me conquer too. If--like great Abr'ham--I should have command To leave my father's house and native land, I would with joy to unknown regions run, Bearing the banner of His blessed Son. On worldly goods I will have no design, But use my own, as if mine were not mine; Wealth I'll not wonder at, nor greatness seek, But choose--though laugh'd at--to be poor and meek. In woe and wealth I'll keep the same staid mind, Grief shall not break me, nor joys make me blind: My dearest Jesus I'll still praise, and He Shall with songs of deliv'rance compass me. Then come, my faithful consort! join with me In this good fight, and my true helper be; Cheer me when sad, advise me when I stray, Let us be each the other's guide and stay; Be your lord's guardian: give joint aid and due, Help him when fall'n, rise, when he helpeth you, That so we may not only one flesh be, But in one spirit and one will agree.
FOOTNOTES:
[69] The original has _gry_.
From _Hermetical Physic_: translated from Henry Nollius (1655).
1. [HORACE. EPIST. I. 1, 14-5.]
Where'er my fancy calls, there I go still, Not sworn a slave to any master's will.
2. [INCERTI.]
There's need, betwixt his clothes, his bed and board, Of all that Earth and Sea and Air afford.
3. [INCERTI.]
With restless cares they waste the night and day, To compass great estates, and get the sway.
4. [JUVENAL. SATIRE XV. 160-164.]
Whenever did, I pray, One lion take another's life away? Or in what forest did a wild boar by The tusks of his own fellow wounded die? Tigers with tigers never have debate; And bears among themselves abstain from hate
5. [JUVENAL. SATIRE XV. 169-171.]
[Some] esteem it no point of revenge to kill, Unless they may drink up the blood they spill: Who do believe that hands, and hearts, and heads, Are but a kind of meat, etc.
6. [INCERTI.]
The strongest body and the best Cannot subsist without due rest.
From Thomas Powell's _Cerbyd Fechydwiaeth_ (1657).
1. [THE LORD'S PRAYER.]
Y Pader, pan trier, Duw-tri a'i dododd O'i dadol ddaioni, Yn faen-gwaddan i bob gweddi, Ac athrawieth a wnaeth i ni.
Ol[or] Vaughan.
From Thomas Powell's _Humane Industry_ (1661).
1. [CAMPION. EPIGR. I. 151.]
Time's-Teller wrought into a little round, Which count'st the days and nights with watchful sound; How--when once fix'd--with busy wheels dost thou The twice twelve useful hours drive on and show; And where I go, go'st with me without strife, The monitor and ease of fleeting life.
2. [GROTIUS. LIB. EPIGR. II.]
The untired strength of never-ceasing motion, A restless rest, a toilless operation, Heaven then had given it, when wise Nature did To frail and solid things one place forbid; And parting both, made the moon's orb their bound, Damning to various change this lower ground. But now what Nature hath those laws transgress'd, Giving to Earth a work that ne'er will rest? Though 'tis most strange, yet--great King--'tis not new: This work was seen and found before, in you. In you, whose mind--though still calm--never sleeps, But through your realms one constant motion keeps: As your mind--then--was Heaven's type first, so this But the taught anti-type of your mind is.
3. [JUVENAL. SATIRE III.]
How oft have we beheld wild beasts appear From broken gulfs of earth, upon some part Of sand that did not sink! How often there And thence, did golden boughs o'er-saffron'd start! Nor only saw we monsters of the wood, But I have seen sea-calves whom bears withstood; And such a kind of beast as might be named A horse, but in most foul proportion framed.
4. [MARTIAL. EPIGR. I. 105.]
That the fierce pard doth at a beck Yield to the yoke his spotted neck, And the untoward tiger bear The whip with a submissive fear; That stags do foam with golden bits. And the rough Libyc bear submits Unto the ring; that a wild boar Like that which Calydon of yore Brought forth, doth mildly put his head In purple muzzles to be led; That the vast, strong-limb'd buffles draw The British chariots with taught awe, And the elephant with courtship falls To any dance the negro calls: Would not you think such sports as those Were shows which the gods did expose? But these are nothing, when we see That hares by lions hunted be, etc.
NOTES TO VOL. II.
POEMS WITH THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL ENGLISHED.
Most of the poems in this volume of 1646 appear to belong to Vaughan's sojourn as a law-student in London: that, however, on the Priory Grove must have been written after he had retired to Wales on the outbreak of the Civil War.
P. 5. To my Ingenious Friend, R. W.
It is probable that this is the R. W. of the Elegy in _Olor Iscanus_ (p. 79). On the attempts to identify him, see the note to that poem. The _Poems_ of 1646 must have been published while his fate was still unknown.
_Pints i' th' Moon or Star._ These are names of rooms, rather than of inns. _Cf._ Shakespeare, 1 _Henry IV._, ii. 4, 30, "Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint of bastard in the Half-moon."
P. 6. _Randolph._
The works of Randolph here referred to are his comedy _The Jealous Lovers_, his pastoral _Amyntas; or, The Impossible Dowry_, and the following verses _On the Death of a Nightingale_:--
"Go, solitary wood, and henceforth be Acquainted with no other harmony Than the pie's chattering, or the shrieking note Of boding owls, and fatal raven's throat. Thy sweetest chanter's dead, that warbled forth Lays that might tempests calm, and still the north, And call down angels from their glorious sphere, To hear her songs, and learn new anthems there. That soul is fled, and to Elysium gone, Thou a poor desert left; go then and run. Beg there to want a grove, and if she please To sing again beneath thy shadowy trees, The souls of happy lovers crowned with blisses Shall flock about thee, and keep time with kisses."
P. 8. Les Amours.
Lines 22-24 are misprinted in the original; they there run:--
"O'er all the tomb a sudden spring: If crimson flowers, whose drooping heads Shall curtain o'er their mournful heads:"
P. 10. To Amoret.
The Amoret of these _Poems_ may or may not be the Etesia of _Thalia Rediviva_; and she may or may not have been the poet's first wife. _Cf._ _Introduction_ (vol. i, p. xxxiii).
_To her white bosom._ _Cf._ _Hamlet_, ii. 2, 113, where Hamlet addresses a letter to Ophelia, "in her excellent white bosom, these."
P. 12. Song.
The MS. variant readings to this and to two of the following poems are written in pencil on a copy of the _Poems_ in the British Museum, having the press-mark 12304, a 24. There is no indication of their author, or of the source from which they are taken.
P. 13. To Amoret.
_The vast ring._ _Cf._ _Silex Scintillans_ (vol. i., pp. 150, 284).
P. 18. _A Rhapsodis._
_The Globe Tavern._ This appears to have been near, or even a part of, the famous theatre. There exists a forged letter of George Peele's, in which it is mentioned as a resort of Shakespeare's, but there is no authentic allusion to it by name earlier than an entry in the registers of St. Saviour's, Southwark, for 1637. An "alehouse" is, however, alluded to in a ballad on the burning of the old Globe in 1613. (Rendle and Norman, _Inns of Old Southwark_, p. 326.)
_Tower-Wharf to Cymbeline and Lud_; that is, from the extreme east to the extreme west of the City. Statues of the mythical kings of Britain were set up in 1260 in niches on Ludgate. They were renewed when the gate was rebuilt in 1586. It stood near the Church of St. Martin's, Ludgate.
_That made his horse a senator_; _i.e._ Caligula. _Cf._ Suetonius Vit. Caligulae, 55: "_Incitato equo, cuius causa pridie circenses, ne inquietaretur, viciniae silentium per milites indicere solebat, praeter equile marmoreum et praesepe eburneum praeterque purpurea tegumenta ac monilia e gemmis, domum etiam et familiam et suppellectilem dedit, quo lautius nomine eius invitati acciperentur; consulatum quoque traditur destinasse._"
_he that ... crossed Rubicon_, _i.e._ Julius Caesar.
P. 21. To Amoret.
The third stanza is closely modelled on Donne; _cf._ Introduction (vol. i., p. xxi). The curious reader may detect many other traces of Donne's manner of writing in these _Poems_ of 1646.
P. 23. To Amoret Weeping.
_Eat orphans ... patent it._ The ambition of a courtier under the Stuarts was to get the guardianship of a royal ward, or the grant of a monopoly in some article of necessity. Dr. Grosart quotes from Tustin's _Observations; or, Conscience Emblem_ (1646): "By me, John Tustin, who hath been plundered and spoiled by the patentees for white and grey soap, eighteen several times, to his utter undoing."
P. 26. Upon the Priory Grove, his usual Retirement.
Mr. Beeching, in the _Introduction_ (vol. i., p. xxiii), states following Dr. Grosart, that the Priory Grove was "the home of a famous poetess of the day, Katherine Phillips, better known as 'the Matchless Orinda.'" Vaughan was certainly a friend of Mrs. Phillips (_cf._ pp. 100, 164, 211, with notes), whose husband, Colonel James Phillips, lived at the Priory, Cardigan; but she was not married until 1647.
Miss Morgan points out that there is still a wood on the outskirts of Brecon which is known as the Priory Grove. It is near the church and remains of a Benedictine Priory on the Honddu.
P. 28. Juvenal's Tenth Satire Translated.
This translation has a separate title-page; _cf._ the _Bibliography_ (vol. ii., p. lvii).
OLOR ISCANUS.
This volume, published in 1651, contains, besides the poems here reprinted, some prose translations from Plutarch and other writers. The separate title-pages of these are given in the _Bibliography_ (vol. ii., p. lviii): the incidental scraps of verse in them appear on pp. 291-293 of the present volume. The edition of 1651 has, besides the printed title-page, an engraved title-page by the well-known engraver, who may or may not have been a kinsman of the poet, Robert Vaughan. It represents a swan on a river shaded by trees. The _Olor Iscanus_ was reissued with a fresh title-page in 1679.
P. 52. Ad Posteros.
On the account of Vaughan's life here given, see the _Biographical note_ (vol. ii., p. xxx).
_Herbertus._ Matthew Herbert, Rector of Llangattock. Cf. the poem to him on p. 158, with its note.
_Castae fidaeque ... parentis_, _i.e._, perhaps, his mother the Church.
_Nec manus atra fuit._ Dr. Grosart omitted the _fuit_, together with the final _s_ of the preceding line. In this he is naively followed by Mr. J. R. Tutin, in his selection of Vaughan's _Secular Poems_.
P. 53. To the ... Lord Kildare Digby.
Lord Kildare Digby was the eldest son of Robert, first Baron Digby, in the peerage of Ireland. He succeeded to the title in 1642. He was about 21 at the time of this dedication, and died in 1661 (Dr. Grosart)
The date of the dedication is 17th of December, 1647. A volume was therefore probably prepared for publication at that date, and afterwards, as we learn from the publisher's preface, "condemned to obscurity," and given surreptitiously to the world. At the same time, as Miss Morgan points out to me, some of the poems in _Olor Iscanus_ must be of later date than 1647. The death of Charles I. is apparently alluded to in the lines _Ad Posteros_, and certainly in the "since Charles his reign" of the _Invitation to Brecknock_ (p. 74). This event took place on January 30th, 1648/9. The _Epitaph upon the Lady Elizabeth_ (p. 102), again, cannot be earlier than her death on September 8th, 1650.
P. 54. The Publisher to the Reader.
_Augustus vindex._ The lives of Vergil attributed to Donatus and others relate that the poet, in his will, directed that his unfinished _Aeneid_ should be burnt. Augustus, however, interfered and ordered its publication.
P. 57. Commendatory Verses.
These are signed by _T. Powell, Oxoniensis_; _I. Rowlandson, Oxoniensis_; and _Eugenius Philalethes, Oxoniensis_. Thomas Powell, one of the Powells of Cantreff, in Breconshire, was born in 1608. He matriculated from Jesus College on January 25th, 1627/8, took his B.A. in 1629 and his M.A. in 1632, and became a Fellow of the College. He was Rector of Cantreff and Vicar of Brecknock, but was ejected by the Commissioners for the Propagation of the Gospel and went abroad. At the Restoration he returned to Cantreff and was made D.D. and Canon of St. David's. But for his death, on the 31st December, 1660, he would probably have become Bishop of Bristol. He was the author of several books of no great importance. He appears to have been a close friend of Vaughan, who addresses various poems to him, and contributed others to his books. See _Olor Iscanus_, pp. 97, 159; _Thalia Rediviva_, pp. 178, 200, 267; _Fragments and Translations_, pp. 323-326. Powell, in return, wrote commendatory poems to both the _Olor Iscanus_ and the _Thalia Rediviva_.
_I. Rowlandson._ This may have been John Rowlandson, of Queen's College, Oxford, who matriculated the 17th October, 1634, aged 17, took his B.A. in 1636, and his M.A. in 1639. Either he or his father, James Rowlandson, also of Queen's College, was sequestered by the Westminster Assembly to the vicarage of Battle, Sussex, in 1644. He left it shortly after and "returned to his benefice from whence he was before thence driven by the forces raised against the parliament." (_See_ Addl. MS. 15,669, f. 17). There was also another James Rowlandson, son of James Rowlandson, D.D., Canon of Windsor, who matriculated from Queen's College on the 9th November, 1632, aged 17, and took his B.A. in 1637.--G. G.
_Eugenius Philalethes._ The author's brother, Thomas Vaughan. See the _Biographical Note_ (vol. ii., p. xxxiii).
P. 39. _that lamentable nation_, _i.e._ the Scotch.
P. 61. Olor Iscanus.
_Ausonius._ The famous schoolmaster, rhetorician and courtier of the early fourth century, was born at Bordeaux. One of his most famous poems is the _Mosella_ (Idyll X), a description of the river and its fish.
_Castara_, Lucy, daughter of William Herbert, Lord Powys, and wife of the Worcestershire poet, William Habington, who celebrated her in his poems under that name. The _Castara_ was published in 1634.
_Sabrina_, the tutelar nymph of the Severn. _Cf._ the invocation of her in Milton's "Comus."
_May the evet and the toad._ This passage is imitated from W. Browne's _Britannia's Pastorals_, Bk. I., Song 2, II., 277 _sqq._:
"May never evet nor the toad Within thy banks make their abode! Taking thy journey from the sea, May'st thou ne'er happen in thy way On nitre or on brimstone mine, To spoil thy taste! this spring of thine Let it of nothing taste but earth, And salt conceived, in their birth Be ever fresh! Let no man dare To spoil thy fish, make lock or ware; But on thy margent still let dwell Those flowers which have the sweetest smell. And let the dust upon thy strand Become like Tagus' golden sand. Let as much good betide to thee, As thou hast favour show'd to me."
G. G.
_flames that are ... canicular. Cf. A Dialogue between Sir Henry Wotton and Mr. Donne_ (Poems of John Donne, _Muse's Library_, Vol. I., p. 79):
"I'll never dig in quarry of a heart To have no part, Nor roast in fiery eyes, which always are Canicular."
P. 65. The Charnel-house.
_Kelder_, a caldron; cf. J. Cleveland, _The King's Disguise_:
"The sun wears midnight; day is beetle-brow'd, And lightning is in kelder of a cloud."
_A second fiat's care._ The allusion is to _Genesis_ i. 3: "And God said, Let there be light (in the Vulgate, _Fiat lux_), and there was light"; _cf._ Donne, _The Storm_ (_Muses' Library_, II. 4):
"Since all forms uniform deformity Doth cover; so that we, except God say Another _Fiat_, shall have no more day."
P. 70. To his Friend ----.
Miss Morgan thinks that the "friend" of this poem, whose name is shown by the first line to have been James, may perhaps be identified with the James Howell of the _Epistolae Ho-Elianae_. Howell had Vaughans amongst his cousins and correspondents, but these appear to have been of the Golden Grove family.
P. 73. To his retired Friend--an Invitation to Brecknock.
_her foul, polluted walls._ Miss Morgan quotes a statement from Grose's _Antiquities_ to the effect that the walls of Brecknock were pulled down by the inhabitants during the Civil War in order to avoid having to support a garrison or stand a siege.
_the Greek_, _i.e._ Hercules when in love with Omphale.
_Domitian-like_: _Cf._ Suetonius, _Vita Domitiani_, 3: "_Inter initia principatus cotidie secretum sibi horarum sumere solebat, nec quicquam amplius quam muscas captare ac stilo praeacuto configere._"
_Since Charles his reign._ This poem must date from after the execution of Charles I., on January 30, 1648/9. It would appear therefore that Vaughan was living in Brecknock and not at Newton about the time that the _Olor Iscanus_ was published.
P. 77. Monsieur Gombauld.
The writer referred to is John Ogier de Gombauld (1567-1666). His prose tale of _Endymion_ was translated by Richard Hurst in 1637. _Ismena_ and _Diophania_ who was metamorphosed into a myrtle, are characters in the story. _Periardes_ is a hill in Armenia whence the Euphrates takes its course.
P. 79. An Elegy on the Death of Mr. R. W., slain in the late unfortunate differences at Routon Heath, near Chester.
The battle of Routon, or Rowton, Heath took place on September 24, 1645. The Royalist forces, under Charles I. and Sir Marmaduke Langdale, advancing to raise the siege of Chester, were met and routed by the Parliamentarians under Poyntz. The contemporary pamphlets give a long list of the prisoners taken at Routon Heath, but name hardly any of those slain. It is therefore difficult to say who R. W., evidently a dear friend of Vaughan's, may have been. He appears to have been missing for a year before he was finally given up. From lines 25-27 we learn that he was a young man of only twenty. The most likely suggestion for his identification seems to me that of Mr. C. H. Firth, who points out to me that the name of one Roger Wood occurs in the list of Catholics who fell in the King's service as having been slain at Chester. Miss Southall (_Songs of Siluria_, 1890, p. 124) suggests that he may have been either Richard Williams, a nephew of Sir Henry Williams, of Gwernyfed, who died unmarried, or else a son of Richard Winter, of Llangoed. He might also, I think, have been one of Vaughan's wife's family, the Wises, and possibly also a Walbeoffe. A reference to the Walbeoffe pedigree in the note to p. 189 will show that there was a Robert Walbeoffe, brother of C. W. Miss Morgan thinks that he is a generation too old, and that the unnamed son of C. W., who, according to his tombstone, did not survive him, may have been a Robert, and the R. W. in question. On the question whether Vaughan was himself present at Routon Heath, _see_ the _Biographical Note_ (vol. ii., p. xxviii).
P. 83. Upon a Cloak lent him by Mr. J. Ridsley.
I do not know who Mr. Ridsley was. On the references to Vaughan's "juggling fate of soldiery" in this poem, _see_ the _Biographical Note_ (vol. ii., p. xxviii).
_craggy Biston, and the fatal Dee._ Chester stands, of course, on the Dee, which is "fatal" as the scene of disasters to the Royalist cause. Dr. Grosart explains Biston as "Bishton (or Bishopstone) in Monmouthshire," and adds, "'Craggie Biston' refers, no doubt, to certain caves there. The Poet's school-boy rambles from Llangattock doubtless included Bishton." I think that Biston is clearly Beeston Castle, one of the outlying defences of Chester, which played a considerable part in the siege. It surrendered on November 5, 1645, and the small garrison was permitted to march to Denbigh (J. R. Phillips, _The Civil War in Wales and the Marshes_, vol. i., p. 343).
_Micro-cosmography_, the world represented on a small scale in man. Vaughan means that he had as many lines on him as a map.
_Speed's Old Britons._ John Speed (1555-1629) published his _History of Great Britain_ in 1614.
_King Harry's Chapel at Westminster_, with its tombs, was already one of the sights of London.
_Brownist._ The Brownists were the religious followers of Robert Browne (c. 1550-c. 1633); they were afterwards known as Independents or Congregationalists.
P. 86. Upon Mr. Fletcher's Plays.
The first folio edition of Beaumont and Fletcher's _Comedies and Tragedies_ was published in 1647. Vaughan's lines are not, however, amongst the commendatory verses there given.
_Field's or Swansted's overthrow._ Nathaniel Field and Eliard Swanston, who appears to be meant by Swansted, were well-known actors. They were both members of the King's Company about 1633.
P. 90. Upon the Poems and Plays of the ever-memorable Mr. William Cartwright.
This was printed, together with verses by Tho. Vaughan and many other writers, in William Cartwright's _Comedies, Tragi-comedies, with other Poems_, 1651.
P. 94. An Elegy on the Death of Mr. R. Hall, slain at Pontefract, 1648.
Miss Southall thinks that the subject of this elegy may have been a son of Richard Hall, of High Meadow, in the Forest of Dean, co. Gloucester. These Halls were connected with the Winters, a Breconshire family. Mr. C. H. Firth ingeniously suggests to me that for R. Hall we should read R. Hall[ifax], and points out that a Robert Hallyfax was one of the garrison at the first siege of Pontefract in 1645. He may have been at the second siege also. (R. Holmes, _Sieges of Pontefract_, p. 20.)
P. 97. To my learned Friend, Mr. T. Powell, upon his Translation of Malvezzi's "Christian Politician."
The book referred to is _The Pourtract of the Politicke Christian-Favourite_. By Marquesse Virgilio Malvezzi, 1647. This is a translation of _Il Ritratto del Privato Politico Christiano_, published at Bologna in 1635. It does not contain Vaughan's verses, and no translator's name is given. The preface of another translation from Malvezzi, the _Stoa Triumphans_ (1651), is, however, signed "T. P."
P. 99. To my worthy Friend, Master T. Lewes.
Some of the lines in this poem are borrowed from Horace's verses, _Ad Thaliarcham_ (Book I., Ode 9):
"Vides, ut alta stet nive candida Soracte, nec iam sustineant onus Sylvae laborantes, geluque Flumina constiterint acuto?
* * * * *
Quid sit futurum eras, fuge quaerere; Quam sors dierum cunque debit; lucro Appone."
G. G.
Dr. Grosart thinks that T. Lewes was "probably of Maes-mawr, opposite Newton, on the south side of the Usk." Miss Southall identifies him with Thomas Lewis, incumbent in 1635 of Llanfigan, near Llansantffread. He was expelled from his living, but returned to it at the Restoration.
P. 100. To the most excellently accomplished Mrs. K. Philips.
Katherine Philips, by birth Katherine Fowler, became the wife in 1647 of Colonel James Philips, of the Priory, Cardigan. She was a wit and poetess, and well-known to a large circle of friends as "the matchless Orinda." Each member of her coterie had a similar fantastic pseudonym, and it is possible that this may account for the Etesia and Timander, the Fida and Lysimachus, of Vaughan's poems. The poems of Orinda were surreptitiously published in 1664, and in an authorised version in 1667. They include her poem on Vaughan, afterwards prefixed to _Thalia Rediviva_ (cf. p. 169), but are not accompanied by the present verses nor by those to her editor in _Thalia Rediviva_ (p. 211).
_A Persian votary_--_i.e._, a Parsee, or fire-worshipper.
P. 102. An Epitaph upon the Lady Elizabeth, Second Daughter to his late Majesty.
Elizabeth, second daughter of Charles I., was born in 1635. She suffered from ill-health and grief after her father's execution, and died at Carisbrooke on September 8, 1650. This poem, therefore, like others in the volume, must be of later date than the dedication.
P. 104. To Sir William Davenant, upon his Gondibert.
Davenant's _Gondibert_ was first published in 1651. It does not contain Vaughan's verses.
_thy aged sire._ Is this an allusion to the story that Davenant was in reality the son of William Shakespeare?
_Birtha_, the heroine of _Gondibert_.
P. 119. Cupido [Cruci Affixus].
Another translation of Ausonius' poems was published by Thomas Stanley in 1649. There is nothing in the original corresponding to the last four lines of Vaughan's translation.
Ll. 89-94. The Latin is:
"Se quisque absolvere gestit, Transferat ut proprias aliena in crimina culpas."
Vaughan's simile is borrowed from Donne's _Fourth Elegy_ (_Muses' Library_, I., 107):
"as a thief at bar is questioned there, By all the men that have been robb'd that year."
P. 125. Translations from Boethius.
These translations are from the _De Consolatione Philosophiae_, a medley of prose and verse. Vaughan has translated all the verse in the first two books except the Metrum 3 of Book I. and Metrum 6 of Book II. The headings of Metra 7 and 8 of Book II. are given in error in _Olor Iscanus_ as Metra 6 and 7. Some further translations from Books III. and IV. will be found in _Thalia Rediviva_, pp. 224-235.
P. 144. Translations from Casimirus.
These translations are from the Polish poet Mathias Casimirus Sarbievius, or Sarbiewski (1595-1640). His Latin _Lyrics_ and _Epodes_, modelled on Horace, were published in 1625-1631. Sarbiewski was a Jesuit, and a complete edition of his poems was published by the Jesuits in 1892.
P. 158. Venerabili viro, praeceptori suo olim et semper colendissimo Magistro Mathaeo Herbert.
Matthew Herbert was Rector of Llangattock, and apparently acted as tutor to the young Vaughans. He is mentioned in the lines _Ad Posteros_ (p. 51). Thomas Vaughan also has two sets of Latin verses to him (Grosart, II., 349), and dedicated to him his _Man-Mouse taken in a Trap_ (1650). On July 19, 1655, he petitioned for the discharge of the sequestration on his rectory, which had been sequestered for the delinquency of the Earl of Worcester (_Cal. Proc. Ctee. for Compositions_, p. 1713). He died in 1660.
P. 159. Praestantissimo viro Thomae Poello in suum de Elementis Opticae Libellum.
The _Elementa Opticae_ appeared in 1649. It has no name on the title-page, but the preface is signed "T. P.," and dated 1649. It contains the present prefatory verses, together with some others, also in Latin, by Eugenius Philalethes (Thomas Vaughan).
THALIA REDIVIVA.
This volume, published in 1578, at a late date in Henry Vaughan's life, twenty-three years after the second part of _Silex Scintillans_, must have been written, at least in part, much earlier. The poem on _The King Disguised_, for instance, goes back to 1646. At the end of the volume, with a separate title-page (_cf. Bibliography_), come the Verse Remains of the poet's brother, Thomas Vaughan. This is the rarest of Vaughan's collections of poems. The copy once in Mr. Corser's collection, and now in the British Museum, was believed to be unique. It was used both by Lyte and Dr. Grosart. But Miss Morgan has come across two other copies, one in Mr. Locker-Lampson's library at Rowfant, the other in that of Mr. Joseph, at Brecon.
P. 163. The Epistle-Dedicatory.
Henry Somerset, third Marquis of Worcester, was created Duke of Beaufort in 1682. He was a distant kinsman of Vaughan's, whose great-great-grandfather, William Vaughan of Tretower, married Frances Somerset, granddaughter of Henry, Earl of Worcester. He was a firm adherent of the Stuarts, and refused to take the oath of allegiance to William III. (Dr. Grosart).
P. 164. Commendatory Verses.
These are signed by _Orinda_; _Tho. Powell, D.D._; _N. W., Ies. Coll., Oxon._; _I. W., A.M. Oxon._
On Orinda, _cf._ the note to p. 100, and on Dr. Powell, that to P. 57.
Mr. Firth suggests that N. W., of Jesus, probably a young man, who imitates Cowley's _Pindarics_, and does not claim any personal acquaintance with Vaughan, may be N[athaniel] W[illiams], son of Thomas Williams, of Swansea, who matriculated in 1672, or N[icholas] W[adham], of Rhydodyn, Carmarthen, who matriculated in 1669.
I. W., also an Oxford man, is probably the writer of the prefaces to the Marquis of Worcester and to the Reader, which are signed respectively J. W. and I. W. Mr. Firth suggests that he may be J[ohn] W[illiams], son of Sir Henry Williams of Gwernevet, Brecon, who matriculated at Brasenose in 1642. I have thought that he might be Vaughan's cousin, the second John Walbeoffe (_cf._ p. 189, note), who is mentioned in Thomas Vaughan's diary (_cf. Biographical Note_, vol. ii., p. xxxviii), but there is no proof that Walbeoffe was an Oxford man. Perhaps he is the friend James to whom a poem in _Olor Iscanus_ is addressed (p. 70).
P. 178. To his Learned Friend and loyal Fellow-prisoner, Thomas Powel of Cant[reff], Doctor of Divinity.
On Dr. Powell, _cf._ note to p. 57. Vaughan's reason for calling him a "fellow-prisoner" is discussed in the _Biographical Note_ (vol. ii., p. xxxii).
P. 181. The King Disguised.
John Cleveland's poem, _The King's Disguise_, here referred to, was first published as a pamphlet on January 21, 1646. It appears in Cleveland's _Works_ (1687). The disguising was on the occasion of Charles the First's flight, on April 27, 1646, from Oxford to the Scottish camp, of which Dr. Gardiner writes (_History of the Civil War_, Ch. xli): "At three in the morning of the 27th, Charles, disguised as a servant, with his beard and hair closely trimmed, passed over Magdalen Bridge in apparent attendance upon Ashburnham and Hudson."
P. 187. To Mr. M. L., upon his Reduction of the Psalms into Method.
Dr. Grosart identifies M. L. with Matthew Locke, of whom Roger North says, in his _Memoirs of Music_ (4to, 1846, p. 96): "He set most of the Psalms to music in parts, for the use of some vertuoso ladyes in the city." Locke's setting of the _Psalms_ exists only in MS. A copy was in the library of Dr. E. F. Rimbault, who thinks that the author assisted Playford in his _Whole Book of Psalms_ (1677). In 1677 he died.
P. 189. To the pious Memory of C[harles] W[albeoffe] Esquire.
Charles Walbeoffe was a man of considerable importance in Brecknockshire. His name occurs several times in State papers of the period. A petition of his concerning a ward is dated October 12, 1640. (_Cal. S. P. Dom._, Car. I., 470, 113). He was High Sheriff in 1648 (Harl. MS. 2,289, f. 174), and a fragment of a warrant signed by him on April 17 of that year to Thomas Vaughan, treasurer of the county, for the monthly assessment, is in Harl. MS. 6,831, f. 13. As we might perhaps gather from Vaughan's poem, he does not seem to have taken an active part in the Civil War. He did not, like some other members of his family, sign the _Declaration_ of Brecknock for the Parliament on November 23, 1645 (J. R. Phillips, _Civil War in Wales and the Marches_, ii. 284). And he seems to have joined the Royalist rising in Wales of 1648. Information was laid on February 10, 1649, that he "was Commissioner of Array and Association, raised men and money, subscribed warrants to raise men against the Parliament's generals, and sat as J.P. in the court at Brecon when the friends of Parliament were prosecuted" (_Cal. Proc. Ctee. for Advance of Money_, p. 1017). Afterwards he was reconciled, sat on the local Committee for Compositions, and again got into trouble with the authorities. On May 14, 1652, the Brecon Committee wrote to the Central Committee that, being one of the late Committee, he would not account for sums in his hands. He was fined L20. (_Cal. Proc. Ctee. for Compositions_, p. 578.)
Miss Morgan has copied the inscription on his tombstone in Llanhamlach Church.
[Arms of Walbeoffe.]
"Here lieth the body of Charles Walbeoffe, Esqre., who departed this life the 13th day of September, 1653, and was married to Mary, one of the daughters of Sir Thomas Aubrey of Llantryddid, in the county of Glamorgan, Knt., by whom he had issue two sonnes, of whom only Charles surviveth."
Charles Walbeoffe the younger died in 1668, and was succeeded by his cousin John. "This gentleman," says Jones (_Hist. of Brecknock_, ii., 482), "being of a gay and extravagant turn, left the estate, much encumbered, to his son Charles, and soon after his death it was foreclosed and afterwards sold."
This John Walbeoffe is mentioned in Thomas Vaughan's _Diary_ (_cf._ vol. ii., p. xxxviii). He may be the writer of the preface to _Thalia Rediviva_ (_cf._ p. 164, note).
It is possible that the R. W. of another of Vaughan's Elegies may also have been a Walbeoffe. _Cf._ p. 79, _note_.
Dr. Grosart was unable to identify the initials C. W. The Walbeoffes, or Walbieffes, of Llanhamlach, the next village to Llansantfread, were among the most important of the _Advenae_, or Norman settlers of Brecknockshire. They were related, as the following table shows, to the Vaughans of Tretower. The following extract from the genealogy of the Walbeoffes of Llanhamlach is compiled from Harl. MS. 2,289. f. 136_b_; Jones, _History of Brecknockshire_, ii., 484; Miss G. E. F. Morgan, in _Brecon County Times_ for May 13, 1887.
William Vaughan of Tretower. | ----------------------- | | Charles. Margaret = John Walbeoffe. | | | +-------------+--------------------+---+ | | | | Thomas = Denise Williams. Charles = Mary, d. of Sir | Robert. | ob. 1653. | Thomas Aubrey | | | of Llantrithid. | | | | Henry. +----------------+ | | | | | +-------+---------+ | Son | | | | | (name unknown.) | Henry. Thomas. W[illiam?] | | | | Charles = Elizabeth, d. and | nat. 1646, matr. h. to Thomas Aubrey | 19, vii., 1661, ob. of Llantrithid. | s.p. 1668. | | +-----------------------+ | John = Catherine Watkins. | John = Susan, d. of Humphry | Howarth of Whitehouse, | Herefordshire. | +----------+------------+ | | Charles. John, Rector of Llanhamlach, nat. 1675, matr. 3, ii., 1696.
P. 193. In Zodiacum Marcelli Palingenii.
Marcellus Palingenius, or Petro Angelo Manzoli, wrote his didactic and satirical poem, the _Zodiacus Vitae_, about 1535. It was translated into English by Barnabee Googe in 1560-1565. The latest edition of the original is that by C. C. Weise (1832). As we may gather from Vaughan's lines, Manzoli was an earnest student of occult lore. _Cf._ Gustave Reynier, _De Marcelli Palingenii Stellatae Poctae Zodiaco Vitae_ (1893).
P. 195. To Lysimachus.
_Bevis ... Arundel ... Morglay_. The allusion is to the _Romance of Sir Bevis of Hampton_ (ed. E. Koelbing, E. E. T. S., 1885). Arundel was Sir Bevis' horse, and Morglay his sword.
P. 197. On Sir Thomas Bodley's Library.
If Vaughan was not himself an Oxford man (_Biog. Note_, vol. ii., p. xxvi), he may have been in Oxford with the King's troops at the end of August, 1645 (_Biog. Note_, vol. ii., p. xxxi).
_Walsam_, Walsingham, in Norfolk, famous for the rich shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham, to which many offerings were made.
P. 200. The Importunate Fortune.
I. 105. _My purse, as Randolph's was._ The allusion is to Randolph's _A Parley with his Empty Purse_, which begins:
"Purse, who'll not know you have a poet's been, When he shall look and find no gold herein?"
P. 204. To I. Morgan, of Whitehall, Esq.
Whitehall appears to be an Anglicised form of Wenallt, more properly Whitehill. John Morgan, or Morgans, of Wenallt, in Llandetty, was a kinsman of Vaughan's, as the following table (from Harl. MS., 2,289, f. 39) shows:
John Morgans. | Morgan Jones = Frances, d. of Charles | Vaughan of Tretower _________________________|_______________ | | John Morgans = Mary, d. to Thomas Anne = Aubrey of Llantrithid. 1. Charles Williams of Scethrog. 2. Hugh Powell, parson of Llansantffread.
P. 211. To the Editor of the Matchless Orinda.
_cf._ p. 100, _note_. These lines do not appear in either the 1664 or the 1667 edition of Orinda's poems.
P. 213. Upon Sudden News of the Much Lamented Death of Judge Trevers.
"This was probably Sir Thomas Trevor, youngest son of John Trevor, Esq., of Trevallyn, co. Denbigh, by Mary, daughter of Sir George Bruges, of London. He was born 6th July, 1586. He was made one of the Barons of the Exchequer 12th May, 1625; and was one of the six judges who refused to accept the new commission offered them by the ruling powers under the Commonwealth. He died 21st December, 1656, and is buried at Lemington-Hastang, in Warwickshire." (Dr. Grosart.)
P. 214. To Etesia (for Timander) The First Sight.
I do not think we need look for anything autobiographical in this and the following poems written to Etesia. They are written "for Timander," that is, either to serve the suit of a friend, or as copies of verses with no personal reference at all. The names Etesia and Timander smack of Orinda's poetic circle.
P. 224. Translations from Severinus.
Dr. Grosart hunted out an obscure Neapolitan, Marcus Aurelius Severino, and ascribed to him the originals of these translations. They are of course from the _De Consolatione Philosophiae_ of Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius, and are a continuation of the pieces already printed in _Olor Iscanus_ (pp. 125-143).
P. 245. Pious Thoughts and Ejaculations.
These are much in the vein of _Silex Scintillans_. They probably belong to various dates later than 1655, when the second part of that collection appeared. _The Nativity_ (p. 259) is dated 1656, and _The True Christmas_ (p. 261) was apparently written after the Restoration.
P. 261. The True Christmas.
Vaughan was no Puritan; _cf._ his lines on _Christ's Nativity_ (vol. i., p. 107)--
"Alas, my God! Thy birth now here Must not be numbered in the year,"
but he was not much in sympathy with the ideals of the Restoration either; _cf._ the passage on "our unjust ways" in _Daphnis_ (p. 284).
P. 267. De Salmone.
On Thomas Powell, _cf._ p. 57, note.
P. 272. The Bee.
_Hilarion's servant, the sage crow._ There seems to be some confusion between Hilarion, an obscure fourth-century Abbot, and Paul the Hermit, of whom it is related in his _Life by S. Jerome_ that for sixty years he was daily provided with half a loaf of bread by a crow.
P. 278. Daphnis.
The subject of the Eclogue appears to be Vaughan's brother Thomas, who died 27th February, 1666. On him _see_ the _Biographical Note_ (vol. ii., p. xxxiii).
_true black Moors_; an allusion, perhaps, to Thomas Vaughan's controversy with Henry More.
_Old Amphion_; perhaps Matthew Herbert, on whom see note to p. 158.
_The Isis and the prouder Thames._ Thomas Vaughan was buried at Albury, near Oxford.
_Noble Murray._ Thomas Vaughan's patron, himself a poet and alchemist, Sir Robert Murray, Secretary of State for Scotland. His poems have been collected by the Hunterian Club.
FRAGMENTS AND TRANSLATIONS.
The larger number of the verses in this section are translated quotations scattered through Vaughan's prose-pamphlets. Dr. Grosart identified some of the originals; I have added a few others; but the larger number remain obscure and are hardly worth spending much labour upon. The title-pages of the pamphlets will be found in the _Bibliography_ (vol. ii., p. lvii).
P. 289. From Eucharistica Oxoniensia.
I have already, in the _Biographical Note_ (vol. ii., p. xxviii), given reasons for doubting whether this poem is by the Silurist. It was first printed as his by Dr. Grosart. Charles the First was in Scotland, trying to settle his differences with the Scots, during the closing months of 1641.
P. 291. Translations from Plutarch and Maximus Tyrius.
These, together with a translation of Guevara's _De vitae rusticae laudibus_, were appended to the _Olor Iscanus_. Vaughan did not translate directly from the Greek, but from a Latin version published in 1613-14 amongst some tracts by John Reynolds, Lecturer in Greek at, and afterwards President of Corpus Christi College, Oxford.
P. 294. From the Mount of Olives.
A volume of Devotions published by Vaughan in 1652. The preface, dated 1st October, 1651, is addressed to Sir Charles Egerton, Knight, and in it Vaughan speaks of "that near relation by which my dearest friend lays claim to your person." It is impossible to say who is the "dearest friend" referred to. The _Flores Solitudinis_ (1654) is also dedicated to Sir Charles Egerton. He was probably of Staffordshire. Dr. Grosart (II. xxxiii) states that in Hanbury Church, co. Stafford, is a monument _Caroli Egertoni Equitis Aurati_, who died 1662. Perhaps therefore he was connected with Vaughan's wife's family, the Wises of Staffordshire.
P. 298. From Man in Glory.
This translation from a work attributed to St. Anselm and published as his in 1639 is appended to the Mount of Olives.
In the original lines 5, 6, are printed in error after lines 7, 8.
P. 299. From Flores Solitudinis.
In 1654 Vaughan published a volume containing (1) translations of two discourses by Eusebius Nierembergius, (2) a translation of Eucherius, _De Contemptu Mundi_, (3) an original life of S. Paulinus, Bishop of Nola. These were poems "collected in his sickness and retirement." The Epistle-dedicatory to Sir Charles Egerton is dated 1653, and that to the reader which precedes the translations from Nierembergius on 17th April, 1652.
_Bissellius._ John Bissel a Jesuit, (1601-1677), wrote _Deliciae Aetatis_, _Argonauticon Americanorum_, etc. (Grosart).
_Augurellius._ Johannes Aurelius Augurellius of Rimini (1454-1537), wrote _Carmina_, _Chrysopoeia_, _Geronticon_, etc. (Grosart).
P. 307. From Primitive Holiness.
This original life of S. Paulinus of Nola, by far the most striking of Vaughan's prose works, contains a number of poems, pieced together by Vaughan from lines in Paulinus' own poems and in those of Ausonius addressed to him. The edition used by Vaughan seems to have been that published by Rosweyd at Antwerp in 1622. I have traced the sources of the poems so far as I can in the edition published by W. de Hartel in the _Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum_ (vols. xxix, xxx 1894).
P. 322. From Hermetical Physic.
A translation from the _Naturae Sanctuarium! quod est Physica Hermetica_ (1619) of the alchemist Henry Nollius, published by Vaughan in 1655.
P. 323. From Cerbyd Fechydwiaeth.
This tract is bound up with the Brit. Mus. copy of [Thomas Powell's] _Quadriga Salutis_ (1657), of which it appears to be a Welsh translation. The verses, to which nothing corresponds in the English version, are signed Ol[or] Vaughan (_cf._ Olor Iscanus). Professor Palgrave (_Y Cymrodor_, 1890-1) translates them as follows: "The Lord's Prayer, when looked into (we see), the Trinity of His Fatherly goodness has given it as a foundation-stone of all prayer, and has made it for our instruction in doctrine." He adds that this Englyn occurs with others written in an eighteenth-century hand on the fly-leaf of a MS. of Welsh poetry by Iago ab Duwi.
P. 324. From Humane Industry.
On Thomas Powell _cf._ p. 57, note. The first three of these translations are marked H. V. in the margin; of the fourth Powell says, "The translation of Mr. Hen. Vaughan, Silurist, whose excellent Poems are published." Many other translations are scattered through the book, but there is nothing to connect them with Vaughan.
LIST OF FIRST LINES.
Vol. page A grove there grows, round with the sea confin'd, ii. 239
A king and no king! Is he gone from us, ii. 181
A tender kid--see, where 'tis put-- ii. 293
A ward, and still in bonds, one day i. 19
A wit most worthy in tried gold to shine, i. 2
Accept, dread Lord, the poor oblation; i. 92
Accipe praerapido salmonem in gurgite captum, ii. 267
Against the virtuous man we all make head, ii. 305
Ah! He is fled! i. 40
Ah! what time wilt Thou come? when shall that cry i. 123
All sorts of men, who live on Earth, ii. 235
All worldly things, even while they grow, decay ii. 304
Almighty Spirit! Thou that by ii. 144
Amyntas go, thou art undone ii. 12
And do they so? have they a sense i. 87
And for life's sake to lose the crown of life. ii. 303
And is the bargain thought too dear ii. 311
And rising at midnight the stars espied ii. 297
And will not bear the cry ii. 301
As Egypt's drought by Nilus is redress'd ii. 304
As kings do rule like th' heavens, who dispense ii. 289
As Time one day by me did pass, i. 234
As travellers, when the twilight's come i. 146
Ask, lover, e'er thou diest; let one poor breath ii. 11
Awake, glad heart! get up and sing! i. 105
Base man! and couldst thou think Cato alone ii. 301
Be dumb, coarse measures, jar no more; to me i. 195
Be still, black parasites, i. 187
Bless me! what damps are here! how stiff an air! ii. 65
Blessed, unhappy city! dearly lov'd, i. 218
Blessings as rich and fragrant crown your heads ii. 92
Blest be the God of harmony and love! i. 76
Blest infant bud, whose blossom-life i. 120
Boast not, proud Golgotha, that thou canst show ii. 197
Bright and blest beam! whose strong projection, i. 121
Bright books! the perspectives to our weak sights: ii. 245
Bright Queen of Heaven! God's Virgin Spouse! i. 225
Bright shadows of true rest! some shoots of bliss; i. 114
But night and day doth his own life molest, ii. 302
Can any tell me what it is? Can you ii. 268
Chance taking from me things of highest price ii. 292
Come, come! what do I here? i. 61
Come, drop your branches, strew the way i. 216
Come, my heart! come, my head, i. 52
Come, my true consort in my joys and care! ii. 317
Come sapless blossom, creep not still on earth, i. 166
Curtain'd with clouds in a dark night ii. 132
Darkness, and stars i' th' mid-day! They invite ii. 18
Dear, beauteous saint! more white than day i. 227
Dear friend, sit down, and bear awhile this shade i. 193
Dear friend! whose holy, ever-living lines i. 91
Dearest! if you those fair eyes--wond'ring--stick ii. 115
Death and darkness, get you packing, i. 133
Diminuat ne sera dies praesentis honorem ii. 51
Draw near, fond man, and dress thee by this glass, ii. 294
Dust and clay, i. 180
Early, while yet the dark was gay ii. 255
Eternal God! Maker of all i. 285
Et sic in cithara, sic in dulcedine vitae ii. 266
Excel then if thou canst, be not withstood, ii. 291
Fair and young light! my guide to holy i. 236
Fair order'd lights--whose motion without noise i. 155
Fair Prince of Light! Light's living well! ii. 249
Fair, shining mountains of my pilgrimage ii. 247
Fair, solitary path! whose blessed shades i. 256
Fair vessel of our daily light, whose proud ii. 257
Fairly design'd! to charm our civil rage ii. 171
False life! a foil and no more, when i. 282
Fancy and I, last evening, walk'd, ii. 15
Farewell! I go to sleep; but when i. 73
Farewell thou true and tried reflection ii. 276
Farewell, you everlasting hills! I'm cast i. 43
Father of lights! what sunny seed, i. 189
Feeding on fruits which in the heavens do grow, ii. 291
Flaccus, not so: that worldly he ii. 152
Fool that I was! to believe blood ii. 209
For shame desist, why shouldst thou seek my fall? ii. 200
Fortune--when with rash hands she quite turmoils ii. 134
Fresh fields and woods! the Earth's fair face ii. 252
From fruitful beds and flow'ry borders, ii. 272
From the first hour the heavens were made ii. 296
Go catch the ph[oe]nix, and then bring ii. 217
Go, go, quaint follies, sugar'd sin, i. 113
Go, if you must! but stay--and know ii. 222
Had I adored the multitude and thence ii. 169
Hail, sacred shades! cool, leafy house! ii. 26
Happy is he, that with fix'd eyes ii. 224
Happy that first white age! when we ii. 138
Happy those early days, when I i. 59
Have I so long in vain thy absence mourn'd? ii. 309
He that thirsts for glory's prize, ii. 140
Here holy Anselm lives in ev'ry page, ii. 298
Here, take again thy sackcloth! and thank heav'n ii. 83
Here the great well-spring of wash'd souls, with beams ii. 313
His deep, dark heart--bent to supplant-- ii. 292
Hither thou com'st: the busy wind all night i. 207
How could that paper sent, ii. 307
How is man parcell'd out! how ev'ry hour i. 139
How kind is Heav'n to man! if here i. 107
How oft have we beheld wild beasts appear ii. 325
How rich, O Lord, how fresh Thy visits are! i. 105
How shrill are silent tears! when sin got head i. 124
I am confirm'd, and so much wing is given ii. 79
I call'd it once my sloth: in such an age ii. 58
I cannot reach it; and my striving eye i. 249
I did but see thee! and how vain it is ii. 90
I have consider'd it; and find i. 90
I have it now: i. 238
I knew it would be thus! and my just fears ii. 94
I knew thee not, nor durst attendance strive ii. 87
I saw beneath Tarentum's stately towers ii. 296
I saw Eternity the other night i. 150
I see the Temple in thy pillar rear'd; i. 261
I see the use: and know my blood i. 69
I've read thy soul's fair nightpiece, and have seen ii. 77
I walk'd the other day, to spend my hour, i. 171
I whose first year flourished with youthful verse, ii. 125
I wonder, James, through the whole history ii. 70
I write not here, as if thy last in store ii. 59
I wrote it down. But one that saw i. 264
If Amoret, that glorious eye, ii. 13
"If any have an ear," i. 242
If I were dead, and in my place ii. 16
If old tradition hath not fail'd, ii. 233
If sever'd friends by sympathy can join, ii. 178
If this world's friends might see but once i. 232
If weeping eyes could wash away ii. 151
If with an open, bounteous hand ii. 135
In all the parts of earth, from farthest West, ii. 28
In March birds couple, a new birth ii. 295
In those bless'd fields of everlasting air ii. 119
Isca parens florum, placido qui spumeus ore ii. 157
It is perform'd! and thy great name doth run ii. 193
It lives when kill'd, and brancheth when 'tis lopp'd ii. 301
It would less vex distressed man ii. 145
Jesus, my life! how shall I truly love Thee? i. 200
Joy of my life while left me here! i. 67
Knave's tongues and calumnies no more doth prize ii. 292
King of comforts! King of Life! i. 127
King of mercy, King of love, i. 174
Learning and Law, your day is done, ii. 213
Leave Amoret, melt not away so fast ii. 23
Let me not weep to see thy ravish'd house ii. 307
Let not thy youth and false delights ii. 146
Life, Marcellina, leaving thy fair frame, ii. 312
Like some fair oak, that when her boughs ii. 302
[Like] to speedy posts, bear hence the lamp of life ii. 304
Long life, oppress'd with many woes, ii. 306
Long since great wits have left the stage ii. 211
Lord, bind me up, and let me lie i. 161
Lord Jesus! with what sweetness and delights, i. 177
Lord, since Thou didst in this vile clay i. 116
Lord! what a busy restless thing i. 48
Lord, when Thou didst on Sinai pitch, i. 148
Lord, when Thou didst Thyself undress, i. 51
Lord, with what courage, and delight i. 80
Love, the world's life! What a sad death ii. 223
Man should with virtue arm'd and hearten'd be ii. 303
Mark, when the evening's cooler wings ii. 21
Most happy man! who in his own sweet fields ii. 236
My dear, Almighty Lord! why dost Thou weep? i. 220
My God and King! to Thee i. 259
My God, how gracious art Thou! I had slipt i. 89
My God! Thou that didst die for me, i. 13
My God, when I walk in those groves i. 30
My soul, my pleasant soul, and witty, ii. 294
My soul, there is a country i. 83
Nature even for herself doth lay a snare, ii. 303
Nimble sigh on thy warm wings, ii. 10
Nothing on earth, nothing at all ii. 149
Now I have seen her; and by Cupid ii. 206
Now that the public sorrow doth subside ii. 189
O book! Life's guide! how shall we part; i. 287
O come, and welcome! come, refine! ii. 251
O come away, i. 274
O day of life, of light, of love! i. 267
O do not go! Thou know'st I'll die! i. 214
O dulcis luctus, risuque potentior omni! ii. 221
O health, the chief of gifts divine! ii. 293
O holy, blessed, glorious Three, i. 201
O in what haste, with clouds and night ii. 126
O joys! infinite sweetness! with what flowers i. 71
O knit me, that am crumbled dust! the heap i. 46
O my chief good! i. 84
O quae frondosae per am[oe]na cubilia silvae ii. 160
O, subtle Love! thy peace is war; ii. 220
O tell me whence that joy doth spring i. 284
O the new world's new-quick'ning Sun! i. 289
O Thou great builder of this starry frame, ii. 129
O Thou that lovest a pure and whiten'd soul; i. 130
O Thou! the first-fruits of the dead, i. 78
O Thou who didst deny to me ii. 263
O Thy bright looks! Thy glance of love i. 197
O when my God, my Glory, brings i. 260
Obdurate still and tongue-tied, you accuse ii. 308
Oft have I seen, when that renewing breath i. 25
Patience digesteth misery ii. 302
Peace? and to all the world? Sure One, ii. 259
Peace, peace! I blush to hear thee; when thou art i. 108
Peace, peace! I know 'twas brave; i. 65
Peace, peace! it is not so. Thou dost miscall i. 137
Peter, when thou this pleasant world dost see, ii. 299
Praying! and to be married! It was rare, i. 37
Quid celebras auratam undam, et combusta pyropis ii. 265
Quite spent with thoughts, I left my cell, and lay i. 57
Quod vixi, Mathaee dedit pater, haec tamen olim ii. 158
Sacred and secret hand! i. 223
Sad, purple well! whose bubbling eye i. 254
Saw not, Lysimachus, last day, when we ii. 195
Say, witty fair one, from what sphere ii. 100
See what thou wert! by what Platonic round ii. 175
See you that beauteous queen, which no age tames? ii. 219
Sees not my friend, what a deep snow ii. 99
Shall I believe you can make me return, ii. 306
Shall I complain, or not? or shall I mask ii. 112
Sickness and death, you are but sluggish things, ii. 309
Silence and stealth of days! 'Tis now, i. 74
Since dying for me, Thou didst crave no more i. 278
Since I in storms us'd most to be, i. 283
Since in a land not barren still, i. 145
Since last we met, thou and thy horse--my dear-- ii. 73
Sion's true, glorious God! on Thee i. 269
So from our cold, rude world, which all things tires, ii. 204
So our decays God comforts by ii. 295
So, stick up ivy and the bays, ii. 261
Some esteem it no point of revenge to kill ii. 323
Some struggle and groan as if by panthers torn, ii. 300
Still young and fine! but what is still in view i. 230
Sure, it was so. Man in those early days i. 101
Sure Priam will to mirth incline, ii. 291
Sure, there's a tie of bodies! and as they i. 82
Sure thou didst flourish once! and many springs, i. 209
Sweet, harmless live[r]s!--on whose leisure i. 158
Sweet, sacred hill! on whose fair brow i. 49
Tentasti, fateor, sine vulnere saepius et me i. liv
Thanks, mighty Silver! I rejoice to see ii. 68
That man for misery excell'd ii. 293
That the fierce pard doth at a beck ii. 325
That the world in constant force ii. 142
The lucky World show'd me one day i. 226
The naked man too gets the field, ii. 300
The painful cross with flowers and palms is crown'd, ii. 314
The pains of Saints and Saints' rewards are twins, ii. 314
The plenteous evils of frail life fill the old: ii. 305
The strongest body and the best ii. 323
The trees we set grow slowly, and their shade ii. 297
The untired strength of never-ceasing motion, ii. 324
The whole wench--how complete soe'er--was but ii. 298
There are that do believe all things succeed ii. 295
There's need, betwixt his clothes, his bed and board ii. 322
They are all gone into the world of light! i. 182
--They fain would--if they might-- ii. 302
This is the day--blithe god of sack--which we, ii. 106
This pledge of your joint love, to heaven now fled, ii. 308
Those sacred days by tedious Time delay'd, ii. 315
Though since thy first sad entrance by i. 272
Thou that know'st for whom I mourn, i. 54
Thou the nepenthe easing grief ii. 301
Thou who didst place me in this busy street i. 244
Thou, who dost flow and flourish here below, i. 198
Thou, whose sad heart, and weeping head lies low i. 133
Through pleasant green fields enter you the way ii. 313
Through that pure virgin shrine, i. 251
Time's teller wrought into a little round, ii. 324
'Tis a sad Land, that in one day i. 23
'Tis dead night round about: Horror doth creep i. 41
'Tis madness sure; and I am in the fit, ii. 184
'Tis not rich furniture and gems, ii. 147
'Tis now clear day: I see a rose i. 33
'Tis true, I am undone: yet, ere I die, ii. 17
To live a stranger unto life ii. 304
True life in this is shown, ii. 304
'Twas so; I saw thy birth. That drowsy lake i. 45
Tyrant, farewell! this heart, the prize ii. 8
Unfold! Unfold! Take in His light, ii. 254
Up, O my soul! and bless the Lord! O God, i. 202
Up to those bright and gladsome hills, i. 136
Vain, sinful art! who first did fit i. 219
Vain wits and eyes i. 16
Virtue's fair cares some people measure ii. 303
Vivaces oculorum ignes et lumina dia ii. 159
Waters above! eternal springs! ii. 248
Weary of this same clay and straw, I laid i. 153
We thank you, worthy Sir, that now we see ii. 97
Weighing the steadfastness and state i. 169
Welcome, dear book, soul's joy and food! The feast i. 103
Welcome sweet and sacred feast! welcome life! i. 134
Welcome, white day! a thousand suns, i. 184
Well, we are rescued! and by thy rare pen ii. 104
What can the man do that succeeds the king? i. 247
What clouds, Menalcas, do oppress thy brow, ii. 278
What fix'd affections, and lov'd laws ii. 228
What happy, secret fountain, i. 241
What greater good hath decked great Pompey's crown ii. 306
What is't to me that spacious rivers run ii. 295
What planet rul'd your birth? what witty star? ii. 57
What smiling star in that fair night, ii. 214
What though they boast their riches unto us? ii. 292
Whatever 'tis, whose beauty here below i. 191
When Daphne's lover here first wore the bays, ii. 61
When first I saw True Beauty, and Thy joys i. 168
When first Thou didst even from the grave i. 110
When first thy eyes unveil, give thy soul leave i. 94
When Jove a heav'n of small glass did behold, ii. 238
When the Crab's fierce constellation ii. 131
When the fair year i. 212
When the sun from his rosy bed ii. 136
When through the North a fire shall rush i. 28
When to my eyes, i. 63
When we are dead, and now, no more ii. 5
When with these eyes, clos'd now by Thee, i. 271
Whenever did, I pray, ii. 322
Where reverend bards of old have sate ii. 172
Where'er my fancy calls, there I go still, ii. 322
Whither, O whither didst thou fly ii. 250
Who wisely would for his retreat ii. 137
Who would unclouded see the laws ii. 230
Who on you throne of azure sits, i. 142
Whom God doth take care for, and love, ii. 306
Whose calm soul in a settled state ii. 128
Whose guilty soul, with terrors fraught, doth frame, ii. 303
Whose hissings fright all Nature's monstrous ills, ii. 305
With restless cares they waste the night and day, ii. 322
With what deep murmurs, through Time's silent stealth, i. 280
Y Pader, pan trier, Duw-tri a'i dododd ii. 323
You have consum'd my language, and my pen, ii. 109
You have oblig'd the patriarch: and 'tis known ii. 187
You minister to others' wounds a cure, ii. 291
You see what splendour through the spacious aisle, ii. 314
You that to wash your flesh and souls draw near, ii. 312
Youth, beauty, virtue, innocence ii. 102
Woodfall & Kinder, Printers, 70-76, Long Acre., W.C.
# Project Gutenberg #38549
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Transcriber's note:
In two places there is text enclosed by equal signs. That text is in bold face. Elsewhere equal signs are used as equal signs.
The Fuller Worthies' Library.
THE COMPLETE WORKS OF RICHARD CRASHAW.
In Two Volumes.
VOL. I.
MEMORIAL-INTRODUCTION. STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. CARMEN DEO NOSTRO. THE DELIGHTS OF THE MUSES. AIRELLES.
London: Robson and Sons, Printers, Pancras Road, N.W.
The Fuller Worthies' Library.
THE COMPLETE WORKS OF RICHARD CRASHAW.
For the First Time Collected and Collated with the Original and Early Editions, and Much Enlarged with
I. Hitherto unprinted and inedited Poems from Archbishop Sancroft's MSS. &c. &c.
II. Translation of the whole of the Poemata et Epigrammata.
III. Memorial-Introduction, Essay on Life and Poetry, and Notes.
IV. In Quarto, reproduction in facsimile of the Author's own Illustrations of 1652, with others specially prepared.
Edited by the
REV. ALEXANDER B. GROSART,
St. George's, Blackburn, Lancashire.
In Two Volumes.
VOL. I.
Printed for Private Circulation. 1872.
156 copies printed.
TO THE VERY REVEREND
JOHN HENRY NEWMAN, D.D.
AS AN EXPRESSION OF GRATITUDE FOR FUNDAMENTAL INTELLECTUAL AND SPIRITUAL QUICKENING AND NURTURE FOUND IN AND SUSTAINED BY HIS WRITINGS EARLIER AND LATEST, THIS EDITION OF A POET HE LOVES AS ENGLISHMAN AND CATHOLIC IS DEDICATED BY ALEXANDER B. GROSART.
CONTENTS.
Those marked [*] are printed for the first time from MSS.; those marked [+] have additions for the first time given in their places.
PAGE
Dedication v
Preface xi
Memorial-Introduction xxvii
Note xl
The Preface to the Reader xlv
SACRED POETRY: I. _Steps to the Temple, and Carmen Deo Nostro_, 1-181.
+Sainte Mary Magdalene, or the Weeper 3
Sancta Maria Dolorvm, or the Mother of Sorrows: a patheticall Descant upon the deuout Plainsong of Stabat Mater Dolorosa 19
+The Teare 25
+The Office of the Holy Crosse 29
Vexilla Regis: the Hymn of the Holy Crosse 44
The Lord silences His Questioners 47
Our Blessed Lord in His Circumcision to His Father 48
On the Wounds of our crucified Lord 50
Vpon the bleeding Crucifix: a song 51
+To the Name above every name, the Name of Iesvs: a hymn 55
Psalme xxiii 65
Psalme cxxxvii 68
+In the Holy Nativity of ovr Lord God: a hymn svng as by the Shepheards 70
New Year's Day 76
+In the gloriovs Epiphanie of ovr Lord God: a hymn svng as by the three Kings 79
To the Qveen's Maiesty 91
Vpon Easter Day 94
Sospetto d'Herode 95
The Hymn of Sainte Thomas, in Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament 121
Lavda Sion Salvatorem: the Hymn for the Bl. Sacrament 124
+Prayer: an Ode which was prefixed to a little Prayer-book given to a young Gentle-woman 128
To the same Party: Covncel concerning her Choise 134
Description of a Religiovs Hovse and Condition of Life (out of Barclay) 137
On Mr. George Herbert's Booke intituled the Temple of Sacred Poems: sent to a Gentle-woman 139
+A Hymn to the Name and Honor of the admirable Sainte Teresa 141
+An Apologie for the foregoing Hymn, as hauing been writt when the Author was yet among the Protestants 150
+The Flaming Heart: vpon the Book and Picture of the seraphical Saint Teresa, as she is vsvally expressed with a Seraphim biside her 152
A Song of Divine Love 157
+In the gloriovs Assvmption of ovr Blessed Lady 158
+Upon five piovs and learned Discourses by Robert Shelford 162
Dies irae, dies illa: the Hymn of the Chvrch, in meditation of the Day of Ivdgment 166
Charitas Nimia, or the dear Bargain 170
S. Maria Maior: the Himn, O gloriosa Domina 173
Hope [by Cowley] 175
M. Crashaw's Answer for Hope 178
SACRED POETRY: II. _Airelles_, 183-194.
*Mary seeking Jesus when lost 185
*The Wounds of the Lord Jesus 187
*On ye Gunpowder-Treason 188
*Ditto 190
+Ditto 192
SECULAR POETRY: I. _The Delights of the Muses_, 195-276.
Musick's Duell 197
In the Praise of the Spring (out of Virgil) 207
With a Picture sent to a Friend 208
+In praise of Lessius's Rule of Health 209
The Beginning of Heliodorus 212
Cupid's Cryer (out of the Greeke) 214
Vpon Bishop Andrews' Picture before his Sermons 217
Vpon the Death of a Gentleman 218
Vpon the Death of Mr. Herrys 220
Vpon the Death of the most desired Mr. Herrys 222
Another 225
His Epitaph 228
+An Epitaph vpon a yovng Married Covple, dead and bvryed together 230
Death's Lectvre and the Fvneral of a yovng Gentleman 232
An Epitaph vpon Doctor Brooke 234
On a foule Morning, being then to take a Journey 235
To the Morning: Satisfaction for Sleepe 237
Love's Horoscope 240
A Song (out of the Italian) 243
Out of the Italian 245
Out of the Italian 246
Vpon the Frontispeece of Mr. Isaackson's Chronologie 246
On the same by Bishop Rainbow 248
An Epitaph vpon Mr. Ashton, a conformable Citizen 250
Out of Catullus 251
Wishes 252
+To the Queen: an Apologie for the length of the following Panegyrick 259
To the Queen, vpon her numerous Progenie: a Panegyrick 260
Vpon two greene Apricockes sent to Cowley by Sir Crashaw 269
Alexias: The Complaint of the forsaken Wife of Sainte Alexis: three Elegies 271
SECULAR POETRY: II. _Airelles_, 277-303.
*Upon the King's Coronation 279
*Ditto 280
*Vpon the Birth of the Princesse Elizabeth 282
*Vpon a Gnatt burnt in a Candle 284
*From Petronius 286
*From Horace 287
*Ex Euphormione. 289
*An Elegy vpon the Death of Mr. Stanninow, Fellow of Queen's Colledge 290
*Upon the Death of a Friend 292
*An Elegie on the Death of Dr. Porter 293
+Verse-Letter to the Countess of Denbigh 295
Ditto from Carmen Deo Nostro 301
ILLUSTRATIONS, _in the illustrated Quarto only_: Vol. I.
1. The Weeper: engraved by W.J. Linton, Esq., after the Author's own Design 4
2. Sancta Maria Dolorvm; or the Mother of Sorrows 19
3. The Office of the Holy Crosse 29
4. The Recommendation 43
5. To the Name above every name, the Name of Iesus 55
6. The Hymn of Sainte Thomas 55
7. The 'irresolute' Locked Heart 55
8. In the Holy Nativity of ovr Lord God 71
9. In the gloriovs Epiphanie of ovr Lord God. 79
10. Head of Satan: drawn and engraved by W.J. Linton, Esq. 95
11. Sainte Teresa 141
12. Dies irae, dies illa 166
13. Maria Maior, O gloriosa Domina 173
14. A second Illustration from the Bodleian copy 173
15. The Dead Nightingale: drawn by Mrs. Blackburn, engraved by W.J. Linton, Esq. 197
Nos. 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 11, 12, 13, 14 are reproduced in facsimile from the author's own designs of 1652, by Pouncey of Dorchester, expressly for our edition of Crashaw. Besides the above there are a number of head- and tail-pieces by W.J. Linton, Esq.
PREFACE.
I have at last the pleasure of seeing half-fulfilled a long-cherished wish and intention, by the issue of the present Volume, being Vol. I. of the first really worthy edition of the complete Poetry of RICHARD CRASHAW, while Vol. II. is so well advanced that it may be counted on for Midsummer (_Deo favente_).
This Volume contains the whole of the previously-published English Poems, with the exception of the Epigrams scattered among the others, which more fittingly find their place in Vol. II., along with the Latin and Greek originals, and our translation of all hitherto untranslated. Here also will be found important, and peculiarly interesting as characteristic, additions of unprinted and inedited poems by CRASHAW from Archbishop SANCROFT'S MSS., among the TANNER MSS. in the Bodleian. These I have named 'Airelles,' after the little Alpine flowers that are dug out beneath the mountain masses of snow and ice, with abiding touches of beauty and perfume, as though they had been sheltered within walls and glass. The formerly printed Poems have been collated and recollated anxiously with the original and other early and authoritative editions, the results of which are shown in Notes and Illustrations at the close of each poem. Many of the various readings are of rare interest, and collation has revealed successive additions and revisions altogether unrecorded by modern editors. In their places I have pointed out the flagrant carelessness of the last Editor, W.B. TURNBULL, Esq., in Smith's 'Library of Old Authors.'
As was meet, I have adhered to the first titles of 'Steps to the Temple' and 'The Delights of the Muses,' the former embracing the SACRED, and the latter the SECULAR Poems. The original Editor (whoever he was), not the Author, gave these titles. In the Preface to 'the learned Reader,' he says, '_we stile_ his sacred Poems, Steps to the Temple.' At one time I was disposed to assign the editorship of the volumes of 1646 and 1648 to SANCROFT; but inasmuch as both contained Bp. RAINBOW'S verses prefixed to ISAACSON'S 'Chronologie,' while the piece is not in the SANCROFT MS., it seems he could not have been the editor. His pathetic closing words reveal much love: 'I will conclude all that I have impartially writ of this learned young Gent. (_now dead to us_) as hee himselfe doth, with the last line of his poem upon Bishop Andrewes' picture before his Sermons, _Verte paginas_--Look on his following leaves, and see him breath.'
I would now give an account of previous editions of our Worthy, and our use of them. The earliest of his publications--excluding minor pieces in University Collections as recorded in our Essay--was a volume of Latin Epigrams published at Cambridge in 1634 in a small 8vo. The name of CRASHAW nowhere appears, but his initials R.C. are appended to the Dedication to his friend LANEY. The title-page was as follows: 'Epigrammatum Sacrorum Liber. Cantabrigiae, ex Academiae celeberrimae typographo, 1634.' Besides the Epigrams, this now rare volume contained certain of his 'Poemata' before the Epigrams. A second edition was published in 1670 with a few additional Epigrams, and those in Greek. A third edition appeared in 1674. Fuller details, with collation of each, are given in Vol. II. in their places.
Nothing more of any considerableness was published until 1646, two years after the Poet's ejection. Then appeared a small volume of Poems, chiefly English, arranged in two distinct classes, Sacred and Secular, the latter with a separate title-page. In the Note which follows this Preface, the title-pages of the volume will be found, along with those of the subsequent editions of 1648 and 1670. With reference to the volume of 1646, a mistake in the printing was thus pointed out: 'Reader, there was a sudden mistake ('tis too late to recover it): thou wilt quickly find it out, and I hope as soone passe it over; some of the humane Poems are misplaced amongst the Divine.' These 'humane' poems, that belonged not to the 'Steps' but the 'Delights of the Muses,' were fifteen in all. They were assigned their own places in the new edition of 1648. With two exceptions, we have adhered to the classification of the 1648 edition: the exceptions are, that we have placed 'Vexilla Regis' immediately after the 'Office of the Holy Crosse,' as belonging properly to that composition; and the 'Apologie' for the Hymn to TERESA after the first, not after the second Hymn, seeing the 'Apologie' is only for the first. The new edition bore on its title-page the announcement: 'The second Edition, wherein are added divers pieces not before extant.' Our contents of the present Volume (immediately following our Dedication) shows these additions, which were important and precious; viz. twenty-nine new English Poems and eighteen new Latin Poems.
The next edition was published in PARIS in 1652. In our Note (as _supra_) the title-page is given. This volume is an elegant one, and is adorned with twelve dainty engravings after the Author's own designs, though we possess a copy without the engravings, having blanks left. This exceedingly rare book contains most of the Sacred Poems and some of the more serious of the Secular Poems; but as the contents (as _supra_) show, there were large omissions, notably the Sospetto and Musick's Duel. It was edited by THOMAS CAR, who prefixes two poems of his own, as follows:
I. CRASHAWE, THE ANAGRAMME 'HE WAS CAR.'
Was CAR then Crashawe; or was Crashawe Car, 1 Since both within one name combined are? Yes, Car's Crashawe, he Car; 'tis loue alone Which melts two harts, of both composing one. So Crashaw's still the same: so much desired 5 By strongest witts; so honor'd, so admired; Car was but he that enter'd as a friend With whom he shar'd his thoughtes, and did commend (While yet he liu'd) this worke; they lou'd each other: Sweete Crashawe was his friend; he Crashawe's brother. 10 So Car hath title then; 'twas his intent That what his riches pen'd, poore Car should print; Nor feares he checke, praysing that happie one Who was belou'd by all; disprais'd by none: To witt, being pleas'd with all things, he pleas'd all, 15 Nor would he giue, nor take offence; befall What might, he would possesse himselfe, and liue As deade (deuoyde of interest) t' all might giue Desease t' his well-composed mynd; fore-stal'd With heauenly riches; which had wholy call'd 20 His thoughts from earth, to liue aboue in th' aire A very bird of paradice. No care Had he of earthly trashe. What might suffice To fitt his soule to heauenly exercise Sufficed him: and may we guesse his hart 25 By what his lipps brings forth, his onely part Is God and godly thoughtes. Leaues doubt to none But that to whom one God is all; all's one. What he might eate or weare he tooke no thought; His needfull foode he rather found then sought. 30 He seekes no downes, no sheetes, his bed's still made; If he can find a chaire or stoole, he's layd. When Day peepes in, he quitts his restlesse rest, And still, poore soule, before he's vp, he's dre'st. Thus dying did he liue, yet liued to dye 35 In th' Virgin's lappe, to whom he did applye His virgine thoughtes and words, and thence was styld By foes, the chaplaine of the virgine myld, While yet he liued without. His modestie Imparted this to some, and they to me. 40 Liue happie then, deare soule! inioy the rest Eternally by paynes thou purchacedst, While Car must liue in care, who was thy friend, Nor cares he how he liue, so in the end He may inioy his dearest Lord and thee; 45 And sitt and singe more skilfull songs eternally.[1]
II. AN EPIGRAMME
Vpon the Pictures in the following Poemes, which the Authour first made with his owne hand, admirably well, as may be seene in his Manuscript dedicated to the Right Honourable Lady the L. Denbigh.
'Twixt pen and pensill rose a holy strife 1 Which might draw Vertue better to the life: Best witts gaue votes to that, but painters swore They neuer saw peeces so sweete before As thes fruits of pure Nature; where no Art 5 Did lead the vntaught pensill, nor had part In th' worke ... The hand growne bold, with witt will needes contest: Doth it preuayle? ah no! say each is best. This to the eare speakes wonders; that will trye 10 To speake the same, yet lowder, to the eye. Both in their aymes are holy, both conspire To wound, to burne the hart with heauenly fire. This then's the doome, to doe both parties right: This to the eare speakes best; that, to the sight. 15
THOMAS CAR.[2]
It is clear from these lines in the former poem--
'Car was but he that enter'd as a friend With whom he shar'd his thoughtes, _and did commend_ (_While yet he liu'd_) THIS WORKE___________________ ____________________________________________________ So Car hath title then; '_twas his intent That what his riches pen'd, poore Car should print_'--
that the volume of 1652 carries the authority of CRASHAW with it as his own Selection from what he had written. So that I have had no hesitation in accepting its text of the Poems previously published (in 1646 and 1648): understanding that the Selection was regulated by his desire only to offer the COUNTESS OF DENBIGH those he himself most valued. There are inevitable misprints and a chaos of punctuation; but the text as a whole is a great advance on those preceding, as our Notes and Illustrations to the several poems prove. There are some very valuable additions throughout, entirely overlooked by modern Editors. Our text of all not in 1652 volume is based on that of 1648 collated with 1646.
The engravings celebrated in the Epigram of CAR--of whom more, and of the origin and purpose of the Volume, in our Essay--are as follows:
1. 'To the noblest and best of ladyes:' a heart with an emblematical lock. Beneath is printed 'Non Vi' ( = not by force), and the following lines:
'Tis not the work of force but skill To find the way into man's will. 'Tis loue alone can hearts vnlock: Who knowes the Word, he needs not knock.
2. 'To the name above every name.' 'Numisma Urbani 6.' A dove under the tiara, surrounded with a glory. The legend is, 'In unitate Deus est.'
3. 'The Holy Nativity.' The Holy Family at Bethlehem. Beneath are these lines in French and Latin:
Ton Createur te faict voir sa naissance Deignant souffrir pour toy des son enfance.
Quem vidistis, Pastores, &c. Natum vidimus, &c.
4. 'The Glorious Epiphanie.' The adoration of the Magi-kings.
5. 'The Office of the Holy Crosse.' Christ on the Cross. Beneath (from the Vulgate),
Tradidit semetipsum pro nobis oblationem et hostiam Deo in odorem suavitatis.--Ad Ephe. 5.
6. 'The Recommendation.' The ascended Saviour looking down toward the Earth. Above, this line,
Expostulatio Jesu Christi cum mundo ingrato.
Beneath, a Latin poem of thirteen lines, which appears in its place in our Vol. II.
7. 'Sancta Maria Dolorum.' The Virgin Mary under the Cross with the instruments of the Passion, holding the dead Saviour in her arms.
8. 'Hymn of St. Thomas.' A Remonstrance. 'Ecce panis Angelorum.'
9. 'Dies Irae.' The Last Judgment. 'Dies Irae, dies illa.'
10. 'O Gloriosa Domina.' The Virgin Mary and Child. Angels hold a crown over her head, surmounted by the Holy Dove. Beneath:
S. Maria Major. Dilectus meus mihi, et ego illi, Qui pascitur inter lilia. Cant.
11. 'The Weeper.' A female head, showing beneath, a bleeding and burning heart, surrounded by a glory. This couplet is below:
Lo, where a wounded heart, with bleeding eyes conspire: Is she a flaming fountaine, or a weeping fire?
12. 'Hymn to St. Teresa.' Portrait: scroll above, inscribed 'Misericors Domini in aeternum cantabo.' Beneath, 'La Vray Portraict de Ste. Terese, Fondatrice des Religieuses et Religieux reformez de l'ordre de N. Dame de mont Carmel: Decedee le 4e Octo. 1582. Canonisee le 12e Mars 1622.'
Besides these TWELVE, I discovered another in illustration of 'O Gloriosa Domina,' substituted for No. 10 in the very fine copy of the volume in the Douce Collection in the Bodleian. I have the satisfaction of furnishing admirable reproductions in fac-simile of Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, and 12, and by the kindness of the Bodleian Trustees, the unique illustration for No. 10. No. 11 by my friend W.J. LINTON, Esq. The whole of these belong exclusively to our illustrated quarto edition, and the impressions taken have been strictly limited thereto, and a very few for my own gift-use.
We have now done with genuine editions; but have yet to notice a wretched medley which bears the name of the '2d edition.' Its title-page is given in our Note (as before). This volume is fairly printed; but whatever was meant by '2d edition,' whether it was so styled from ignorance of the edition of 1648 or copying of its title, or because it was meant for a 2d edition of 1652, it is a deplorable compilation made out of 1646 and 1652. It first reprints 1646 and then 1652, omitting in the second part such poems of 1652 as were in 1646, but without taking the trouble of correcting any, so as to bring them into agreement with the better text. Not to mention well-nigh innumerable misprints and omissions, so blind is it, that it has twice printed two poems which in 1652 had their titles altered, not observing that it had already printed them under the old titles. These were the poems, _On the Death of a Young Gentleman_, and in _Praise of Lessius_. It contains only the eight Latin Poems of 1646, and no others. Of this edition TURNBULL says, 'In its text [it is] the most inaccurate of all'--and--What then? He reprints it! and leaves undetected its inaccuracies and omissions, and superadds as many more of his own--as our Notes and Illustrations demonstrate, albeit we have left many blunders unrecorded, contenting ourselves with seeing that our own is correct. And yet this Editor got in a rage with a correspondent (Professor M'Carthy) of _Notes and Queries_, who at the time corrected incidentally a misprinted letter--oblivious of (literally) hundreds infinitely worse.
PEREGRINE PHILLIPS in 1785 published a very well-printed volume of 'Selections' from CRASHAW; but, like TURNBULL, he blundered over the (so-called) '2d edition' of 1670, and seems never to have seen those of 1648 and 1652. Of other more recent editions I shall speak in our Essay, and, as already stated in our Memorial-Introduction, notice the University Collections and others, to which our Poet contributed. In its place, at close of the present Volume, see account of a hitherto unused edition of a Verse-Letter to COUNTESS OF DENBIGH.
Of the Poems now for the first time printed, the present Volume contains no fewer than fifteen or sixteen with important additions: Vol. II. will contain very many more, as well as our Translation of the hitherto untranslated Poems and Epigrams. The source of all these erewhile unprinted Poems is Vol. 465 among the TANNER MSS., which is known to be in the handwriting (mainly) of Archbishop SANCROFT. The Volume is a collection of contemporary Poetry, but as it now rests in the Bodleian is imperfect, as the Index shows. The following details will probably interest our readers. In the Index is first of all the following, 'Mr. Crashaw's Epigrams, sacra Latina;' but it is erased. Then underneath is written 'Mr. Crashaw's poems transcrib'd from his own copie, before they were printed; amongst wch are some not printed.' 'Latin, On ye Gospels v p 7. On other Subiects p 39, 95, 229. English Sacred Poems p 111. On other Subiects--39, 162, 164 v 167 v 196. 202 v 206. 223. v Suspetto di Herodi, translated from Car. Marino p 287 v.' Guided by this Index--for, though to some 'R. CR.' is prefixed, others printed in 1646 and 1648 are left without name or initials--page 7 to 22 contains Latin Poems and Epigrams still unpublished. On page 22 is a large letter C = Crashaw. The pagination then leaps to p. 39 and goes on to page 64, and consists of Latin Poems and one in Greek 'On other Subjects,' also wholly unpublished. Page 66 is blank, and a blank leaf follows. Then there is a Latin poem by WALLIS, and pp. 95-6 contain other Latin poems by CRASHAW, in part published. Pages 97-102 are blank, and the pagination again leaps to p. 111, where begin the English Sacred Poems, continuing to page 137, with 'Crashaw' written at end. These pages (111-137) contain mainly Poems and Epigrams before published. On page 130 is a short poem 'On Good Friday' by T. Randolph. On page 135 are two poems by Dr. Alabaster: then, on page 136, Crashaw's poem 'On the Assumption,' and on page 137, a short poem by Wotton. Pages 138-142 are blank, and once more the pagination passes to p. 159, where there is a poem by GILES FLETCHER (pp. 159-160)--printed by us in Appendix to Poems of Dr. GILES FLETCHER in our FULLER WORTHIES' MISCELLANIES. Pages 160-1 have poems by Corbett (erroneously inserted as HERRICK'S by Hazlitt in his edition of Herrick), and a Song by WOTTON. On page 162 'The Faire Ethiopian,' by CRASHAW: p. 163, 'Upon Mr. Cl.' [Cleveland?], who made a Song against the D.D.s--The complaint of a woman with child [both anonymous]. Then at page 164 'Upon a gnatt burnt in a candle,' by Crashaw (being entered in Index as _supra_), and never published. On pages 165-6, Love's Horoscope (published): p. 166, _Ad Amicam_. T.R. (not by CRASHAW, being entered in Index under Randolph): pp. 167-71, Fidicinis et Philomela Bellum Musicum, and Upon Herbert's Temple: pp. 172-3, Upon Isaacson's Frontispiece (the second piece): pp. 173-4, An invitation to faire weather (all published before). Then translations from the Latin Poets with 'R. CR.' above each, pp. 174-178--all unpublished: pp. 178-9, from Virgil (published). Next on pp. 180-87 are the following: 'On ye Gunpowder-Treason' (three separate pieces), and 'Upon the King's Coronation' (two pieces). These have never been printed until now in our present Vol., and they are unquestionably Crashaw's, inasmuch as (_a_) All entered thus 164 v. 167 are by him, and so these being entered under his name in Index as 167 v. 196 must belong to him; (_b_) 'Upon the King's Coronation' are renderings in part of his own Latin; (_c_) As shown in our Essay (where also their biographic value is shown) unusual words used by Crashaw occur in them. Pp. 187-90, 'Panegyrick upon the birth of the Duke of York' (published): pp. 190-2, 'Upon the birth of the Princesse Elizabeth' (never before printed). Pages 192-196, poems by Corbett, Wotton, and others. Pages 196-7, Translation from the Latin _Ex Euphormione_ (not before published), and on Lessius (published). Then pp. 197-201, poems by various, in part anonymous: pp. 202-3, An Elegy on Staninough--not having his name or initials, but entered in Index under his name--(never before published): pp. 203-5, In obitum desider. Mri Chambers (published, but the heading new), and Upon the death of a friend (not before published): p. 205, 'On a cobler' (anonymous): p. 206, In obitum Dr Brooke: Epitaphium Conjug. (published): page 207, poem by CULVERWELL: p. 208, blank; and then the pagination passes to p. 223. Pages 223-229, poems on Herrys [or Harris] (all published, but with variations): pp. 229-30, Elegie on Dr. Porter (never before published, and entered in Index under Crashaw): from p. 231 to 238, various poems, but none by Crashaw; then the pagination leaps to p. 238, and goes on to p. 255, with various pieces, but again none by CRASHAW. On pp. 297-8 are eight of the published English Epigrams. All the other anonymous and avowed poems being entered in the Index separately from CRASHAW'S, and under either their titles or authors, makes us safe to exclude them from our Volumes. On the other hand, the Index-entries and 'R.C.' together, assure us that rich and virgin as is the treasure-trove of unprinted and unpublished Poems--English and Latin, especially the Latin--it is without a shadow of doubt RICHARD CRASHAW'S, and of supreme worth. I have also had the good fortune to discover a Harleian MS. from Lord Somers' Library (6917-18), which furnishes some valuable readings of some of the Poems, as recorded and used by us.
Throughout we have endeavoured with all fidelity to reproduce our Worthy in integrity of text and orthography--diminishing only (slightly) italics and capitals, and as usual giving capitals to all divine Names (nouns and pronouns) and personifications. In Notes and Illustrations all various readings are recorded, and such elucidations and filling-in of names and allusions as are likely to be helpful.
It is now my pleasant duty to return right hearty, because heartfelt, thanks to many friends and correspondents who have aided me in a somewhat arduous and difficult work and 'labour of love.' To the venerable and illustrious man whose name by express permission adorns my Dedication, I owe a debt of gratitude for a beautiful, a pathetic, a (to me) sacred Letter, that greatly animated me to go forward. By my admirable friends Revs. J.H. CLARK, M.A., of West Dereham, Norfolk, and THOMAS ASHE, M.A., Ipswich, my edition (as Vol. II. will evidence) is advantaged in various Translations for the first time of the Latin poems, valuable in themselves, and the more valued for the generous enthusiasm and modesty with which they were offered, not to say how considerably they have lightened my own work in the same field. To Dr. BRINSLEY NICHOLSON, who retains in the Army his fine literary culture and acumen; to W. ALDIS WRIGHT, Esq., M.A., Trinity College, Cambridge; the very Reverend Dr. F.C. HUSENBETH, Cossey, Norwich; the Earl and Countess of DENBIGH; Monsignor STONOR, Rome; to Correspondents at LORETTO, DOUAI, PARIS, &c.; and to Colonel CHESTER and Mr. W.T. BROOKE, London,--I wish to tender my warmest thanks for various services most pleasantly rendered; all to the enrichment of our edition.
The Illustrations (in the 4to) speak for themselves. I cannot sufficiently express my acknowledgments for the spontaneous and ever-increasing willinghood of my artist-poet friend W.J. LINTON, Esq., who from his temporary Transatlantic home has sent me the exquisite head- and tail-pieces in both volumes, besides cunningly interpreting the two original Illustrations drawn for me by Mrs. HUGH BLACKBURN of Glasgow, and the Poet's 'Weeper.' To Mrs. BLACKBURN her work is its own abundant reward; but none the less do I appreciate her great kindness to me.
Anything else needing to be said will be found in the Memorial-Introduction and Essay on the Life and Poetry, and Notes and Illustrations. I cannot better close our Preface than with the fine tribute of R. ARIS WILLMOTT, in his 'Dream of the Poets,' wherein he catches up the echo of COWLEY across two centuries:
Poet and Saint! thy sky was dark And sad thy lonely vigil here; But thy meek spirit, like the lark Still showered music on the ear, From its own heaven ever clear: No pining mourner thou! thy strain Could breathe a slumber upon Pain, Singing thy tears asleep: not long To stray by Siloa's brook was thine: Yet Time hath never dealt thee wrong, Nor brush'd the sweet bloom from thy line: Thou hast a home in every song, In every Christian heart, a shrine.
ALEXANDER B. GROSART.
15 St. Alban's Place, Blackburn, Lancashire,
4th February 1872.
MEMORIAL-INTRODUCTION.
In a Study of the Life and Poetry of our present Worthy, which will be found in our Volume II.--thus postponed in order that the completed Works may be before the student-reader along with it--I venture to hope new light will be shed on both, and his character as a Man and Poet--one of the richest of the minor Poets of England--vindicated and interpreted as never hitherto they have been. Some memories cannot bear the '_cruel light_' of close scrutiny, some poetries when tested prove falsetto-noted. RICHARD CRASHAW grows on us the more insight we gain. If he were as well known as GEORGE HERBERT, he would be equally cherished, while his Poetry would be recognised as perfumed with all his devoutness and of a diviner '_stuff_' and woven in a grander loom; in sooth, infinitely deeper and finer in almost every element of true singing as differenced from pious and gracious versifying. In this hurrying-scurrying age, only twos-and-threes take time to hold communion with these ancient Worthies; and hence my Essay, as with the FLETCHERS and LORD BROOKE and HENRY VAUGHAN, may win-back that recognition and love due to CRASHAW.
Then, in a much fuller and more adequate Memoir than hitherto furnished of WILLIAM CRASHAW, B.D., father of our Poet--also in our Volume II.--the usually-given ancestral details will appear from new and unused sources. So that here and now I intend to limit myself to a brief statement of the few outward Facts, _i.e._ reserving their relation to the central thing in RICHARD CRASHAW'S life--his passing from Protestantism to Catholicism, and to contemporaries and inner friends, and to his Poetry--to our announced Study.
WILLMOTT in his 'Lives of the English Sacred Poets' (vol. first, 1834, vol. second, 1839), begins his fine-toned little Notice thus: 'After an anxious search in all the accessible sources of information, I am able to tell little of one of whom every lover of poetry must desire to know much. The time of his birth and of his decease is involved in equal mystery.'[3] Our 'all' is still 'little' as compared with what we yearn for; but we do not need to begin so dolorously as our predecessor, for we have discovered both the 'time of his _birth_ and of his _decease_.' He was born in London in 1612-3; this date being arrived at from the register-entry of his age on admission to the University, viz. 18 in 1630-1 (as hereafter stated). SHAKESPEARE was then retired to his beloved Stratford; MILTON was in the sixth year of his cherub-beauty. His father being 'Preacher at the Temple' at the date would have determined LONDON to have been his birthplace; but his admission to Pembroke and his own signature at Peterhouse, 'Richardum Crashaw, _Londinensem_,' prove it. Who was his mother I have failed to find. The second Mrs. WILLIAM CRASHAW, celebrated in a remarkable contemporary poetical tractate printed (if not published) by her bereaved husband (of which more anon and elsewhere, as _supra_), could not have been the Poet's mother, as she was not married to CRASHAW (_pater_) until 1619. We should gladly have exchanged the 'Honour of Vertue or the Monument erected by the sorrowfull Husband and the Epitaphs annexed by learned and worthy men, to the immortall memory of that worthy Gentle-woman Mrs. ELIZABETH CRASHAWE. Who dyed in child-birth, and was buried in Whit-Chappel: Octob. 8. 1620. In the 24 yeare of her age'--for a page on the first Mrs. Crashaw. Yet is it pleasant to know the motherless little lad received such a new mother as this tribute pictures. In 1620 he was in his ninth year. Thus twice a broad shadow blackened his father's house and his home. Little more than a year had he his 'second' mother.
Our after-Memoir of the elder CRASHAW shows that he was a man of no ordinary force of character and influence. The Epistles-dedicatory to his numerous polemical books are addressed with evident familiarity to the foremost in Church and State: and it is in agreement with this to learn (as we do) that MASTER RICHARD gained admission to the great 'Charterhouse' School through SIR HENRY YELVERTON and SIR RANDOLPH CREW--the former the patron-friend of the saintly DR. SIBBES, the latter of HERRICK, and both of mark. The Register of Charterhouse as now extant begins in 1680. So that we know not the date of young Crashaw's entry on the 'foundation' provided so munificently by SUTTON.[4] As we shall find, one of the Teachers--Brooke--is gratefully and characteristically remembered by our Worthy in one of his Latin poems, none the less gratefully that 'the rod' is recalled. He was 'Schoolmaster' from 1627-8 to 1643. The age of admission was 10 to 14: the latter would bring us to 1627-8, or Brooke's first year of office. Probably, however, he entered sooner; but neither ROBERT GREY (1624-26) nor WILLIAM MIDDLETON, A.M. (1626-28), nor others of the Masters or celebrities of the famous School are celebrated by him, with the exception of (afterwards) BISHOP LANEY. FRANCIS BEAUMONT was Head-Master in June 18, 1624, and I should have liked to have been able to associate CRASHAW with the Beaumont family. Probably DR. JOSEPH BEAUMONT of 'Psyche' was a school-fellow.
How long the Charterhouse was attended is unknown; but renewed researches at CAMBRIDGE add to as well as correct the usual dates of his attendance there. WILLMOTT states that 'he was elected a scholar of Pembroke Hall, March 26, 1632,' and remarks, 'and yet we find him lamenting the premature death of his friend, William Herrys, a fellow of the same College, which happened in the October of 1631.'[5] He quotes from the COLE MSS. The original register in the Admission-book of Pembroke College removes the difficulty, and is otherwise valuable, as will be seen. It is as follows:
'Julij 6. 1631. Richardus Crashawe, Gulielmi presbyteri filius, natus Londini annos habens 18, admissus est ad 2ae mensae ordinem sub tutela Mri Tourney.'
He was 'matriculated _pensioner_ of Pembroke, March 26, 1632,' but, as above, his 'admission' preceded. Belonging to Essex, it is not improbable that CRASHAW and HARRIS were school-fellows at the Charterhouse. His 'friendships' and associates, so winsomely 'sung' of, will demand full after-notice. In 1632-3 appeared GEORGE HERBERT'S 'Temple;' an influential event in our Poet's history. He took the degree of B.A. in 1634. In 1634 he published anonymously his volume of Latin Epigrams and other Poems; a very noticeable book from a youth of 20, especially as most must have been composed long previously. He passed from Pembroke to Peterhouse in 1636; and again I have the satisfaction to give, for the first time, the entry in the old College Register. It is as follows:
'Anno Domini millesimo sexcentesimo tricesimo sexto vicesimo die mensis Novembris Richardus Crashaw admissus fuit a Reverendo in Christo Patre ac Dno Dno Francisco Episcopo Elaecisi ad locum sive societatem Magistri Simon Smith legitime vacantem in Collegio sive Domo Sti Petri, et vicesimo secundo die ejusdem mensis coram Magistro et Sociis ejusdem Collegii personaliter constitutus, juramentum praestitit quod singulis Ordinationibus et Statutis Collegii (quantum in ipso est) reverenter obediret, et specialiter praeter hoc de non appellando contra amotionem suam secundum modum et formam statutorum praedictorum et de salvando cistam Magistri Thomae de Castro Bernardi et Magri Thomae Holbrooke (quantum in ipso est) indemnum, quo juramento praestito admissus fuit a Magistro Collegii in perpetuum socium ejusdem Collegii et in locum supradictum. Per me Richardum Crashaw Londinensem.' (p. 500.)
He was made Fellow in 1637, and M.A. in 1638; looking forward to becoming a 'Minister' of the Gospel. His Latin Poems in honour of, and in pathetic appeal regarding PETERHOUSE, are of the rarest interest, and suggest much elucidatory of his great 'change' in religious matters; a change that must have been a sad shock to his ultra-Protestant father, but in which, beyond all gainsaying, conscience ruled, if the heart quivered. While at the University he was called on to contribute to the various 'Collections' issued from 1631 onward; and it certainly is once more noticeable that such a mere youth should have been thus recognised. His Verses--Latin and English--appeared thus with those of HENRY MORE, JOSEPH BEAUMONT, EDWARD KING ('Lycidas'), COWLEY, and others; and more than hold their own. In 1635 SHELFORD, 'priest' of RINGSFIELD, obtained a laudatory poem from him for his 'Five Pious and Learned Discourses.' According to ANTHONY A-WOOD, on the authority of one who knew (_not_ from the Registers), he took a degree in 1641 at Oxford.[6]
Of his inner Life and experiences during these years (twelve at least), and the influences that went to shape his decision and after-course, and his relation to the COUNTESS OF DENBIGH, I shall speak fully and I trust helpfully in our Essay. We need to get at the Facts and Circumstances to pronounce a righteous verdict. For his great-brained, stout-hearted, iron-willed Father, the stormy period was congenial: but for his son the atmosphere was mephitic; as the Editor's 'Preface to the Learned Reader,' in his 'character' of him, suggests. Signatures were being put unsolemnly to the Solemn League and Covenant,' and as a political not a religious thing, by too many. RICHARD CRASHAW could not do that, and the crash of 'Ejection' came. Here is the rescript from the Register of PETERHOUSE once more unused hitherto:[7]
'Whereas in pursuite of an ordinance of Parliament for regulating and reforming of the Universitie of Cambridge, I have ejected Mr. Beaumont, Mr. Penniman, Mr. Crashaw, Mr. Holder, Mr. Tyringham, late fellowes of Peterhouse, in Cambridge. And whereas Mr. Charles Hotham, Robert Quarles, Howard Becher, Walter Ellis, Edward Sammes, have been examined and approved by the Assembly of Divines now sitting at Westminster, according to the said Ordinance as fitt to be Fellowes: These are therefore to require you, and every of you, to receive the said Charles Hotham, Robert Quarles, Howard Becher, Walter Ellis, Masters of Arts; and Edward Sammes, Bachr, as fellowes of your Colledge in room of the said Mr. Beaumont, Mr. Penniman, Mr. Crashaw, Mr. Holder, Mr. Tyringham, formerly ejected, and to give them place according to their seniority in the Universitie, in reference to all those that are or shall hereafter bee putt in by mee accordinge to the Ordinance of Parliament aforesaid. Given under my hand and seale the eleaventh day of June anno 1644.
'MANCHESTER.
'To the Master, President, and Fellowes of Peterhouse, in Cambridge.' (p. 518.)
'The ejection' of 1644, like that larger one of 1662, brought much sorrow and trial to a number of good and true souls. To one so gentle, shy, self-introspective as CRASHAW, it must have been as the tearing down of a nest to a poor bird. His fellow-sufferers went hither and thither. Our first glimpse of our Worthy after his 'ejection' is in 1646, when the 'Steps to the Temple' and 'Delights of the Muses' appeared, with its Editor's touching saying at the close of his Preface 'now dead to us.' A second edition, with considerable additions, was published in 1648. Previous to 1646 he had 'gone over' to Catholicism; for in the 'Steps' of that year is 'An Apologie' for his 'Hymn'--'In Memory of the Vertuous and Learned Lady Madre de Teresa, that sought an early Martyrdome.' In 1646 it is headed simply 'An Apologie for the precedent Hymne:' in the 'Carmen Deo Nostro' of 1652 it is more fully inscribed 'An Apologie for the foregoing Hymn, as hauing been writt when the author was yet among the Protestantes.' His two Latin poems, '_Fides quae sola justificat non est sine spe et dilectione_' and '_Baptismus non tollit futura peccata_,' were first published in 1648. TURNBULL was either ignorant of their existence or intentionally suppressed them.
Our Worthy did not long remain in England. He retired to France; and his little genial poem on sending 'two green apricocks' to COWLEY sheds a gleam of light on his residence in Paris. COWLEY was in the 'gay city' in 1646 as Secretary to LORD JERMYN; and inasmuch as the volume of that year contained his own alternate-poem on 'Hope,' I like to imagine that he carried over a copy of it to CRASHAW, and renewed their old friendship. COWLEY, it is told, found our Poet in great poverty: but CAR'S verses somewhat lighten the gloom. The 'Secretary' of LORD JERMYN introduced his friend to the Queen of Charles I., who was then a fugitive in Paris. So it usually runs: but CRASHAW had previously 'sung' of and to her Majesty. From the Queen the Poet obtained letters of recommendation to Italy; and from a contemporary notice, hereafter to be used, we learn he became 'Secretary' at Rome to CARDINAL PALOTTA. He appears to have remained in Rome until 1649-50, and by very 'plain speech' on the moralities, that is immoralities, of certain ecclesiastics, to have drawn down on himself Italian jealousy and threats. His 'good' Cardinal provided a place of shelter in the Lady-chapel of LORETTO, of which he was made a Canon. But his abode there was very brief; for, by a document sent me from Loretto, I ascertained that he died of fever after a few weeks' residence only, and was buried within the chapel there, in 1650.[8] COWLEY shed 'melodious tears' over his dear friend, in which he turns to fine account his '_fever_' end: and with his priceless tribute, of which DR. JOHNSON said, 'In these verses there are beauties which common authors may justly think not only above their attainment, but above their ambition,'[9]--I close for the present our Memoir:
ON THE DEATH OF MR. CRASHAW.
Poet and Saint! to thee alone are giv'n The two most sacred names of Earth and Heav'n, The hardest, rarest union which can be Next that of godhead with humanity. Long did the Muses banish'd slaves abide, And built vain pyramids to mortal pride; Like Moses thou (tho' spells and charms withstand) Hast brought them nobly home, back to their Holy Land.
Ah, wretched we, Poets of Earth! but thou Wert living, the same Poet which thou'rt now; Whilst angels sing to thee their ayres divine, And joy in an applause so great as thine. Equal society with them to hold, Thou need'st not make new songs, but say the old; And they (kind spirits!) shall all rejoice to see, How little less than they, exalted man may be.
Still the old heathen gods in numbers dwell, The heav'nliest thing on Earth still keeps up Hell: Nor have we yet quite purg'd the Christian land; Still idols here, like calves at Bethel stand. And tho' Pan's death long since all or'cles broke, Yet still in rhyme the fiend Apollo spoke; Nay, with the worst of heathen dotage, we (Vain men!) the monster woman deifie; Find stars, and tie our fates there in a face, And Paradise in them, by whom we lost it, place. What diff'rent faults corrupt our Muses thus? Wanton as girls, as old wives, fabulous.
Thy spotless Muse, like Mary, did contain The boundless Godhead; she did well disdain That her eternal verse employ'd should be On a less subject than eternity; And for a sacred mistress scorn'd to take But her whom God Himself scorn'd not His spouse to make: It (in a kind) her miracle did do, A fruitful mother was, and virgin too.
How well (blest Swan) did Fate contrive thy death, And made thee render up thy tuneful breath In thy great mistress's arms! Thou most divine, And richest off'ring of Loretto's shrine! Where, like some holy sacrifice t' expire, A fever burns thee, and Love lights the fire. Angels (they say) brought the fam'd chappel there, And bore the sacred load in triumph thro' the air: 'Tis surer much they brought thee there; and they, And thou, their charge, went singing all the way.
Pardon, my Mother-Church, if I consent That angels led him, when from thee he went; For ev'n in error, sure no danger is, When join'd with so much piety as his. Ah! mighty God, with shame I speak't, and grief; Ah! that our greatest faults were in belief! And our weak reason were ev'n weaker yet, Rather than thus, our wills too strong for it. His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might Be wrong; his life, I'm sure, was in the right: And I, myself, a Catholick will be; So far at least, great Saint! to pray to thee.
Hail, Bard triumphant! and some care bestow On us, the Poets militant below: Oppos'd by our old enemy, adverse Chance, Attack'd by Envy and by Ignorance; Enchain'd by Beauty, tortur'd by desires, Expos'd by tyrant-love, to savage beasts and fires. Thou from low Earth in nobler flames didst rise, And like Elijah, mount alive the skies. Elisha-like (but with a wish much less, More fit thy greatness and my littleness;) Lo here I beg (I whom thou once didst prove So humble to esteem, so good to love) Not that thy sp'rit might on me doubled be, I ask but half thy mighty sp'rit for me: And when my Muse soars with so strong a wing, 'Twill learn of things divine, and first of thee to sing.[10]
ALEXANDER B. GROSART.
THE
WORKS OF RICHARD CRASHAW.
VOL. I.
ENGLISH POETRY.
NOTE.
The title-pages, with collation, of the original and early editions of 'Steps to the Temple' and 'The Delights of the Muses' (1646 to 1670) are here given successively:
_1st edition_, 1646. (1)
STEPS
TO THE
TEMPLE.
Sacred Poems,
With other Delights of the MUSES.
By RICHARD CRASHAW, _sometimes of_ PEMBROKE _Hall, and late Fellow of_ S. Peters _Coll._ in Cambridge.
_Printed and Published according to Order._
LONDON, Printed by T.W. for _Humphrey Moseley_, and are to be sold at his shop at the Princes Armes in St _Pauls_ Church-yard. 1646.
(2)
THE
DELIGHTS
OF THE
MUSES.
OR,
Other Poems written on severall occasions.
By RICHARD CRASHAW, _sometimes of_ Pembroke _Hall, and late Fellow of_ St. Peters _Colledge in_ Cambridge.
Mart. Dic mihi quid melius desidiosus agas.
London,
Printed by T.W. for _H. Moseley_, at the Princes Armes in S. _Pauls_ Churchyard, 1646. [12o]
Collation: Title-page; the Preface to the Reader, pp. 6; the Author's Motto and short Note to Reader, pp. 2 [all unpaged]; 'Steps to the Temple,' pp. 99; title-page of 'Delights,' as _supra_, and pp. 103-138; the Table, pp. 4.
_2d edition, 1648._
STEPS
TO THE
TEMPLE,
Sacred Poems.
With
The Delights of the Muses.
By RICHARD CRASHAW, _sometimes of_ Pembroke Hall, _and late fellow of_ S. Peters _Coll._ in Cambridge.
_The second Edition wherein are added divers pieces not before extant._
LONDON,
Printed for _Humphrey Moseley_, and are to be sold at his Shop at the Princes Armes in St. _Pauls_ Church-yard. 1648. [12o]
The title-page to the 'Delights of the Muses' is exactly the same with that of 1646, except the date '1648.' Collation: Engraved title-page; title-page (printed); the Preface to the Reader and the Author's Motto, pp. 6; 'Steps,' pp. 110; the Table, pp. 4; the 'Delights;' title-page; the Table, pp. 3; Poems, pp. 71.
_3d edition, 1652._
CARMEN
DEO NOSTRO,
TE DECET HYMNVS
SACRED POEMS,
Collected, Corrected, Avgmented, Most humbly Presented. To My Lady The Covntesse of DENBIGH By Her most deuoted Seruant. R.C.
In heaty [_sic_] acknowledgment of his immortall obligation to her Goodnes & Charity.
AT PARIS
By PETER TARGA, Printer to the Archbishope ef [_sic_] Paris, in S. Victors streete at the golden sunne.
M.DC.LII. [8vo]
Collation: Title-page; Verses by CAR, pp. 3; Verse-Letter to Countess of Denbigh, pp. 3 [all unpaged]; the Poems, pp. 131. (See our Preface for more on this and preceding and succeeding volumes, and for notice of a separate edition of the Verse-Letter to the Countess of Denbigh.)
_4th edition, erroneously designated 2d edition_, 1670.
STEPS
TO THE
TEMPLE,
THE DELIGHTS Of The Muses, and Carmen Deo Nostro.
By _Ric. Crashaw_, sometimes Fellow of _Pembroke Hall_, and late Fellow of _St. Peters Colledge_ in _Cambridge_.
_The 2d. Edition._
In the Savoy,
Printed by T.N. for _Henry Herringham_ at the _Blew Anchor_ in the _Lower Walk_ of the _New Exchange_. 1670. [8vo]
Collation: Engraving of a 'Temple;' title-page; the Preface to the Reader and the Author's Motto, pp. 8; the Table, pp. 6 [all unpaged]; 'Steps,' pp. 77; 'Delights,' pp. 81-137; 'Carmen Deo Nostro, Te Decet Hymnvs,' pp. 141-208. For later editions see our Preface, as before, and for details on all, early and recent, and Manuscripts; and also our Memorial-Introduction and Essay. The 'Preface' of 1646 was reprinted in 1648 without change, save a few slight orthographical differences, and these: p. xlvi. line 3, 'their' for 'its dearest:' p. xlvii. line 1, 'subburd' for 'suburb:' and ibid, line 19, 'then' for 'than:' 1648 our text. It follows this Note in its own place. G.
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE, &c.
THE PREFACE TO THE READER.
LEARNED READER,
The Author's friend will not usurpe much upon thy eye: This is onely for those whom the name of our divine Poet hath not yet seized[11] into admiration. I dare undertake that what JAMBLICUS[12] (_in vita Pythagorae_) affirmeth of his Master, at his contemplations, these Poems can, viz. They shall lift thee, Reader, some yards above the ground: and, as in _Pythagoras_ Schoole, every temper was first tuned into a height by severall proportions of Musick, and spiritualiz'd for one of his weighty lectures; so maist thou take a poem hence, and tune thy soule by it, into a heavenly pitch;[13] and thus refined and borne up upon the wings of meditation, in these Poems thou maist talke freely of God, and of that other state.
Here's _Herbert's_[14] second, but equall, who hath retriv'd Poetry of late, and return'd it up to its primitive use; let it bound back to heaven gates, whence it came. Thinke yee ST. AUGUSTINE would have steyned his graver learning with a booke of Poetry, had he fancied its dearest end to be the vanity of love-sonnets and epithalamiums? No, no, he thought with this our Poet, that every foot in a high-borne verse, might helpe to measure the soule into that better world. Divine Poetry, I dare hold it in position, against SUAREZ on the subject, to be the language of the angels; it is the quintessence of phantasie and discourse center'd in Heaven; 'tis the very out-goings of the soule; 'tis what alone our Author is able to tell you, and that in his owne verse.
It were prophane but to mention here in the Preface those under-headed Poets, retainers to seven shares and a halfe;[15] madrigall fellowes, whose onely businesse in verse, is to rime a poore six-penny soule, a suburb-sinner[16] into Hell:--May such arrogant pretenders to Poetry vanish, with their prodigious issue of tumorous[17] heats and flashes of their adulterate braines, and for ever after, may this our Poet fill up the better roome of man. Oh! when the generall arraignment of Poets shall be, to give an accompt of their higher soules, with what a triumphant brow shall our divine Poet sit above, and looke downe upon poore HOMER, VIRGIL, HORACE, CLAUDIAN, &c.? who had amongst them the ill lucke to talke out a great part of their gallant genius, upon bees, dung, froggs, and gnats, &c., and not as himself here, upon Scriptures, divine graces, martyrs and angels.
Reader, we stile his Sacred Poems, Steps to the Temple, and aptly, for in the Temple of God, under His wing, he led his life, in St. Marie's Church neere St. Peter's Colledge: there he lodged under TERTULLIAN'S roofe of angels; there he made his nest more gladly than David's swallow neere the house of God, where like a primitive saint, he offered more prayers in the night than others usually offer in the day; there he penned these Poems, STEPS for happy soules to climbe heaven by. And those other of his pieces, intituled The Delights of the Muses, (though of a more humane mixture) are as sweet as they are innocent.
The praises that follow, are but few of many that might be conferr'd on him: he was excellent in five languages (besides his mother tongue), vid. Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Italian, Spanish, the two last whereof he had little helpe in, they were of his own acquisition.
Amongst his other accomplishments in accademick (as well pious as harmlesse arts) he made his skill in Poetry, Musick, Drawing, Limming, Graving (exercises of his curious invention and sudden fancy) to be but his subservient recreations for vacant houres, not the grand businesse of his soule.
To the former qualifications I might adde that which would crowne them all, his rare moderation in diet (almost Lessian temperance[18]); he never created a Muse out of distempers, nor (with our Canary scribblers[19]) cast any strange mists of surfets before the intellectuall beames of his mind or memory, the latter of which he was so much a master of, that he had there under locke and key in readinesse, the richest treasures of the best Greek and Latine poets, some of which Authors hee had more at his command by heart, than others that onely read their works, to retaine little, and understand lesse.
Enough Reader, I intend not a volume of praises larger than his booke, nor need I longer transport thee to think over his vast perfections: I will conclude all that I have impartially writ of this learned young Gent. (now dead to us) as he himselfe doth, with the last line of his poem upon Bishop Andrews' picture before his Sermons: _Verte paginas_,
'Look on his following leaves, and see him breath.'[20]
THE AUTHOR'S MOTTO.
Live Iesus, live, and let it bee My life, to dye for love of Thee.
Sacred Poetry.
I.
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE
(1648),
AND
CARMEN DEO NOSTRO &c.
(1652).
SAINTE MARY MAGDALENE, OR THE WEEPER.[21]
Loe! where a wounded heart with bleeding eyes conspire. Is she a flaming fountain, or a weeping fire?
* * * * *
THE WEEPER.[22]
I.
Hail, sister springs! 1 Parents of syluer-footed rills! Euer-bubling things! Thawing crystall! snowy hills Still spending, neuer spent! I mean 5 Thy fair eyes, sweet Magdalene!
II.
Heauens thy fair eyes be; Heauens of euer-falling starres. 'Tis seed-time still with thee; And starres thou sow'st, whose haruest dares 10 Promise the Earth, to counter-shine Whateuer makes heaun's forehead fine.
III.
But we' are deceiued all: Starres indeed they are too true; For they but seem to fall, 15 As heaun's other spangles doe: It is not for our Earth and vs To shine in things so pretious.
IV.
Vpwards thou dost weep: Heaun's bosome drinks the gentle stream. 20 Where th' milky riuers creep, Thine floates aboue, and is the cream. Waters aboue th' heauns, what they be We' are taught best by thy teares and thee.
V.
Euery morn from hence, 25 A brisk cherub something sippes, Whose sacred influence Addes sweetnes to his sweetest lippes; Then to his musick; and his song Tasts of this breakfast all day long. 30
VI.
When some new bright guest Takes vp among the starres a room, And Heaun will make a feast: Angels with crystall violls come _phials_ And draw from these full eyes of thine, 35 Their Master's water, their own wine.
VII.
The deaw no more will weep The primrose's pale cheek to deck: The deaw no more will sleep Nuzzel'd in the lilly's neck; 40 Much rather would it be thy tear, And leaue them both to tremble here.
VIII.
Not the soft gold which Steales from the amber-weeping tree, Makes Sorrow halfe so rich 45 As the drops distil'd from thee. Sorrowe's best iewels lye in these Caskets, of which Heaven keeps the keyes.
IX.
When Sorrow would be seen In her brightest majesty: 50 (For she is a Queen): Then is she drest by none but thee. Then, and only then, she weares Her proudest pearles: I mean, thy teares.
X.
Not in the Euening's eyes, 55 When they red with weeping are For the Sun that dyes; Sitts Sorrow with a face so fair. Nowhere but here did ever meet Sweetnesse so sad, sadnesse so sweet. 60
XI.
Sadnesse all the while Shee sits in such a throne as this, Can doe nought but smile, Nor beleeves she Sadnesse is: Gladnesse it selfe would be more glad, 65 To bee made soe sweetly sad.
XII.
There's no need at all, That the balsom-sweating bough So coyly should let fall His med'cinable teares; for now 70 Nature hath learnt to' extract a deaw More soueraign and sweet, from you.
XIII.
Yet let the poore drops weep (Weeping is the ease of Woe): Softly let them creep, 75 Sad that they are vanquish't so. They, though to others no releife, Balsom may be for their own greife.
XIV.
Golden though he be, Golden Tagus murmures though. 80 Were his way by thee, Content and quiet he would goe; Soe much more rich would he esteem Thy syluer, then his golden stream.
XV.
Well does the May that lyes 85 Smiling in thy cheeks, confesse The April in thine eyes; Mutuall sweetnesse they expresse. No April ere lent kinder showres, Nor May return'd more faithfull flowres. 90
XVI.
O cheeks! Bedds of chast loues, By your own showres seasonably dash't. Eyes! Nests of milky doues, In your own wells decently washt. O wit of Loue! that thus could place 95 Fountain and garden in one face.
XVII.
O sweet contest! of woes With loues; of teares with smiles disputing! O fair and freindly foes, Each other kissing and confuting! 100 While rain and sunshine, cheekes and eyes Close in kind contrarietyes.
XVIII.
But can these fair flouds be Freinds with the bosom-fires that fill thee! Can so great flames agree 105 Aeternal teares should thus distill thee! O flouds! O fires! O suns! O showres! Mixt and made freinds by Loue's sweet powres.
XIX.
'Twas his well-pointed dart That digg'd these wells, and drest this wine; 110 And taught the wounded heart The way into these weeping eyn. Vain loues auant! bold hands forbear! The Lamb hath dipp't His white foot here.
XX.
And now where'ere He strayes, 115 Among the Galilean mountaines, Or more vnwellcome wayes; He's follow'd by two faithfull fountaines; Two walking baths, two weeping motions, Portable, and compendious oceans. 120
XXI.
O thou, thy Lord's fair store! In thy so rich and rare expenses, Euen when He show'd most poor He might prouoke the wealth of princes. What prince's wanton'st pride e'er could 125 Wash with syluer, wipe with gold?
XXII.
Who is that King, but He Who calls 't His crown, to be call'd thine, That thus can boast to be Waited on by a wandring mine, 130 A voluntary mint, that strowes Warm, syluer showres wher're He goes?
XXIII.
O pretious prodigall! Fair spend-thrift of thy-self! thy measure (Mercilesse loue!) is all. 135 Euen to the last pearle in thy threasure: _thesaurus_, Latin. All places, times, and obiects be Thy teares' sweet opportunity.
XXIV.
Does the day-starre rise? Still thy teares doe fall and fall. 140 Does Day close his eyes? Still the fountain weeps for all. Let Night or Day doe what they will, Thou hast thy task: thou weepest still.
XXV.
Does thy song lull the air? 145 Thy falling teares keep faithfull time. Does thy sweet-breath'd praire Vp in clouds of incense climb? Still at each sigh, that is, each stop, A bead, that is, a tear, does drop. 150
XXVI.
At these thy weeping gates (Watching their watry motion), Each winged moment waits: Takes his tear, and gets him gone. By thine ey's tinct enobled thus, 155 Time layes him vp; he's pretious.
XXVII.
Time, as by thee He passes, Makes thy ever-watry eyes His hower-glasses. By them His steps He rectifies. 160 The sands He us'd, no longer please, For His owne sands Hee'l use thy seas.
XXVIII.
Not, 'so long she liued,' Shall thy tomb report of thee; But, 'so long she grieued:' 165 Thus must we date thy memory. Others by moments, months, and yeares Measure their ages; thou, by teares.
XXIX.
So doe perfumes expire, So sigh tormented sweets, opprest 170 With proud vnpittying fire. Such teares the suffring rose, that's vext With vngentle flames, does shed, Sweating in a too warm bed.
XXX.
Say, ye bright brothers, 175 The fugitiue sons of those fair eyes, Your fruitfull mothers! What make you here? what hopes can 'tice You to be born? what cause can borrow You from those nests of noble sorrow? 180
XXXI.
Whither away so fast? For sure the sluttish earth Your sweetnes cannot tast, Nor does the dust deserve your birth. Sweet, whither hast you then? O say 185 Why you trip so fast away?
XXXII.
We goe not to seek The darlings of Aurora's bed, The rose's modest cheek, Nor the violet's humble head. 190 Though the feild's eyes too Weepers be, Because they want such teares as we.
XXXIII.
Much lesse mean we to trace The fortune of inferior gemmes, Preferr'd to some proud face, 195 Or pertch't vpon fear'd diadems: Crown'd heads are toyes. We goe to meet A worthy object, our Lord's feet.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
With some shortcomings--superficial rather than substantive--'The Weeper' is a lovely poem, and well deserves its place of honour at the commencement of the 'Steps to the Temple,' as in editions of 1646, 1648, and 1670. Accordingly we have spent the utmost pains on our text of it, taking for basis that of 1652. The various readings of the different editions and of the SANCROFT MS. are given below for the capable student of the ultimate perfected form. I have not hesitated to correct several misprints of the text of 1652 from the earlier editions.
The present poem appears very imperfectly in the first edition (1646), consisting there of only twenty-three stanzas instead of thirty-three (and so too in 1670 edition). The stanzas that are not given therein are xvi. to xxix. (on the last see onward). But on the other hand, exclusive of interesting variations, the text of 1646 supplies two entire stanzas (xi. and xxvii.) dropped out in the editions of 1648 and 1652, though both are in 1670 edition and in the SANCROFT MS. Moreover I accept the succession of the stanzas in 1646, so far as it goes, confirmed as it is by the SANCROFT MS. A third stanza in 1652 edition (st. xi. there) as also in 1648 edition, I omit, as it belongs self-revealingly to 'The Teare,' and interrupts the metaphor in 'The Weeper.' Another stanza (xxix.) might seem to demand excision also, as it is in part repeated in 'The Teare;' but the new lines are dainty and would be a loss to 'The Weeper.' Our text therefore is that of 1652, as before, with restorations from 1646.
The form of the stanza in the editions of 1646, 1648 and 1670 is thus:
_______________________________ _______________________________ __________________________ _______________________________ ____________________________________ ____________________________________
In 1652 from stanza xv. (there) to end,
_______________________________ _______________________________ _______________________________ _______________________________ ____________________________________ ____________________________________
but I have made all uniform, and agreeably to above of 1652.
I would now submit variations, illustrations and corrections, under the successive stanzas and lines.
Couplet on the engraving of 'The Weeper.' In 1652 'Sainte' is misprinted 'Sanite,' one of a number that remind us that the volume was printed in Paris, not London. In all the other editions the heading 'Sainte Mary Magdalene' is omitted.
St. i. line 2. 1646, 1648 and 1670 editions read 'silver-forded.' Were it only for the reading of the text of 1652 'silver-footed,' I should have been thankful for it; and I accept it the more readily in that the SANCROFT MS. from Crashaw's own copy, also reads 'silver-footed.' The Homeric compound epithet occurs in HERRICK contemporarily in his _Hesperides_,
'I send, I send here my supremest kiss To thee, my _silver-footed_ Thamasis'
[that is, the river Thames]. WILLIAM BROWNE earlier, has 'faire _silver-footed_ Thetis' (Works by Hazlitt, i. p. 188). Cf. also the first line of the Elegy on Dr. Porter in our 'Airelles'--printed for the first time by us: 'Stay silver-footed Came.'
With reference to the long-accepted reading 'silver-_forded_,' the epithet is loosely used not for in the state of being forded, but for in a state to be forded, or fordable, and hence shallow. The thought is not quite the same as that intended to be conveyed by such a phrase as 'silver stream of Thames,' but pictures the bright, pellucid, silvery whiteness of a clear mountain rill. As silver-shallow--a meaning which, as has been said, cannot be fairly obtained from it--can it alone be taken as a double epithet. In any other sense the hyphen is only an attempt to connect two qualities which refuse to be connected. All difficulty and obscurity are removed by 'silver-footed.'
St. iii. line 1. The. 'we'' may be = wee, as printed in 1646, but in 1648 it is 'we are,' and in 1670 'we're,' and in the last, line 2, 'they're.' The SANCROFT MS. in line 2, reads 'they are indeed' for 'indeed they are.'
St. iv. line 4, 1646 and 1670 have 'crawles' and 'crawls' respectively, for 'floates,' as in 1648 and our text. The SANCROFT MS. also reads 'crawles.' In line 3, 1646 and 1670 'meet' is inadvertently substituted for 'creep.'
Lines 5 and 6, 1646 and 1670 read
'Heaven, of such faire floods as this, Heaven the christall ocean is.'
So too the SANCROFT MS., save that for 'this' it has 'these.'
St. v. line 2. 'Brisk' is = active, nimble. So--and something more--SHAKESPEARE: 'he made me mad, to see him shine so _brisk_' (1 Henry IV. 3).
Line 3. 1646, 1670 and SANCROFT MS. read 'soft' for 'sacred' of 1652 and 1648.
Line 6, 'Breakfast.' See our Essay on this and similar homely words, with parallels. 1648 reads 'his' for '_this_ breakfast.'
St. vi. line 4, 'violls' = 'phials' or small bottles. The reading in 1646 and 1670 is 'Angels with their _bottles_ come.' So also in the SANCROFT MS.
St. vii. line 4. 'Nuzzeld' = nestled or nourished. In quaint old DR. WORSHIP'S Sermons, we have 'dew _cruzzle_ on his cheek' (p. 91).
Lines 1 and 3, 'deaw' = 'dew.' This was the contemporary spelling, as it was long before in SIR JOHN DAVIES, the FLETCHERS and others in our Fuller Worthies' Library, _s.v._
Lines 5 and 6. 1646, 1670 and SANCROFT MS. read
'Much rather would it tremble heere And leave them both to bee thy teare.'
1648 is as our text (1652).
St. ix. A hasty reader may judge this stanza to have been displaced by the xith, but a closer examination reveals a new vein (so-to-say) of the thought. It is characteristic of Crashaw to give a first-sketch, and afterwards fill in other details to complete the scene or portraiture.
St. xi. Restored from 1646.
St. xii. line 1. 1646, 1648 and 1670 read 'There is.'
Line 4, '_med'cinable_ teares.' So SHAKESPEARE (nearly): 'their _medicinal_ gum' (Othello, v. 2).
St. xiii. line 2. 1646 and 1670 unhappily misprint 'case;' and TURNBULL passed the deplorable blunder and perpetuated it.
Line 5. Our text (1652) misprints 'draw' for 'deaw' = dew, as before.
Line 6. 1646 and 1670 read 'May balsame.'
St. xiv. line 3. 1646 and 1670 read
'Might he flow from thee.'
TURNBULL misses the rhythmical play in the first and second 'though,' and punctuates the second so as to read with next line. I make a full-stop as in the SANCROFT MS.
Line 4, ib. read
'Content and quiet would he goe.'
So the SANCROFT MS.
Line 5, ib. read
'Richer far does he esteeme.'
So the SANCROFT MS.
St. xv. lines 5 and 6, ib. read
'No April e're lent softer showres, Nor May returned fairer flowers.'
'Faithful' looks deeper: but the SANCROFT MS. agrees with '46 and '70.
St. xvii. line 2, in 1648 misreads
'With loves and tears, and smils disputing.'
TURNBULL, without the slightest authority, seeing not even in 1670 are the readings found, has thus printed lines 2 and 4, 'With loves, of tears _with smiles disporting_' ... 'Each other kissing and _comforting_'!!
St. xviii. line 2 in 1648 misreads
'Friends with the balsome fires that fill thee.'
The 'balsome' is an evident misprint, but 'thee' is preferable to 'fill you' of our text (1652), and hence I have adopted it.
Line 3 in 1648 reads
'Cause great flames agree.'
St. xix. line 3, 1648, reads 'that' for 'the.'
Line 4, ib. 'those' for 'these.'
Line 6. cf. Revelations xiv. 5, 'These are they which follow the Lamb whithersoever He goeth.'
St. xxi. line 6. 'wipe with gold,' refers to Mary Magdalene's golden tresses, as also in st. xxii. 'a voluntary mint.'
Line 4. 'prouoke' = challenge.
St. xxii. line 2. Curiously enough, 1648 edition leaves a blank where we read 'calls 't' as in our text (1652). TURNBULL prints 'call'st,' but that makes nonsense. It is calls't as = calls it. So too the SANCROFT MS. Probably the copy for 1648 was illegible.
St. xxiv. line 1. 1646 and 1670 read
'Does the Night arise?'
Line 2. Our text (1652) misprints 'starres' for 'teares' of 1646, 1648 and 1670.
Line 3. 1646 and 1670 read
'Does Night loose her eyes?'
The SANCROFT MS. reads line 139 'Does the Night arise?' and line 141, 'Does Niget loose her eyes?'
St. xxv. line 2. 1646 and 1670 read
'Thy teares' just cadence still keeps time.'
So the SANCROFT MS.
Line 3. Our text (1652) misprints 'paire' for 'praire.' 'Sweet-breath'd' should probably be pronounced as the adjectival of the substantive, not as the participle of the verb.
Line 6. 1646, 1648 and 1670 read 'doth' for 'does.'
St. xxvi. lines 1 and 2. 1646 and 1670 read
'Thus dost thou melt the yeare Into a weeping motion. Each minute waiteth heere.'
So the SANCROFT MS.
St. xxvii. Restored from 1646 edition. The SANCROFT MS. in line 168 miswrites 'teares.'
St. xxviii. line 5. reads in 1646 and 1670
'Others by dayes, by monthes, by yeares.'
So also the SANCROFT MS., wherein this st. follows our st. xv.
St. xxix. line 3. Our text (1652) misprints 'fires' for 'fire' of 1648.
St. xxx. line 1. Our text (1652) misprints 'Say the bright brothers.' 1646 and 1670 read 'Say watry Brothers.' So SANCROFT MS. 1648 gives 'ye,' which I have adopted. The misprint of 'the' in 1652 originated doubtless in the printer's reading 'ye,' the usual mode of writing 'the.'
Line 2. 1646 and 1670 read
'Yee simpering ...'
So the SANCROFT MS.
Line 3, ib. 'fertile' for 'fruitfull.'
Line 4, ib. 'What hath our world that can entice.' So the SANCROFT MS.
Lines 5 and 6, ib.
'what is't can borrow You from her eyes, swolne wombes of sorrow.'
So the SANCROFT MS.
St. xxxi. line 2. 1646 and 1670 read
'O whither? for the _sluttish_ Earth:'
and I accept 'sluttish' for 'sordid,' which is also confirmed by SANCROFT MS.
Line 4, ib. 'your' for 'their;' and as this is also the reading of 1648 and SANCROFT MS., I have accepted it.
Line 5. 1646 and 1670 omit 'Sweet.'
Line 6, ib. read 'yee' for 'you.'
St. xxxii. and xxxiii. In 1646 and 1670 these two stanzas are thrown into one, viz. 23 (there), which consists of the first four lines of xxxii. and the two closing lines of xxxiii. as follows,
'No such thing; we goe to meet A worthier object, our Lords feet.'
In the SANCROFT MS. also, and reads as last line 'A worthy object, our Lord Jesus feet.' On the closing lines of st. xxxii. cf. Sospetto d'Herode, st. xlviii.
I have not thought it needful, either in these Notes or hereafter, to record the somewhat arbitrary variations of mere orthography in the different editions, as 'haile' for 'hail,' 'syluer' for 'silver,' 'hee' for 'he,' and the like. But I trust it will be found that no different wording has escaped record. G.
SANCTA MARIA DOLORVM, OR THE MOTHER OF SORROWS
_A patheticall Descant vpon the deuout Plainsong of Stabat Mater Dolorosa._[23]
I.
In shade of Death's sad tree Stood dolefull shee. Ah she! now by none other Name to be known, alas, but Sorrow's Mother. Before her eyes, 5 Her's, and the whole World's ioyes, Hanging all torn she sees; and in His woes And paines, her pangs and throes: Each wound of His, from euery part, All, more at home in her one heart. 10
II.
What kind of marble, than, Is that cold man Who can look on and see, Nor keep such noble sorrowes company? Sure eu'en from you 15 (My flints) some drops are due, To see so many unkind swords contest So fast for one soft brest: While with a faithfull, mutuall floud, Her eyes bleed teares, His wounds weep blood. 20
III.
O costly intercourse Of deaths, and worse-- Diuided loues. While Son and mother Discourse alternate wounds to one another, Quick deaths that grow 25 And gather, as they come and goe: His nailes write swords in her, which soon her heart Payes back, with more then their own smart. Her swords, still growing with His pain, Turn speares, and straight come home again. 30
IV.
She sees her Son, her God, Bow with a load Of borrow'd sins; and swimme In woes that were not made for Him. Ah! hard command 35 Of loue! Here must she stand, Charg'd to look on, and with a stedfast ey See her life dy: Leauing her only so much breath As serues to keep aliue her death. 40
V.
O mother turtle-doue! Soft sourse of loue! That these dry lidds might borrow Somthing from thy full seas of sorrow! O in that brest 45 Of thine (the noblest nest Both of Loue's fires and flouds) might I recline This hard, cold heart of mine! The chill lump would relent, and proue Soft subject for the seige of Loue. 50
VI.
O teach those wounds to bleed In me; me, so to read This book of loues, thus writ In lines of death, my life may coppy it With loyall cares. 55 O let me, here, claim shares! Yeild somthing in thy sad praerogatiue (Great queen of greifes), and giue Me, too, my teares; who, though all stone, Think much that thou shouldst mourn alone. 60
VII.
Yea, let my life and me Fix here with thee, And at the humble foot Of this fair tree, take our eternall root. That so we may 65 At least be in Loue's way; And in these chast warres, while the wing'd wounds flee So fast 'twixt Him and thee, My brest may catch the kisse of some kind dart, Though as at second hand, from either heart. 70
VIII.
O you, your own best darts, Dear, dolefull hearts! Hail! and strike home, and make me see That wounded bosomes their own weapons be. Come wounds! come darts! 75 Nail'd hands! and peirced hearts! Come your whole selues, Sorrow's great Son and mother! Nor grudge a yonger brother Of greifes his portion, who (had all their due) One single wound should not haue left for you. 80
IX.
Shall I, sett there So deep a share (Dear wounds), and onely now In sorrows draw no diuidend with you? O be more wise, 85 If not more soft, mine eyes! Flow, tardy founts! and into decent showres Dissolue my dayes and howres. And if thou yet (faint soul!) desert To bleed with Him, fail not to weep with her. 90
X.
Rich queen, lend some releife; At least an almes of greif To' a heart who by sad right of sin Could proue the whole summe (too sure) due to him. By all those stings 95 Of Loue, sweet-bitter things, Which these torn hands transcrib'd on thy true heart; O teach mine too the art To study Him so, till we mix Wounds, and become one crucifix. 100
XI.
O let me suck the wine So long of this chast Vine, Till drunk of the dear wounds, I be A lost thing to the world, as it to me. O faithfull friend 105 Of me and of my end! Fold vp my life in loue; and lay't beneath My dear Lord's vitall death. Lo, heart, thy hope's whole plea! her pretious breath Pour'd out in prayrs for thee; thy Lord's in death. 110
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
St. i. line 10. In 1648 the reading is
'Are more at home in her Owne heart.'
In 1670. 'All, more at home in her own heart.' I think 'all' and 'one' of our text (1652) preferable. There is a world of pathos in the latter. Cf. st. ii. line 8.
St. ii. line 1. On the change of orthography for rhyme, see our PHINEAS FLETCHER, vol. ii. 206; and our LORD BROOKE, VAUGHAN, &c. &c., show 'then' and 'than' used as in Crashaw.
St. vi. line 3. In 1648 the reading is 'love;' 1670 as our text (1652). The plural includes the twofold love of Son and mother.
Line 7, ib. 'to' for 'in.'
Line 9, ib. 'Oh give' at commencement. 1670, 'to' for 'too.'
St. vii. and viii. These two stanzas do not appear in 1648 edition, but appear in 1670.
St. vii. line 4. By 'tree' the Cross is meant. Cf. st. i. line 1.
St. ix. line 1. 1648 edition supplies the two words required by the measure of the other stanzas, 'in sins.' They are dropped inadvertently in 1652 and 1670. Turnbull failed as usual to detect the omission.
Line 4. 1648 spells 'Divident.'
Lines 5 and 6. I have accepted correction of our text (1652) from 1648 edition, in line 6, of 'If' for 'Is,' which is also the reading of 1670. 1648 substitutes 'just' for 'soft;' but 1670 does not adopt it, nor can I.
St. x. line 1. 1648 reads 'Lend, O lend some reliefe.'
Line 9 reads 'To studie thee so.'
St. xi. line 3, ib. reads 'thy' for 'the.'
Line 8, ib. reads 'Thy deare lost vitall death.'
Line 10. I have adopted from 1648 'in thy Lord's death' for 'thy lord's in death' of our text (1652).
Turnbull has some sad misprints in this poem: _e.g._ st. ii. line 4, 'sorrow's' for 'sorrows;' st. iii. line 2, 'death's' for 'deaths;' st. vi. line 9, 'Me to' for 'Me, too;' st. x. line 2, 'in' for 'an,' and line 3, 'a' mis-inserted before 'sad.' Except in the 'Me to' of st. vi., he had not even the poor excuse of following the text of 1670. G.
THE TEARE.[24]
I.
What bright-soft thing is this, Sweet Mary, thy faire eyes' expence? A moist sparke it is, A watry diamond; from whence The very tearme, I think, was found, 5 The water of a diamond.
II.
O, 'tis not a teare: 'Tis a star about to dropp From thine eye, its spheare; The sun will stoope and take it up: 10 Proud will his sister be, to weare This thine eyes' iewell in her eare.
III.
O, 'tis a teare, Too true a teare; for no sad eyne, How sad so 'ere, 15 Raine so true a teare, as thine; Each drop leaving a place so deare, Weeps for it self; is its owne teare.
IV.
Such a pearle as this is, Slipt from Aurora's dewy brest-- 20 The rose-bud's sweet lipp kisses; And such the rose it self that's vext With ungentle flames, does shed, Sweating in a too warm bed.
V.
Such the maiden gem, 25 By the purpling vine put on, Peeps from her parent stem, And blushes on the bridegroom sun; The watry blossome of thy eyne Ripe, will make the richer wine. 30
VI.
Faire drop, why quak'st thou so? 'Cause thou streight must lay thy head In the dust? O, no! The dust shall never be thy bed: A pillow for thee will I bring, 35 Stuft with downe of angel's wing.
VII.
Thus carried up on high (For to Heaven thou must goe), Sweetly shalt thou lye, And in soft slumbers bath thy woe, 40 Till the singing orbes awake thee, And one of their bright chorus make thee.
VIII.
There thy selfe shalt bee An eye, but not a weeping one; Yet I doubt of thee, 45 Whether th' had'st rather there have shone An eye of heaven; or still shine here, In the heaven of Marie's eye, a TEARE.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
It is to be re-noted that st. v. is identical in all save 'watry' for 'bridegroom' with st. xi. of 'The Weeper' as given in text of 1652, and that st. iv. has two lines from st. xxix. of the same poem. Neither of these stanzas appear in 'The Weeper' of 1646. As stated in relative foot-note, I have withdrawn the former from 'The Weeper.' We may be sure it was inadvertently inserted in 1652, seeing that the very next stanza closes with the same word 'wine' as in it: a fault which our Poet never could have passed. It is to be noticed too that 'The Teare' did not appear in the edition of 1652. By transferring the stanza to 'The Teare' as in 1646, 1648 and 1670 editions, a blemish is removed from 'The Weeper,' while in 'The Teare' it is a vivid addition. The 'such' of line 1 links it naturally on to st. iv. with its 'such.'
Our text follows that of 1648 except in st. v. line 4, where I adopt the reading of 1652 in 'The Weeper' (there st. xi.) of 'bridegroom' (misprinted 'bridegrooms') for 'watry,' and that I correct in st. vii. line 6, the misprint 'the' for 'thee,'--the latter being found in 1646 and 1670. With reference to st. v. again, in line 5 in 'The Weeper' of 1648 the reading is 'balsome' for 'blossom.' The 'ripe' of line 6 settles (I think) that 'blossom' is the right word, as the ripe blossom is = the grape, to the rich lucent-white drops of which the Weeper's tears are likened. 'Balsome' doesn't make wine. I have adopted from st. xi. of 'The Weeper' of 1652 the reading 'the purpling vine' for 'the wanton Spring' of 1646, 1648 and 1670. The SANCROFT MS. in st. i. line 2, reads 'expends' for 'expence;' st. iv. line 4, 'that's' for 'when;' st. v. line 4, 'manly sunne' for 'bridegroome,' and line 5, 'thine' for 'thy;' st. viii. line 6, 'I' th'' for 'In th'.' G.
THE OFFICE OF THE HOLY CROSSE.[25]
Tradidit semetipsum pro nobis oblationem et hostiam Deo in odorem suauitatis. _Ad Ephe._ v. 2.
THE HOWRES.
FOR THE HOVR OF MATINES.
_The Versicle._
Lord, by Thy sweet and sailing sign!
_The Responsory._
Defend us from our foes and Thine.
_V._ Thou shalt open my lippes, O Lord.
_R._ And my mouth shall shew forth Thy prayse.
_V._ O God, make speed to saue me. 5
_R._ O Lord, make hast to help me.
Glory be to the FATHER, and to the SON, and to the H[oly] GHOST. As it was in the beginning, is now, and euer 10 shall be, world without end. Amen.
THE HYMN.
The wakefull Matines hast to sing The unknown sorrows of our King: The Father's Word and Wisdom, made Man for man, by man's betraid; 15 The World's price sett to sale, and by the bold Merchants of Death and Sin, is bought and sold: Of His best freinds (yea of Himself) forsaken; By His worst foes (because He would) beseig'd and taken.
_The Antiphona._
All hail, fair tree, 20 Whose fruit we be! What song shall raise Thy seemly praise, Who broughtst to light Life out of death, Day out of Night! 25
_The Versicle._
Lo, we adore Thee, Dread LAMB! and bow thus low before Thee:
_The Responsor._
'Cause, by the couenant of Thy crosse, Thou hast sau'd at once the whole World's losse.
_The Prayer._
O Lord IESV-CHRIST, Son of the liuing God! 30 interpose, I pray Thee, Thine Own pretious death, Thy crosse and passion, betwixt my soul and Thy iudgment, now and in the hour of my death. And vouchsafe to graunt vnto me Thy grace and mercy; vnto all quick and dead, remission and rest; to Thy 35 Church, peace and concord; to vs sinners, life and glory euerlasting. Who liuest and reignest with the Father, in the vnity of the Holy Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen.
FOR THE HOUR OF PRIME.
_The Versicle._
Lord, by Thy sweet and sailing sign! 40
_The Responsor._
Defend vs from our foes and Thine. _V._ Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord. _R._ And my mouth shall shew forth Thy praise. _V._ O God, make speed to save me. _R._ O Lord, make hast to help me. 45 _V._ Glory be to, &c. _R._ As it was in the, &c.
THE HYMN.
The early Prime blushes to say She could not rise so soon, as they Call'd Pilat vp; to try if he 50 Could lend them any cruelty. Their hands with lashes arm'd, their toungs with lyes And loathsom spittle, blott those beauteous eyes, The blissfull springs of ioy; from whose all-chearing ray The fair starrs fill their wakefull fires, the sun him- self drinks day. 55
_The Antiphona._
Victorious sign That now dost shine, Transcrib'd aboue Into the land of light and loue; O let vs twine 60 Our rootes with thine, That we may rise Vpon thy wings, and reach the skyes.
_The Versicle._
Lo, we adore Thee, Dread Lamb! and fall 65 Thus low before Thee.
_The Responsor._
'Cause by the couenant of Thy crosse Thou hast sau'd at once the whole World's losse.
_The Prayer._
O LORD IESV-CHRIST, Son of the liuing God! interpose, I pray Thee, Thine Own pretious death, 70 Thy crosse and passion, betwixt my soul and Thy iudgment, now and in the hour of my death. And vouchsafe to graunt vnto me Thy grace and mercy; vnto all quick and dead, remission and rest; to Thy Church, peace and concord; to vs sinners, 75 life and glory euerlasting. Who liuest and reignest with the Father, in the vnity of the Holy Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen.
THE THIRD.
_The Versicle._
Lord, by Thy sweet and sauing sign,
_The Responsor._
Defend vs from our foes and Thine. 80 _V._ Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord. _R._ And my mouth shall shew forth Thy praise. _V._ O God, make speed to save me. _R._ O Lord, make hast to help me. _V._ Glory be to, &c. 85 _R._ As it was in the, &c.
THE HYMN.
The third hour's deafen'd with the cry Of crucify Him, crucify. So goes the vote (nor ask them, why?), Liue Barabbas! and let God dy. 90 But there is witt in wrath, and they will try A hail more cruell then their crucify. For while in sport He weares a spitefull crown The serious showres along His decent Face run sadly down.
_The Antiphona._
Christ when He dy'd 95 Deceiu'd the Crosse; And on Death's side Threw all the losse. The captiue World awak't and found The prisoners loose, the iaylor bound. 100
_The Versicle._
Lo, we adore Thee, Dread LAMB, and fall Thus low before Thee.
_The Responsor._
'Cause by the couenant of Thy crosse Thou hast sau'd at once the whole World's losse. 105
_The Prayer._
O Lord IESV-CHRIST, Son of the liuing God! interpose, I pray Thee, Thine Own pretious death, Thy crosse and passion, betwixt my soul and Thy iudgment, now and in the hour of my death. And vouchsafe to graunt vnto me Thy grace and mercy; 110 vnto all quick and dead, remission and rest; to Thy Church, peace and concord; to vs sinners, life and glory everlasting. Who liuest and reignest with the Father, in the vnity of the Holy Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen. 115
THE SIXT.
_The Versicle._
Lord, by Thy sweet and sauing sign!
_The Responsor._
Defend vs from our foes and Thine.
_V._ Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord.
_R._ And my mouth shall shew forth Thy praise.
_V._ O God, make speed to save me! 120
_R._ O Lord, make hast to help me!
_V._ Glory be to, &c.
_R._ As it was in the, &c.
THE HYMN.
Now is the noon of Sorrow's night: High in His patience, as their spite, 125 Lo, the faint Lamb, with weary limb Beares that huge tree which must bear Him! That fatall plant, so great of fame For fruit of sorrow and of shame, Shall swell with both, for Him, and mix 130 All woes into one crucifix. Is tortur'd thirst itselfe too sweet a cup? Gall, and more bitter mocks, shall make it vp. Are nailes, blunt pens of superficiall smart? Contempt and scorn can send sure wounds to search the inmost heart. 135
_The Antiphona._
O deare and sweet dispute 'Twixt Death's and Loue's farr different fruit! Different as farr As antidotes and poysons are. By that first fatall tree 140 Both life and liberty Were sold and slain; By this they both look vp, and liue again.
_The Versicle._
Lo, we adore Thee, Dread Lamb! and bow thus low before Thee. 145
_The Responsor._
'Cause by the couenant of Thy crosse, Thou hast sau'd the World from certain losse.
_The Prayer._
O Lord IESV-CHRIST, Son of the liuing God! interpose, I pray Thee, Thine Own pretious death, Thy crosse and passion, betwixt my soul and Thy 150 iudgment, now and in the hour of my death. And vouchsafe to graunt vnto me Thy grace and mercy; vnto all quick and dead, remission and rest; to Thy Church, peace and concord; to vs sinners, life and glory euerlasting. Who liuest and reignest 155 with the Father, in the vnity of the Holy Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen.
THE NINTH.
_The Versicle._
Lord, by Thy sweet and sauing sign,
_The Responsor._
Defend vs from our foes and Thine. _V._ Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord. 160 _R._ And my mouth shall shew forth Thy praise. _V._ O God, make speed to save me! _R._ O Lord, make hast to help me! _V._ Glory be to, &c. _R._ As it was in the, &c. 165
THE HYMN.
The ninth with awfull horror hearkened to those groanes Which taught attention eu'n to rocks and stones. Hear, Father, hear! Thy Lamb (at last) complaines Of some more painfull thing then all His paines. Then bowes His all-obedient head, and dyes 170 His own lou's and our sins' GREAT SACRIFICE. The sun saw that, and would haue seen no more; The center shook: her vselesse veil th' inglorious Temple tore.
_The Antiphona._
O strange, mysterious strife Of open Death and hidden Life! 175 When on the crosse my King did bleed, Life seem'd to dy, Death dy'd indeed.[26]
_The Versicle._
Lo, we adore Thee, Dread Lamb! and fall Thus low before Thee. 180
_The Responsor._
'Cause by the couenant of Thy crosse Thou hast sau'd at once the whole World's losse.
_The Prayer._
O Lord Iesv-Christ, Son of the liuing God! interpose, I pray Thee, Thine Own pretious death,
Thy crosse and passion, betwixt my soul and Thy 185 iudgment, now and in the hour of my death. And vouchsafe to graunt vnto me Thy grace and mercy; vnto all quick and dead, remission and rest; to Thy Church, peace and concord; to vs sinners, life and glory euerlasting. Who liuest and reignest 190 with the Father, in the vnity of the Holy Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen.
EVENSONG.
_The Versicle._
Lord, by Thy sweet and sauing sign!
_The Responsor._
Defend vs from our foes and Thine. _V._ Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord! 195 _R._ And my mouth shall shew forth Thy praise. _V._ O God, make speed to save me! _R._ O Lord, make hast to help me! _V._ Glory be to, &c. _R._ As it was in the, &c. 200
THE HYMN.
But there were rocks would not relent at this: Lo, for their own hearts, they rend His; Their deadly hate liues still, and hath A wild reserve of wanton wrath; Superfluous spear! But there's a heart stands by 205 Will look no wounds be lost, no deaths shall dy. Gather now thy Greif's ripe fruit, great mother-maid! Then sitt thee down, and sing thine eu'nsong in the sad tree's shade.
_The Antiphona._
O sad, sweet tree! Wofull and ioyfull we 210 Both weep and sing in shade of thee. When the dear nailes did lock And graft into thy gracious stock The hope, the health, The worth, the wealth 215 Of all the ransom'd World, thou hadst the power (In that propitious hour) To poise each pretious limb, And proue how light the World was, when it weighd with Him. Wide maist thou spred 220 Thine armes, and with thy bright and blissfull head O'relook all Libanus. Thy lofty crown The King Himself is, thou His humble throne, Where yeilding and yet conquering He Prou'd a new path of patient victory: 225 When wondring Death by death was slain, And our Captiuity His captiue ta'ne.
_The Versicle._
Lo, we adore Thee, Dread LAMB! and bow thus low before Thee.
_The Responsor._
'Cause by the couenant of Thy crosse 230 Thou hast sau'd the World from certain losse.
_The Prayer._
O Lord Iesv-Christ, Son of the liuing, &c.
COMPLINE.
_The Versicle._
Lord, by Thy sweet and sauing sign!
_The Responsor._
Defend vs from our foes and Thine. _V._ Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord! 235 _R._ And my mouth shall shew forth Thy praise. _V._ O God, make speed to save me! _R._ O Lord, make hast to help me! _V._ Glory be to, &c. _R._ As it was in the, &c. 240
THE HYMN.
The Complin hour comes last, to call Vs to our own lives' funerall. Ah hartlesse task! yet Hope takes head, And liues in Him that here lyes dead. Run, Mary, run! Bring hither all the blest 245 Arabia, for thy royall phoenix' nest; Pour on thy noblest sweets, which, when they touch This sweeter body, shall indeed be such. But must Thy bed, Lord, be a borrow'd graue Who lend'st to all things all the life they haue. 250 O rather vse this heart, thus farr a fitter stone, 'Cause, though a hard and cold one, yet it is Thine own. Amen.
_The Antiphona._
O saue vs then, Mercyfull King of men! Since Thou wouldst needs be thus 255 A Saviour, and at such a rate, for vs; Saue vs, O saue vs, Lord. We now will own no shorter wish, nor name a narrower word; Thy blood bids vs be bold, Thy wounds giue vs fair hold, 260 Thy sorrows chide our shame: Thy crosse, Thy nature, and Thy name Aduance our claim, And cry with one accord Saue them, O saue them, Lord! 265
THE RECOMMENDATION.[27]
These Houres, and that which houers o're my end, Into Thy hands and hart, Lord, I commend.
Take both to Thine account, that I and mine In that hour, and in these, may be all Thine.
That as I dedicate my deuoutest breath 270 To make a kind of life for my Lord's death,
So from His liuing and life-giuing death, My dying life may draw a new and neuer fleeting breath.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
In the original edition of this composition, as _supra_ (1648), it is entitled simply 'Vpon our B[lessed] Saviour's Passion.' What in our text (1652) constitute the Hymns, were originally numbered as seven stanzas. A few various readings from 1648 will be found below. Our text is given in full in 1670 edition, but not very accurately.
_Various readings of the Hymns in 1648 'Steps.'_
I. Line 1. 'The wakefull dawning hast's to sing.'
" 2. The allusion is to the petition in the old Litanies, 'By all Thine _unknown_ sorrows, good Lord, deliver us.'
" 8. 'betray'd' for 'beseigd:' the former perhaps superior.
II. " 1. 'The early Morne.'
" 2. 'It' for 'she.'
III. " 5. 'ther's' for 'there is.'
IV. " 6. 'The fruit' instead of 'for'--a misprint.
V. " 6. 'our great sins' sacrifice.'
VII. " 1. 'The Nightening houre'--a curious coinage.
In the 'Prayer,' 'unto all quick and dead' is dropped, and reads 'the,' not 'Thy,' Church. In line 55 Turnbull reads 'weakful,' and, line 243, 'heed' for 'head,'--two of a number of provoking blunders in his text. G.
VEXILLA REGIS:
THE HYMN OF THE HOLY CROSSE.[28]
I.
Look vp, languisting soul! Lo, where the fair 1 Badge of thy faith calls back thy care, And biddes thee ne're forget Thy life is one long debt Of loue, to Him, Who on this painfull tree 5 Paid back the flesh He took for thee.
II.
Lo, how the streames of life, from that full nest Of loues, Thy Lord's too liberall brest, Flow in an amorous floud Of water wedding blood. 10 With these He wash't thy stain, transferred thy smart, And took it home to His own heart.
III.
But though great Love, greedy of such sad gain, Vsurpt the portion of thy pain, And from the nailes and spear 15 Turn'd the steel point of fear: Their vse is chang'd, not lost; and now they moue Not stings of wrath, but wounds of loue.
IV.
Tall tree of life! thy truth makes good What was till now ne're understood, 20 Though the prophetick king Struck lowd his faithfull string: It was thy wood he meant should make the throne For a more than Salomon.
V.
Large throne of Loue! royally spred 25 With purple of too rich a red: Thy crime is too much duty; Thy burthen, too much beauty; Glorious or greiuous more? thus to make good Thy costly excellence with thy King's own blood. 30
VI.
Euen ballance of both worlds! our world of sin, And that of grace, Heaun-way'd in Him: Vs with our price thou weighed'st; Our price for vs thou payed'st, Soon as the right-hand scale reioyc't to proue 35 How much Death weigh'd more light then Loue.
VII.
Hail, our alone hope! let thy fair head shoot Aloft, and fill the nations with thy noble fruit: The while our hearts and we Thus graft our selues on thee, 40 Grow thou and they. And be thy fair increase The sinner's pardon and the iust man's peace.
Liue, O for euer liue and reign The Lamb Whom His own loue hath slain! And let Thy lost sheep liue to inherit 45 That kingdom which this Crosse did merit. Amen.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
These variations &c. as between 1648 and 1652, deserve record:
St. i. line 1. 'Languishing,' which is the reading in 1648.
Ib. line 2. Here, and in v. line 1, I have added 'e' to 'badg' and 'larg' respectively from 1648.
St. vi. line 2. Our text (1652) corrects a manifest blunder of 1648, which reads 'wag'd' for 'way'd' = weighed. In 1648, lines 3-4 read
'Both with one price were weighed, Both with one price were paid.'
St. vii. appeared for the first time in our text (1652). In the closing four lines, line 4, 1648, reads noticeably
'That Kingdome which Thy blessed death did merit.'
The allusion in st. iv. is to the old reading of Psalm xcvi. 10: 'Tell it among the heathen that the Lord reigneth from _the tree_.' The reference to Solomon points to the mediaeval mystical interpretations of Canticles iii. 9-10.
I place 'Vexilla Regis' immediately after the 'Office of the Holy Crosse,' as really belonging to it, and not to be separated as in 1648. G.
[THE LORD SILENCES HIS QUESTIONERS.][29]
'Neither durst any man from that day aske Him any more questions.'
_St. Matthew_ xxii.
Mid'st all the darke and knotty snares, 1 Black wit or malice can, or dares, Thy glorious wisedome breaks the nets, And treds with uncontrouled steps; Thy quell'd foes are not onely now 5 Thy triumphs, but Thy trophies too: They both at once Thy conquests bee, And Thy conquests' memorie. Stony amazement makes them stand Wayting on Thy victorious hand, 10 Like statues fixed to the fame Of Thy renoune, and their own shame, As if they onely meant to breath To be the life of their own death. 'Twas time to hold their peace, when they 15 Had ne're another word to say; Yet is their silence unto Thee, The full sound of Thy victorie; Their silence speaks aloud, and is Thy well pronounc'd panegyris. 20 While they speak nothing, they speak all Their share, in Thy memoriall. While they speake nothing, they proclame Thee, with the shrillest trump of Fame. To hold their peace is all the wayes 25 These wretches have to speak Thy praise.
OUR B[LESSED] LORD IN HIS CIRCUMCISION TO HIS FATHER.[30]
1. To Thee these first-fruits of My growing death 1 (For what else is My life?), lo! I bequeath:
2. Tast this, and as Thou lik'st this lesser flood Expect a sea; My heart shall make it good.
3. Thy wrath that wades here now, e're long shall swim, 5 The floodgate shall be set wide ope for Him.
4. Then let Him drinke, and drinke, and doe His worst To drowne the wantonnesse of His wild thirst.
5. Now's but the nonage of My paines, My feares Are yett but hopes, weake as my infant yeares. 10
6. The day of My darke woe is yet but morne, My teares but tender, and My death new-borne.
7. Yet may these unfledg'd griefes give fate some guesse, These cradle-torments have their towardnesse.
8. These purple buds of blooming death may bee, 15 Erst the full stature of a fatall tree.
9. And till My riper woes to age are come, This knife may be the speare's praeludium.
ON THE WOUNDS OF OUR CRUCIFIED LORD.[31]
O, these wakefull wounds of Thine! 1 Are they mouthes? or are they eyes? Be they mouthes, or be they eyne, Each bleeding part some one supplies.
Lo! a mouth! whose full-bloom'd lips 5 At too dear a rate are roses: Lo! a blood-shot eye! that weeps, And many a cruell teare discloses.
O, thou that on this foot hast laid Many a kisse, and many a teare; 10 Now thou shalt have all repaid, What soe're thy charges were.
This foot hath got a mouth and lips To pay the sweet summe of thy kisses; To pay thy teares, an eye that weeps, 15 Instead of teares, such gems as this is.
The difference onely this appeares, (Nor can the change offend) The debt is paid in ruby-teares Which thou in pearles did'st lend. 20
VPON THE BLEEDING CRUCIFIX: A SONG.[32]
I.
IIESU, no more! It is full tide: From Thy head and from Thy feet, From Thy hands and from Thy side All the purple riuers meet.
II.
What need Thy fair head bear a part In showres, as if Thine eyes had none? What need they help to drown Thy heart, That striues in torrents of it's own?
III.
Water'd by the showres they bring, The thornes that Thy blest browe encloses (A cruell and a costly spring) Conceiue proud hopes of proving roses.
IV.
Thy restlesse feet now cannot goe For vs and our eternall good, As they were euer wont. What though? They swimme, alas! in their own floud.
V.
Thy hand to giue Thou canst not lift; Yet will Thy hand still giuing be. It giues, but O itself's the gift: It giues though bound; though bound 'tis free.
VI.
But O Thy side, Thy deep-digg'd side! That hath a double Nilus going: Nor euer was the Pharian tide Half so fruitfull, half so flowing.
VII.
No hair so small, but payes his riuer To this Red Sea of Thy blood; Their little channells can deliuer Somthing to the generall floud.
VIII.
But while I speak, whither are run All the riuers nam'd before? I counted wrong: there is but one; But O that one is one all ore.
IX.
Rain-swoln riuers may rise proud, Bent all to drown and overflow; But when indeed all's ouerflow'd, They themselues are drowned too.
X.
This Thy blood's deluge (a dire chance, Dear Lord, to Thee) to vs is found A deluge of deliuerance; A deluge least we should be drown'd. _lest_ N'ere wast Thou in a sense so sadly true, The well of liuing waters, Lord, till now.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
The title in 1646 is 'On the bleeding wounds of our crucified Lord:' in 1648 has 'body' for 'wounds:' in 1670 as 1646. I record these variations, &c.:
St. i. lines 2 and 3, in 1646 and 1670 read
'From Thy hands and from Thy feet, From Thy head and from Thy side.'
So the SANCROFT MS.
St. ii. In 1646 and 1670 this stanza is the 5th, and in line 2 has 'teares' for 'showres.'
St. iii. This stanza, by some strange oversight, is wholly dropped in 1652. St. iii. not in SANCROFT MS., and our st. ii. is the last. On one of the fly-leaves of the copy of 1646 edition in Trinity College, Cambridge, is the following contemporary MS. epigram, which embodies the sentiment of the stanza:
'_In caput Xti spinis coronatum._ Cerno Caput si Christe tuum mihi vertitur omne In spinis illud, quod fuit ante rosa.'
Turnbull gives the stanza, but misplaces it after our st. vi., overlooking that our st. ii. is in 1646 edition st. v.
St. iv. line 1: in 1646 and 1670 'they' for 'now.'
Line 3, ib. 'as they are wont'--evident inadvertence, as 'ever' is required by the measure.
Line 4, ib. 'blood' for 'floud:' so also in 1648.
St. v. line 1, ib. 'hand' for 'hands:' 'hand' in 1648, and in SANCROFT MS.: adopted. Line 4, 'dropps' in SANCROFT MS. for 'gives.'
St. vi. line 3. Our text (1652) prints 'pharian,' the Paris printer spelling (and mis-spelling) without comprehending the reference to Pharaoh.
St. vii. line 1, in 1646 and 1670 'not a haire but ...'
St. ix. line 3, in 1648 a capital in 'All's.' G.
TO THE NAME ABOVE EVERY NAME, THE NAME OF IESVS:
A HYMN.[33]
In Vnitate Devs Est Numisma Vrbani 6.
I sing the name which none can say 1 But touch't with an interiour ray: The name of our new peace; our good: Our blisse: and supernaturall blood: The name of all our liues and loues. 5 Hearken, and help, ye holy doues! The high-born brood of Day; you bright Candidates of blissefull light, The heirs elect of Loue, whose names belong Vnto the euerlasting life of song; 10 All ye wise sovles, who in the wealthy brest Of this vnbounded name, build your warm nest. Awake, my glory, Sovl (if such thou be, And that fair word at all referr to thee), Awake and sing, 15 And be all wing; Bring hither thy whole self; and let me see What of thy parent Heavn yet speakes in thee. O thou art poore Of noble powres, I see, 20 And full of nothing else but empty me: Narrow, and low, and infinitely lesse Then this great morning's mighty busynes. One little world or two (Alas) will neuer doe; 25 We must haue store. Goe, Sovl, out of thy self, and seek for more. Goe and request Great Natvre for the key of her huge chest Of Heauns, the self-inuoluing sett of sphears 30 (Which dull mortality more feeles then heares). Then rouse the nest Of nimble Art, and trauerse round The aiery shop of soul-appeasing sound: And beat a summons in the same 35 All-soueraign name, To warn each seuerall kind And shape of sweetnes, be they such As sigh with supple wind Or answer artfull touch; 40 That they conuene and come away To wait at the loue-crowned doores of this illustrious day. _love_ Shall we dare this, my Soul? we'l doe't and bring No other note for't, but the name we sing. Wake lvte and harp, and euery sweet-lipp't thing 45 That talkes with tunefull string; Start into life, and leap with me Into a hasty fitt-tun'd harmony. Nor must you think it much T' obey my bolder touch; 50 I haue authority in Love's name to take you, And to the worke of Loue this morning wake you. Wake, in the name Of Him Who neuer sleeps, all things that are, Or, what's the same, 55 Are musicall; Answer my call And come along; Help me to meditate mine immortal song. Come, ye soft ministers of sweet sad mirth, 60 Bring all your houshold stuffe of Heaun on earth; O you, my Soul's most certain wings, Complaining pipes, and prattling strings, Bring all the store Of sweets you haue; and murmur that you haue no more. 65 Come, ne're to part, Nature and Art! Come; and come strong, To the conspiracy of our spatious song. Bring all the powres of praise, 70 Your prouinces of well-vnited worlds can raise; Bring all your lvtes and harps of Heavn and Earth; Whatere cooperates to the common mirthe: Vessells of vocall ioyes, Or you, more noble architects of intellectuall noise, 75 Cymballs of Heau'n, or humane sphears, Solliciters of sovles or eares; And when you are come, with all That you can bring or we can call: O may you fix 80 For euer here, and mix Your selues into the long And euerlasting series of a deathlesse song; Mix all your many worlds aboue, And loose them into one of loue. 85 Chear thee my heart! For thou too hast thy part And place in the Great Throng Of this vnbounded all-imbracing song. Powres of my soul, be proud! 90 And speake lowd To all the dear-bought Nations, this redeeming Name, And in the wealth of one rich word, proclaim New similes to Nature. May it be no wrong Blest Heauns, to you and your superiour song, 95 That we, dark sons of dust and sorrow, A while dare borrow The name of your dilights, and our desires, And fitt it to so farr inferior lyres. Our murmurs haue their musick too, 100 Ye mighty Orbes, as well as you; Nor yeilds the noblest nest Of warbling Seraphim to the eares of Loue, A choicer lesson then the ioyfull brest Of a poor panting turtle-doue. 105 And we, low wormes, haue leaue to doe The same bright busynes (ye Third Heavens) with you. Gentle spirits, doe not complain! We will haue care To keep it fair, 110 And send it back to you again. Come, louely Name! Appeare from forth the bright Regions of peacefull light; Look from Thine Own illustrious home, Fair King of names, and come: 115 Leaue all Thy natiue glories in their gorgeous nest, And giue Thy Self a while the gracious Guest Of humble soules, that seek to find The hidden sweets Which man's heart meets 120 When Thou art Master of the mind. Come louely Name; Life of our hope! Lo, we hold our hearts wide ope! Vnlock Thy cabinet of Day, Dearest Sweet, and come away. 125 Lo, how the thirsty Lands Gasp for Thy golden showres! with long-stretcht hands Lo, how the laboring Earth That hopes to be All Heauen by Thee, 130 Leapes at Thy birth! The' attending World, to wait Thy rise, First turn'd to eyes; And then, not knowing what to doe, Turn'd them to teares, and spent them too. 135 Come royall Name! and pay the expence Of all this pretious patience; O come away And kill the death of this delay! O, see so many worlds of barren yeares 140 Melted and measur'd out in seas of teares: O, see the weary liddes of wakefull Hope (Love's eastern windowes) all wide ope With curtains drawn, To catch the day-break of Thy dawn. 145 O, dawn at last, long-lookt for Day! Take Thine own wings, and come away. Lo, where aloft it comes! It comes, among The conduct of adoring spirits, that throng Like diligent bees, and swarm about it. 150 O, they are wise, And know what sweetes are suck't from out it: It is the hiue, By which they thriue, Where all their hoard of hony lyes. 155 Lo, where it comes, vpon the snowy Dove's Soft back; and brings a bosom big with loues: Welcome to our dark world, Thou womb of Day! Vnfold Thy fair conceptions, and display The birth of our bright ioyes, O Thou compacted 160 Body of blessings: Spirit of soules extracted! O, dissipate Thy spicy powres, (Cloud of condensed sweets) and break vpon vs In balmy showrs! O, fill our senses, and take from vs all force of so prophane a fallacy, 165 To think ought sweet but that which smells of Thee! Fair, flowry Name, in none but Thee And Thy nectareall fragrancy, Hourly there meetes An vniuersall synod of all sweets; 170 By whom it is defined thus, That no perfume For euer shall presume To passe for odoriferous, But such alone whose sacred pedigree 175 Can proue itself some kin (sweet Name!) to Thee. Sweet Name, in Thy each syllable A thousand blest Arabias dwell; A thousand hills of frankincense, Mountains of myrrh, and beds of spices 180 And ten thousand paradises, The soul that tasts Thee takes from thence. How many vnknown worlds there are Of comforts, which Thou hast in keeping! How many thousand mercyes there 185 In Pitty's soft lap ly a-sleeping! Happy he who has the art To awake them, And to take them Home, and lodge them in his heart. 190 O, that it were as it was wont to be! When Thy old freinds of fire, all full of Thee, Fought against frowns with smiles; gaue glorious chase To persecutions; and against the face Of Death and feircest dangers, durst with braue 195 And sober pace, march on to meet A GRAVE. On their bold brests, about the world they bore Thee, And to the teeth of Hell stood vp to teach Thee; In center of their inmost soules, they wore Thee, Where rackes and torments striu'd, in vain, to reach Thee. 200 Little, alas, thought they Who tore the fair brests of Thy freinds, Their fury but made way For Thee, and seru'd them in Thy glorious ends. What did their weapons but with wider pores 205 Inlarge Thy flaming-brested louers, More freely to transpire That impatient fire, The heart that hides Thee hardly couers? What did their weapons but sett wide the doores 210 For Thee? fair, purple doores, of Loue's deuising; The ruby windowes which inricht the East Of Thy so oft-repeated rising! Each wound of theirs was Thy new morning, And reinthron'd Thee in Thy rosy nest, 215 With blush of Thine Own blood Thy day adorning: It was the witt of Loue oreflowd the bounds Of Wrath, and made Thee way through all those wovnds. Wellcome, dear, all-adored Name! For sure there is no knee 220 That knowes not Thee: Or, if there be such sonns of shame, Alas! what will they doe When stubborn rocks shall bow And hills hang down their heaun-saluting heads 225 To seek for humble beds Of dust, where in the bashfull shades of Night Next to their own low Nothing, they may ly, And couch before the dazeling light of Thy dread majesty. They that by Loue's mild dictate now 230 Will not adore Thee, Shall then, with just confusion bow And break before Thee.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
The title in 1648 'Steps' is simply 'On the name of Jesus.' In 1670 it is 'To the Name above every Name, the Name of Jesus, a Hymn,' and throughout differs from our text (1652) only in usual modernisation of orthography. The text of 1648 yields these readings:
Line 7, 'the bright.'
" 42, 'of th's.'
" 49, 'Into a habit fit of self tun'd Harmonie.'
" 79, 'you're.'
" 92, 'aloud.'
" 105, 'Seraphins.'
" 106, 'loyall' for 'joyfull.'
" 132, 'heavens.'
" 182 spells 'sillabell.'
" 187, 'The soules tastes thee takes from thence.'
" 202, 'bare.'
" 204, 'ware.'
" 209, 'For Thee: And serv'd therein thy glorious ends.'
See our Essay for critical remarks on the measure and rhythm of this poem as printed in our text (1652). G.
PSALME XXIII.[34]
Happy me! O happy sheepe! 1 Whom my God vouchsafes to keepe; Even my God, even He it is, That points me to these paths of blisse; On Whose pastures cheerefull Spring, 5 All the yeare doth sit and sing, And rejoycing, smiles to see Their green backs weare His liverie: Pleasure sings my soul to rest, Plentie weares me at her brest, 10 Whose sweet temper teaches me Nor wanton, nor in want to be. At my feet, the blubb'ring mountaine Weeping, melts into a fountaine; Whose soft, silver-sweating streames 15 Make high-noon forget his beames: When my wayward breath is flying, He calls home my soul from dying; Strokes and tames my rabid griefe, And does wooe me into life: 20 When my simple weaknes strayes, (Tangled in forbidden wayes) He (my Shepheard) is my guide, Hee's before me, on my side, And behind me, He beguiles 25 Craft in all her knottie wiles: He expounds the weary wonder Of my giddy steps, and under Spreads a path, cleare as the day, Where no churlish rub says nay 30 To my joy-conducted feet, Whilst they gladly goe to meet Grace and Peace, to learne new laies, Tun'd to my great Shepheard's praise. Come now all ye terrors sally, 35 Muster forth into the valley, Where triumphant darknesse hovers With a sable wing, that covers Brooding horror. Come, thou Death, Let the damps of thy dull breath 40 Over-shadow even that shade, And make Darknes' selfe afraid; There my feet, even there, shall find Way for a resolved mind. Still my Shepheard, still my God, 45 Thou art with me; still Thy rod, And Thy staffe, whose influence Gives direction, gives defence. At the whisper of Thy word Crown'd abundance spreads my boord: 50 While I feast, my foes doe feed Their ranck malice not their need, So that with the self-same bread They are starv'd and I am fed. How my head in ointment swims! 55 How my cup o'relooks her brims! So, even so still may I move, By the line of Thy deare love; Still may Thy sweet mercy spread A shady arme above my head, 60 About my paths; so shall I find, The faire center of my mind, Thy temple, and those lovely walls Bright ever with a beame, that falls Fresh from the pure glance of Thine eye, 65 Lighting to Eternity. There I'le dwell for ever; there Will I find a purer aire To feed my life with, there I'le sup Balme and nectar in my cup; 70 And thence my ripe soule will I breath Warme into the armes of Death.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
In the SANCROFT MS. this is headed 'Ps. 23 (Paraphrasia).' In line 4 it reads 'paths' for 'wayes,' which I accept; line 27 'weary' for 'giddy,' and line 28 'giddy' for 'weary,' both adopted; line 29 reads as we have printed instead of 'Spreads a path as cleare as day;' line 33, 'learne' for 'meet,' adopted; line 41, 'that' for 'the,' adopted. Only orthographic further variations. In line 30 'rub' = obstruction, reminds of SHAKESPEARE'S 'Now every _rub_ is smoothed in our way' (Henry V. ii. 2), and elsewhere. G.
PSALM CXXXVII.[35]
On the proud banks of great Euphrates' flood, 1 There we sate, and there we wept: Our harpes, that now no musick understood, Nodding, on the willowes slept: While unhappy captiv'd wee, 5 Lovely Sion, thought on thee. They, they that snatcht us from our countrie's breast, Would have a song carv'd to their eares In Hebrew numbers, then (O cruell jest!) When harpes and hearts were drown'd in teares: 10 Come, they cry'd, come sing and play One of Sion's songs to-day. Sing? play? to whom (ah!) shall we sing or play, If not, Jerusalem, to thee? Ah! thee Jerusalem! ah! sooner may 15 This hand forget the masterie Of Musick's dainty touch, than I The musick of thy memory. Which when I lose, O may at once my tongue Lose this same busie-speaking art, 20 Vnpearch't, her vocall arteries unstrung, No more acquainted with my heart, On my dry pallat's roof to rest A wither'd leaf, an idle guest. No, no, Thy good Sion, alone, must crowne 25 The head of all my hope-nurst joyes. But Edom, cruell thou! thou cryd'st downe, downe Sinke Sion, downe and never rise, Her falling thou did'st urge and thrust, And haste to dash her into dust: 30 Dost laugh? proud Babel's daughter! do, laugh on, Till thy ruine teach thee teares, Even such as these; laugh, till a venging throng Of woes, too late, doe rouze thy feares: Laugh, till thy children's bleeding bones 35 Weepe pretious teares upon the stones.
IN THE HOLY NATIVITY OF OVR LORD GOD:
A HYMN SVNG AS BY THE SHEPHEARDS.[36]
THE HYMN.
_Chorvs._
Come, we shepheards, whose blest sight 1 Hath mett Loue's noon in Nature's night; Come, lift we vp our loftyer song And wake the svn that lyes too long.
To all our world of well-stoln joy 5 He slept; and dreamt of no such thing. While we found out Heaun's fairer ey And kis't the cradle of our King. Tell him He rises now, too late To show vs ought worth looking at. 10
Tell him we now can show him more Then he e're show'd to mortall sight; Then he himselfe e're saw before, Which to be seen needes not his light. Tell him, Tityrus, where th' hast been, 15 Tell him Thyrsis, what th' hast seen.
TITYRUS.
Gloomy night embrac't the place Where the noble Infant lay. The Babe look't vp and shew'd His face; In spite of darknes, it was day. 20 It was Thy day, Sweet! and did rise Not from the East, but from Thine eyes.
_Chorus._ It was Thy day, Sweet.
THYRSIS.
Winter chidde aloud, and sent The angry North to wage his warres. 25 The North forgott his feirce intent, And left perfumes in stead of scarres. By those sweet eyes' persuasiue powrs Where he mean't frost, he scatter'd flowrs.
_Chorus._ By those sweet eyes. 30
BOTH.
We saw Thee in Thy baulmy-nest, Young dawn of our aeternall Day! We saw Thine eyes break from their East And chase the trembling shades away. We saw Thee; and we blest the sight, 35 We saw Thee by Thine Own sweet light.
TITYRUS.
Poor world (said I), what wilt thou doe To entertain this starry Stranger? Is this the best thou canst bestow? A cold, and not too cleanly, manger? 40 Contend, the powres of Heau'n and Earth, To fitt a bed for this huge birthe?
_Chorus._ Contend the powers.
THYRSIS.
Proud world, said I, cease your contest And let the mighty Babe alone. 45 The phaenix builds the phaenix' nest, Lov's architecture is his own. The Babe whose birth embraues this morn, Made His Own bed e're He was born.
_Chorus._ The Babe whose.... 50
TITYRUS.
I saw the curl'd drops, soft and slow, Come houering o're the place's head; Offring their whitest sheets of snow To furnish the fair Infant's bed: Forbear, said I; be not too bold, 55 Your fleece is white but 'tis too cold.
_Chorus._ Forbear, sayd I.
THYRSIS.
I saw the obsequious Seraphims Their rosy fleece of fire bestow. For well they now can spare their wing, 60 Since Heavn itself lyes here below. Well done, said I; but are you sure Your down so warm, will passe for pure?
_Chorus._ Well done, sayd I.
TITYRUS.
No, no! your King's not yet to seeke 65 Where to repose His royall head; See, see! how soon His new-bloom'd cheek Twixt's mother's brests is gone to bed. Sweet choise, said we! no way but so Not to ly cold, yet sleep in snow. 70
_Chorus._ Sweet choise, said we.
BOTH.
We saw Thee in Thy baulmy nest, Bright dawn of our aeternall Day! We saw Thine eyes break from their East And chase the trembling shades away. 75 We saw Thee: and we blest the sight, We saw Thee, by Thine Own sweet light.
_Chorus._ We saw Thee, &c.
FVLL CHORVS.
Wellcome, all wonders in one sight! Aeternity shutt in a span! 80 Sommer in Winter, Day in Night! Heauen in Earth, and God in man! Great, little One! Whose all-embracing birth Lifts Earth to Heauen, stoopes Heau'n to Earth.
Wellcome, though not to gold nor silk, 85 To more then Caesar's birth-right is; Two sister-seas of virgin-milk, With many a rarely-temper'd kisse, That breathes at once both maid and mother, Warmes in the one, cooles in the other. 90 Shee sings Thy tears asleep, and dips Her kisses in Thy weeping eye; She spreads the red leaves of Thy lips, That in their buds yet blushing lye; She 'gainst those mother-diamonds, tries 95 The points of her young eagle's eyes. Wellcome, though not to those gay flyes, Guilded i' th' beames of earthly kings; Slippery soules in smiling eyes; But to poor shepheards' home-spun things; 100 Whose wealth's their flock; whose witt, to be Well-read in their simplicity. Yet when young April's husband-showrs Shall blesse the fruitfull Maja's bed, We'l bring the first-born of her flowrs 105 To kisse Thy feet and crown Thy head. To Thee, dread Lamb! Whose loue must keep The shepheards, more then they the sheep.
To Thee, meek Majesty! soft King Of simple Graces and sweet Loves: 110 Each of vs his lamb will bring, Each his pair of sylver doues: Till burnt at last in fire of Thy fair eyes, Ourselues become our own best sacrifice.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is simply 'A Hymne of the Nativitie sung by the Shepheards.' It furnishes these various readings, though it wants a good deal of our text (1652):
Lines 1 to 4,
'who haue seene Daie's King deposed by night's Queene. Come lift we up our lofty song, To wake the sun that sleeps too long.'
" 5 to 7,
'Hee (in this our generall joy) Slept ... ... the faire-ey'd boy.'
" 24, 'Winter chid the world ...'
" 32, 'Bright dawne ...'
" 58 to 63,
'I saw the officious angells bring The downe that their soft breasts did strow: For well they now can spare their wings, When heauen itselfe lies here below. Faire youth (said I) be not too rough, Thy downe (though soft)'s not soft enough.'
'Officious' = ready to do good offices: 'obsequious' = obedient, eager to serve.
Lines 65 to 68,
'The Babe noe sooner 'gan to seeke Where to lay His louely head; But streight His eyes advis'd His cheeke 'Twixt's mother's breasts to goe to bed.'
" 79, 'Welcome to our wond'ring sight.'
" 83, 'glorious birth.'
" 85, 'not to gold' for 'nor to gold:' adopted.
" 96, 'points' = pupils (?).
Lines 101 to 103,
'But to poore shepheards' simple things, That vse not varnish; noe oyl'd arts, But lift cleane hands full of cleare hearts.'
" 108, '... while they feed the sheepe.'
" 114, 'Wee'l burne ...'
These variations agree with the text of 1646. See our Essay for critical remarks. G.
NEW YEAR'S DAY.[37]
Rise, thou best and brightest morning! Rosy with a double red; With thine own blush thy cheeks adorning, And the dear drops this day were shed.
All the purple pride, that laces The crimson curtains of thy bed, Guilds thee not with so sweet graces, Nor setts thee in so rich a red.
Of all the fair-cheek't flowrs that fill thee, None so fair thy bosom strowes, As this modest maiden lilly Our sins haue sham'd into a rose.
Bid thy golden god, the sun, Burnisht in his best beames rise, Put all his red-ey'd rubies on; These rubies shall putt out their eyes.
Let him make poor the purple East, Search what the world's close cabinets keep, Rob the rich births of each bright nest That flaming in their fair beds sleep.
Let him embraue his own bright tresses With a new morning made of gemmes; And wear, in those his wealthy dresses, Another day of diadems.
When he hath done all he may To make himselfe rich in his rise, All will be darknes to the day That breakes from one of these bright eyes.
And soon this sweet truth shall appear, Dear Babe, ere many dayes be done; The Morn shall come to meet Thee here, And leaue her own neglected sun.
Here are beautyes shall bereaue him Of all his eastern paramours. His Persian louers all shall leaue him, And swear faith to Thy sweeter powres; Nor while they leave him shall they lose the sun, But in Thy fairest eyes find two for one.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
St. ii. line 1,
'All the purple pride that laces;'
the reference is to the empurpled lighter and lace- (or gauze-) like clouds of the morning. The heavier clouds are the 'crimson curtains,' the 'purple laces' the fleecy, lace-like, and empurpled streakings of the lighter and dissolving clouds, which the Poet likens to the lace that edged the coverlet, and possibly other parts of the bed and bedstead. SHAKESPEARE describes a similar appearance with the same word, but uses it in the sense of inter or cross lacing, when he makes Juliet say (iii. 5),
'look, love, what envious streaks Do _lace_ the severing clouds in yonder East.'
So too in stanza v. 'each sparkling nest,' the flame-coloured clouds are intended. 'Nest,' like 'bud,' is a favourite word with CRASHAW, and he uses it freely. In 1648 edition, st. iii. line 2 reads 'showes;' stanza v. line 2, 'cabinets;' stanza viii. line 5, 'and meet;' stanza ix. 'paramours' = lovers, wooers, _not_ as now signifying loose love. G.
IN THE GLORIOVS EPIPHANIE OF OVR LORD GOD:
A HYMN SVNG AS BY THE THREE KINGS.[38]
_1 Kinge._ Bright Babe! Whose awfull beautyes make 1 The morn incurr a sweet mistake;
_2 Kinge._ For Whom the officious Heauns deuise To disinheritt the sun's rise:
_3 Kinge._ Delicately to displace 5 The day, and plant it fairer in Thy face.
_1 Kinge._ O Thou born King of loues!
_2 Kinge._ Of lights!
_3 Kinge._ Of ioyes!
_Chorus._ Look vp, sweet Babe, look vp and see 10 For loue of Thee, Thus farr from home The East is come To seek her self in Thy sweet eyes.
_1 Kinge._ We, who strangely went astray, 15 Lost in a bright Meridian night.
_2 Kinge._ A darknes made of too much day.
_3 Kinge._ Becken'd from farr By Thy fair starr, 20 Lo, at last haue found our way.
_Chorus._ To Thee, Thou Day of Night! Thou East of West! Lo, we at last haue found the way To Thee, the World's great vniuersal East, The generall and indifferent Day. 25
_1 Kinge._ All-circling point! all-centring sphear! The World's one, round, aeternall year:
_2 Kinge._ Whose full and all-vnwrinkled face Nor sinks nor swells with time or place;
_3 Kinge._ But euery where and euery while 30 Is one consistent, solid smile:
_1 Kinge._ Not vext and tost
_2 Kinge._ 'Twixt Spring and frost;
_3 Kinge._ Nor by alternate shredds of light, Sordidly shifting hands with shades and Night. 35
_Chorus._ O little all! in Thy embrace The World lyes warm, and likes his place; Nor does his full globe fail to be Kist on both his cheeks by Thee. Time is too narrow for Thy year, 40 Nor makes the whole World Thy half-sphear.
_1 Kinge._ To Thee, to Thee From him we flee.
_2 Kinge._ From him, whom by a more illustrious ly, The blindnes of the World did call the eye. 45
_3 Kinge._ To Him, Who by these mortall clouds hast made Thyself our sun, though Thine Own shade.
_1 Kinge._ Farewell, the World's false light! Farewell, the white Aegypt; a long farewell to thee 50 Bright idol, black idolatry: The dire face of inferior darknes, kis't And courted in the pompus mask of a more specious mist.
_2 Kinge._ Farewell, farewell The proud and misplac't gates of Hell, 55 Pertch't in the Morning's way _perched._ And double-guilded as the doores of Day: The deep hypocrisy of Death and Night More desperately dark, because more bright.
_3 Kinge._ Welcome, the World's sure way! 60 Heavn's wholsom ray.
_Chorus._ Wellcome to vs; and we (Sweet!) to our selues, in Thee.
_1 Kinge._ The deathles Heir of all Thy Father's day!
_2 Kinge._ Decently born! 65 Embosom'd in a much more rosy Morn: The blushes of Thy all-vnblemisht mother.
_3 Kinge._ No more that other Aurora shall sett ope Her ruby casements, or hereafter hope 70 From mortall eyes To meet religious welcomes at her rise.
_Chorus._ We (pretious ones!) in you haue won A gentler Morn, a iuster sun.
_1 Kinge._ His superficiall beames sun-burn't our skin; 75
_2 Kinge._ But left within
_3 Kinge._ The Night and Winter still of Death and Sin.
_Chorus._ Thy softer yet more certaine darts Spare our eyes, but peirce our harts:
_1 Kinge._ Therfore with his proud Persian spoiles 80
_2 Kinge._ We court Thy more concerning smiles.
_3 Kinge._ Therfore with his disgrace We guild the humble cheek of this chast place;
_Chorus._ And at Thy feet powr forth his face.
_1 Kinge._ The doating Nations now no more 85 Shall any day but Thine adore.
_2 Kinge._ Nor--much lesse--shall they leaue these eyes For cheap Aegyptian deityes.
_3 Kinge._ In whatsoe're more sacred shape Of ram, he-goat, or reuerend ape; 90 Those beauteous rauishers opprest so sore The too-hard-tempted nations.
_1 Kinge._ Neuer more By wanton heyfer shall be worn
_2 Kinge._ A garland, or a guilded horn: 95 The altar-stall'd ox, fatt Osyris now With his fair sister cow
_3 Kinge._ Shall kick the clouds no more; but lean and tame,
_Chorus._ See His horn'd face, and dy for shame: And Mithra now shall be no name. 100
_1 Kinge._ No longer shall the immodest lust Of adulterous godles dust
_2 Kinge._ Fly in the face of Heau'n; as if it were The poor World's fault that He is fair. 105
_3 Kinge._ Nor with peruerse loues and religious rapes Reuenge Thy bountyes in their beauteous shapes; And punish best things worst; because they stood Guilty of being much for them too good.
_1 Kinge._ Proud sons of Death! that durst compell 110 Heau'n it self to find them Hell:
_2 Kinge._ And by strange witt of madnes wrest From this World's East the other's West.
_3 Kinge._ All-idolizing wormes! that thus could crowd And vrge their sun into Thy cloud; 115 Forcing His sometimes eclips'd face to be A long deliquium to the light of Thee.
_Chorus._ Alas! with how much heauyer shade The shamefac't lamp hung down his head For that one eclipse he made, 120 Then all those he suffered!
_1 Kinge._ For this he look't so bigg; and euery morn With a red face confes't his scorn. Or hiding his vex't cheeks in a hir'd mist Kept them from being so vnkindly kis't. 125
_2 Kinge._ It was for this the Day did rise So oft with blubber'd eyes: For this the Evening wept; and we ne're knew But call'd it deaw.
_3 Kinge._ This dayly wrong 130 Silenc't the morning-sons, and damp't their song:
_Chorus._ Nor was't our deafnes, but our sins, that thus Long made th' harmonious orbes all mute to vs.
_1 Kinge._ Time has a day in store When this so proudly poor 135 And self-oppressed spark, that has so long By the loue-sick World bin made Not so much their sun as shade: Weary of this glorious wrong From them and from himself shall flee 140 For shelter to the shadow of Thy tree:
_Chorus._ Proud to haue gain'd this pretious losse And chang'd his false crown for Thy crosse.
_2 Kinge._ That dark Day's clear doom shall define Whose is the master Fire, which sun should shine: 145 That sable judgment-seat shall by new lawes Decide and settle the great cause Of controuerted light:
_Chorus._ And Natur's wrongs rejoyce to doe Thee right.
_3 Kinge._ That forfeiture of Noon to Night shall pay 150 All the idolatrous thefts done by this Night of Day; And the great Penitent presse his own pale lipps With an elaborate loue-eclipse: To which the low World's lawes Shall lend no cause, 155
_Chorus._ Saue those domestick which He borrowes From our sins and His Own sorrowes.
_1 Kinge._ Three sad hours' sackcloth then shall show to vs His penance, as our fault, conspicuous:
_2 Kinge._ And He more needfully and nobly proue 160 The Nations' terror now then erst their loue.
_3 Kinge._ Their hated loues changd into wholsom feares:
_Chorus._ The shutting of His eye shall open their's.
_1 Kinge._ As by a fair-ey'd fallacy of Day Miss-ledde, before, they lost their way; 165 So shall they, by the seasonable fright Of an vnseasonable Night, Loosing it once again, stumble on true Light:
_2 Kinge._ And as before His too-bright eye Was their more blind idolatry; 170 So his officious blindnes now shall be Their black, but faithfull perspectiue of Thee:
_3 Kinge._ His new prodigious Night, Their new and admirable light, The supernaturall dawn of Thy pure Day; 175 While wondring they (The happy conuerts now of Him Whom they compell'd before to be their sin) Shall henceforth see To kisse him only as their rod, 180 Whom they so long courted as God.
_Chorus._ And their best vse of him they worship't, be To learn of him at last, to worship Thee.
_1 Kinge._ It was their weaknes woo'd his beauty; But it shall be 185 Their wisdome now, as well as duty, To injoy his blott; and as a large black letter Vse it to spell Thy beautyes better; And make the Night it self their torch to Thee.
_2 Kinge._ By the oblique ambush of this close night 190 Couch't in that conscious shade The right-ey'd Areopagite Shall with a vigorous guesse inuade And catch Thy quick reflex; and sharply see On this dark ground 195 To descant Thee.
_3 Kinge._ O prize of the rich Spirit! with what feirce chase Of his strong soul, shall he Leap at thy lofty face, And seize the swift flash, in rebound 200 From this obsequious cloud, Once call'd a sun, Till dearly thus vndone;
_Chorus._ Till thus triumphantly tam'd (O ye two Twinne svnnes!) and taught now to negotiate you. 205
_1 Kinge._ Thus shall that reuerend child of Light,
_2 Kinge._ By being scholler first of that new Night, Come forth great master of the mystick Day;
_3 Kinge._ And teach obscure mankind a more close way By the frugall negatiue light 210 Of a most wise and well-abused Night To read more legible Thine originall ray;
_Chorus._ And make our darknes serue Thy Day: Maintaining 'twixt Thy World and oures A commerce of contrary powres, 215 A mutuall trade 'Twixt sun and shade, By confederat black and white Borrowing Day and lending Night. 219
_1 Kinge._ Thus we, who when with all the noble powres That (at Thy cost) are call'd, not vainly, ours: We vow to make braue way Vpwards, and presse on for the pure intelligentiall prey; _2 Kinge._ At least to play The amorous spyes 225 And peep and proffer at Thy sparkling throne;
_3 Kinge._ In stead of bringing in the blissfull prize And fastening on Thine eyes: Forfeit our own And nothing gain 230 But more ambitious losse at last, of brain;
_Chorus._ Now by abased liddes shall learn to be Eagles; and shutt our eyes that we may see.
_The Close._
[_Chorus._] Therfore to Thee and Thine auspitious ray (Dread Sweet!) lo thus 236 At last by vs, The delegated eye of Day Does first his scepter, then himself, in solemne tribute pay. Thus he vndresses 240 His sacred vnshorn tresses; At Thy adored feet, thus he layes down
_1 Kinge._ His gorgeous tire Of flame and fire,
_2 Kinge._ His glittering robe. _3 Kinge._ His sparkling crown; 245
_1 Kinge._ His gold: _2 Kinge._ His mirrh: _3 Kinge._ His frankincense.
_Chorus._ To which he now has no pretence: For being show'd by this Day's light, how farr He is from sun enough to make Thy starr, His best ambition now is but to be 250 Somthing a brighter shadow, Sweet, of Thee. Or on Heaun's azure forhead high to stand Thy golden index; with a duteous hand Pointing vs home to our own sun The World's and his Hyperion. 255
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
The title in 1648 edition is simply 'A Hymne for the Epiphanie. Sung as by the three Kings.' Except the usual slight changes of orthography, the following are all the variations between the two texts necessary to record: and I give with them certain corrective and explanatory notes:
line 25, 'indifferent' is = impartial, not as now 'unconcerned.'
Line 52, 1648 edition misprints 'his't' for 'kis't.' In the 51st line the 'bright idol' is the sun.
Line 83, ib. reads 'thy' for 'this.'
" 95, 'a guilded horn.' Cf. Juvenal, Satire x.
" 99, ib. is given to 3d King. Throughout we have corrected a number of slips of the Paris printer in his figures.
Line 108, ib. spells 'to' for 'too.'
" 117, '_deliquium_' = swoon, faint. In chemistry = melting.
" 122, 1648 edition reads 'his' for 'this;' and I have adopted it.
Line 143, ib. reads 'deere:' a misprint.
" 155, ib. reads 'domesticks.'
" 180, ib. reads 'the' for 'their.'
" 186, ib. drops 'it.'
" 195, ib. reads 'what' for 'that,' and in next line 'his' for 'this,' of 1652: both adopted.
Line 212, 'legible' is = legibly.
" 224 and onward, in 1648 is printed 'least,' in our text (1652) 'lest.' Except in line 224 it is plainly = last, and so I read it in 231st and 237th.
See our Essay for Miltonic parallels with lines in this remarkable composition. Line 46, 'these mortal clouds,' _i.e._ of infant flesh. Cf. Sosp. d' Herode, stanza xxiii.
'That He whom the sun serves should faintly peep Through _clouds of infant flesh_.'
Line 114, 'And urge their sun into Thy cloud,' _i.e._ into becoming Thy cloud, forcing him to become 'a long deliquium to the light of thee.' Line 189, our text (1652) misprints 'in self.' Line 190, 'By the oblique ambush,' &c. The Kings continuing in the spirit of prophecy, and with words not to be understood till their fulfilment, pass on from the dimming of the sun at the Crucifixion to a second dimming, but this time through the splendour of a brighter light, at the conversion of him who was taken to preach to the Gentiles in the court of the Areopagites. The speaker, or rather CRASHAW, takes the view which at first sight may seem to be implied in the gospel narrative, that the light brighter than midday shone round about SAUL and his companions but not on them, they being couched in the conscious shade of the daylight. Throughout, there is a double allusion to this second dimming of the sun as manifesting Christ to St. Paul and the Gentiles, and to the dimming of the eyes, and the walking in darkness for a time of him who as a light on Earth was to manifest the True Light to the world. Throughout, too, there is a kind of parallelism indicated between the two lesser lights. Both rebellions were to be dimmed and brought into subjection, and then to shine forth 'right-eyed' in renewed and purified splendour as evidences of the Sun of Righteousness. Hence at the close, the chorus calls them 'ye twin-suns,'--and the words, 'Till thus triumphantly tamed' refer equally to both. The punctuation to make this clear should be '... sun, ... undone; ...' 'To negotiate you' (both word and metaphor being rather unhappily chosen) means, to pass you current as the true-stamped image of the Deity. 'O price of the rich Spirit' (line 197) may be made to refer to 'thee [O Christ], price of the rich spirit' of Paul, but 'may be' is almost too strong to apply to such an interpretation. It is far more consonant to the structure and tenor of the whole passage, to read it as an epithet applied to St. Paul: 'O prize of the rich Spirit of grace.' I have also without hesitation changed 'of this strong soul' into 'of _his_ strong soul.' 'Oblique ambush' may refer to the oblique rays of the sun now rays of darkness, but the primary reference is to the indirect manner and 'vigorous guess,' by which St. Paul, mentally glancing from one to the other light, learned through the dimming of the sun to believe in the Deity of Him who spake from out the dimming brightness. The same thought, though with a strained and less successful effort of expression, appears in the song of the third King, 'with that fierce chase,' &c.
Line 251. 'Somthing a brighter shadow (Sweet) of Thee.' Apparently a remembrance of a passage which THOMAS HEYWOOD, in his 'Hierarchie of the Angels,' gives from a Latin translation of PLATO, 'Lumen est umbra Dei et Deus est Lumen Luminis.' On which see our Essay. Perhaps the same gave rise to the thought that the sun eclipsed God, or shut Him out as a cloud or shade, or made night, _e.g._
'And urge their sun ... ... eclipse he made:' (lines 115-120). 'Not so much their sun as shade ... by this night of day:' (lines 138-151). G.
TO THE QVEEN'S MAIESTY.[39]
MADAME, 1 'Mongst those long rowes of crownes that guild your race, These royall sages sue for decent place: The day-break of the Nations; their first ray, When the dark World dawn'd into Christian Day, 5 And smil'd i' th' Babe's bright face; the purpling bud And rosy dawn of the right royall blood; Fair first-fruits of the Lamb! sure kings in this, They took a kingdom while they gaue a kisse. But the World's homage, scarse in these well blown, 10 We read in you (rare queen) ripe and full-grown. For from this day's rich seed of diadems Does rise a radiant croppe of royalle stemms, A golden haruest of crown'd heads, that meet And crowd for kisses from the Lamb's white feet: 15 In this illustrious throng, your lofty floud Swells high, fair confluence of all high-born bloud: With your bright head, whole groues of scepters bend Their wealthy tops, and for these feet contend. So swore the Lamb's dread Sire: and so we see't, 20 Crownes, and the heads they kisse, must court these feet. Fix here, fair majesty! May your heart ne're misse To reap new crownes and kingdoms from that kisse; Nor may we misse the ioy to meet in you The aged honors of this day still new. 25 May the great time, in you, still greater be, While all the year is your epiphany; While your each day's deuotion duly brings Three kingdomes to supply this day's three kings.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
In 1648 the title is 'To the Queene's Majestie upon his dedicating to her the foregoing Hymne, viz. "A Hymne for the Epiphanie,"' which there precedes, but in 1652 follows, the dedicatory lines to the Queen. 1648 furnishes these variations: line 7 misprints 'down' for 'dawn:' line 11 reads 'deare' for 'rare:' line 14 'royall' for 'golden:' line 18 corrects our text's misprint of 'whose' for 'whole,' which I have accepted: line 20 reads 'great' for 'dread.'
In line 3 we read
'Those royall sages sue for decent place.'
We know that the King on Twelfth-day presented gold, frankincense and myrrh, and so perhaps did the Queen. But these gifts were not presented to the magi-kings, and CRASHAW seems to sue on behalf of 'these royall sages.' The explanation doubtless is that this was a verse-letter to the Queen, enclosing as a gift his Epiphany Hymn 'sung as by the three Kings.'
In line 5 'the purpling bud,' &c. requires study. Led by the (erroneous) punctuation (face,) I supposed this clause to refer to the 'Babe.' But would our Poet have said that the 'dawn of the world smiled on the Babe's face,' and in the same breath have called the face a 'rosy dawn'? Looking to this, and his rather profuse employment of 'bud,' I now believe the clause to be another description of the kings, and punctuate (face;). The rhythm of the passage is certainly improved thereby and made more like that of CRASHAW, and the words 'right royall blood,' which may be thought to become difficult, can be thus explained. The races of the heathen kings were not 'royal,' their authority being usurped and falsely derived from false gods, and the kingly blood first became truly royal when the kings recognised the supreme sovereignty of the King of kings and the derivation of their authority from Him, and when they were in turn recognised by Him. Hence the use of the epithet 'purpling,' the Christian or Christ-accepting kings being the first who were truly 'born in the purple,' or '_right_ royall blood.'
In lines 15-18, as punctuated in preceding editions, the Poet is made to arrange his words after a fashion hardly to be called English, and to jumble his metaphors like a poetaster or 4th of July orator in America. But both sense and poetry are restored by taking the (!) after 'blood' as at least equal to (:), and by replacing 'whose' by 'whole,' as in 1648. This seems to us restoration, not change. Even thus read, however, the passage is somewhat cloudy; but the construction is--the groves of sceptres of your high-born ancestors bend with you their wealthy tops, when you bow down your head. Our Poet is fond of inversions, and they are sometimes more obscure than they ought to be. Line 20 = Psalm i., and cf. Philip. ii. 11. G.
VPON EASTER DAY.[40]
Rise heire of fresh Eternity 1 From thy virgin tombe! Rise mighty Man of wonders, and Thy World with Thee! Thy tombe the uniuersall East, Nature's new wombe, 5 Thy tombe, fair Immortalitie's perfumed nest.
Of all the glories make Noone gay, This is the Morne; This Rock buds forth the fountaine of the streames of Day; In Joye's white annalls live this howre 10 When Life was borne; No cloud scoule on His radiant lids, no tempest lower.
Life, by this Light's nativity All creatures have; Death onely by this Daye's just doome is forc't to dye, 15 Nor is Death forc't; for may he ly Thron'd in Thy grave, Death will on this condition be content to dye.
SOSPETTO D' HERODE.
LIBRO PRIMO.[41]
ARGOMENTO.
_Casting the times with their strong signes, Death's master his owne death divines: Strugling for helpe, his best hope is Herod's suspition may heale his. Therefore he sends a fiend to wake The sleeping tyrant's fond mistake; _foolish_ Who feares (in vaine) that He Whose birth Meanes Heav'n, should meddle with his Earth._
I.
Muse, now the servant of soft loves no more, Hate is thy theame, and Herod, whose unblest Hand (O what dares not jealous greatnesse?) tore A thousand sweet babes from their mothers' brest: The bloomes of martyrdome. O be a dore Of language to my infant lips, yee best Of confessours: whose throates answering his swords, Gave forth your blood for breath, spoke soules for words.
II.
Great Anthony! Spain's well-beseeming pride, Thou mighty branch of emperours and kings; The beauties of whose dawne what eye may bide? Which with the sun himselfe weigh's equall wings; Mappe of heroick worth! whom farre and wide To the beleeving world, Fame boldly sings: Deigne thou to weare this humble wreath, that bowes To be the sacred honour of thy browes.
III.
Nor needs my Muse a blush, or these bright flowers Other than what their owne blest beauties bring: They were the smiling sons of those sweet bowers That drink the deaw of life, whose deathlesse spring, Nor Sirian flame nor Borean frost deflowers: From whence heav'n-labouring bees with busie wing, Suck hidden sweets, which well-digested proves Immortall hony for the hive of loves.
IV.
Thou, whose strong hand with so transcendent worth, Holds high the reine of faire Parthenope, That neither Rome nor Athens can bring forth A name in noble deeds rivall to thee! Thy fame's full noise, makes proud the patient Earth, Farre more then, matter for my Muse and mee. The Tyrrhene Seas and shores sound all the same And in their murmurs keepe thy mighty name.
V.
Below the bottome of the great Abysse, There where one center reconciles all things: The World's profound heart pants; there placed is Mischiefe's old master. Close about him clings A curl'd knot of embracing snakes, that kisse His correspondent cheekes: these loathsome strings Hold the perverse prince in eternall ties Fast bound, since first he forfeited the skies.
VI.
The judge of torments and the king of teares, He fills a burnisht throne of quenchlesse fire: And for his old faire roabes of light, he weares A gloomy mantle of darke flames; the tire That crownes his hated head on high appeares: Where seav'n tall hornes (his empire's pride) aspire. And to make up Hell's majesty, each horne Seav'n crested Hydras, horribly adorne.
VII.
His eyes, the sullen dens of Death and Night, Startle the dull ayre with a dismall red: Such his fell glances, as the fatall light Of staring comets, that looke kingdomes dead. From his black nostrills, and blew lips, in spight Of Hell's owne stinke, a worser stench is spread. His breath Hell's lightning is: and each deepe groane Disdaines to think that Heav'n thunders alone.
VIII.
His flaming eyes' dire exhalation, Vnto a dreadfull pile gives fiery breath; Whose unconsum'd consumption preys upon The never-dying life of a long death. In this sad house of slow destruction, (His shop of flames) hee fryes himself, beneath A masse of woes; his teeth for torment gnash, While his steele sides sound with his tayle's strong lash.
IX.
Three rigourous virgins waiting still behind, Assist the throne of th' iron-sceptred king. With whips of thornes and knotty vipers twin'd They rouse him, when his ranke thoughts need a sting. Their lockes are beds of uncomb'd snakes that wind About their shady browes in wanton rings. Thus reignes the wrathfull king, and while he reignes, His scepter and himselfe both he disdaines.
X.
Disdainefull wretch! how hath one bold sinne cost Thee all the beauties of thy once bright eyes! How hath one black eclipse cancell'd, and crost The glories that did gild thee in thy rise! Proud morning of a perverse day! how lost Art thou unto thy selfe, thou too selfe-wise Narcissus! foolish Phaeton! who for all Thy high-aym'd hopes, gaind'st but a flaming fall.
XI.
From Death's sad shades to the life-breathing ayre, This mortall enemy to mankind's good, Lifts his malignant eyes, wasted with care, To become beautifull in humane blood. Where Iordan melts his chrystall, to make faire The fields of Palestine, with so pure a flood, There does he fixe his eyes: and there detect New matter, to make good his great suspect.
XII.
He calls to mind th' old quarrell, and what sparke Set the contending sons of Heav'n on fire: Oft in his deepe thought he revolves the darke Sibill's divining leaves: he does enquire Into th' old prophesies, trembling to marke How many present prodigies conspire, To crowne their past predictions, both he layes Together, in his pondrous mind both weighs.
XIII.
Heaven's golden-winged herald, late he saw To a poore Galilean virgin sent: How low the bright youth bow'd, and with what awe Immortall flowers to her faire hand present. He saw th' old Hebrewe's wombe, neglect the law Of age and barrennesse, and her babe prevent _anticipate_ His birth by his devotion, who began Betimes to be a saint, before a man.
XIV.
He saw rich nectar-thawes, release the rigour Of th' icy North; from frost-bound Atlas hands, His adamantine fetters fall: green vigour Gladding the Scythian rocks and Libian sands. He saw a vernall smile, sweetly disfigure Winter's sad face, and through the flowry lands Of faire Engaddi, hony-sweating fountaines With manna, milk, and balm, new-broach the mountaines.
XV.
He saw how in that blest Day-bearing Night, The Heav'n-rebuked shades made hast away; How bright a dawne of angels with new light Amaz'd the midnight world, and made a Day Of which the Morning knew not. Mad with spight He markt how the poore shepheards ran to pay Their simple tribute to the Babe, Whose birth Was the great businesse both of Heav'n and Earth.
XVI.
He saw a threefold Sun, with rich encrease Make proud the ruby portalls of the East. He saw the Temple sacred to sweet Peace, Adore her Prince's birth, flat on her brest. He saw the falling idolls, all confesse A comming Deity: He saw the nest Of pois'nous and unnaturall loves, Earth-nurst, Toucht with the World's true antidote, to burst.
XVII.
He saw Heav'n blossome with a new-borne light, On which, as on a glorious stranger gaz'd The golden eyes of Night: whose beame made bright The way to Beth'lem and as boldly blaz'd, (Nor askt leave of the sun) by day as night. By whom (as Heav'ns illustrious hand-maid) rais'd, Three kings (or what is more) three wise men went Westward to find the World's true orient.
XVIII.
Strucke with these great concurrences of things, Symptomes so deadly unto Death and him; Faine would he have forgot what fatall strings Eternally bind each rebellious limbe. He shooke himselfe, and spread his spatious wings: Which like two bosom'd sailes, embrace the dimme Aire, with a dismall shade; but all in vaine: Of sturdy adamant is his strong chaine.
XIX.
While thus Heav'n's highest counsails, by the low Footsteps of their effects, he trac'd too well, He tost his troubled eyes: embers that glow Now with new rage, and wax too hot for Hell: With his foule clawes he fenc'd his furrowed brow, And gave a gastly shreeke, whose horrid yell Ran trembling through the hollow vaults of Night, The while his twisted tayle he gnaw'd for spight.
XX.
Yet on the other side, faine would he start Above his feares, and thinke it cannot be. He studies Scripture, strives to sound the heart And feele the pulse of every prophecy; He knows (but knowes not how, or by what art) The Heav'n-expecting ages hope to see A mighty Babe, Whose pure, unspotted birth From a chast virgin wombe, should blesse the Earth.
XXI.
But these vast mysteries his senses smother, And reason (for what's faith to him?) devoure. How she that is a maid should prove a mother, Yet keepe inviolate her virgin flower; How God's eternall Sonne should be Man's brother, Poseth his proudest intellectuall power. How a pure Spirit should incarnate bee, And Life it selfe weare Death's fraile livery.
XXII.
That the great angell-blinding Light should shrinke His blaze, to shine in a poore shepherd's eye: That the unmeasur'd God so low should sinke, As pris'ner in a few poore rags to lye: That from His mother's brest He milke should drinke, Who feeds with nectar Heav'n's faire family: That a vile manger His low bed should prove, Who in a throne of stars thunders above.
XXIII.
That He Whom the sun serves, should faintly peepe Through clouds of infant flesh: that He the old Eternall Word should be a child, and weepe: That He Who made the fire, should feare the cold: That Heav'n's high Majesty His court should keepe In a clay-cottage, by each blast control'd: That Glorie's Self should serve our griefs and feares, And free Eternity, submit to yeares.
XXIV.
And further, that the Lawe's eternall Giver Should bleed in His Owne Lawe's obedience: And to the circumcising knife deliver Himselfe, the forfet of His slave's offence: That the unblemisht Lambe, blessed for ever, Should take the marke of sin, and paine of sence. These are the knotty riddles, whose darke doubt Intangles his lost thoughts, past getting out.
XXV.
While new thoughts boyl'd in his enraged brest, His gloomy bosome's darkest character Was in his shady forehead seen exprest: The forehead's shade in Griefe's expression there, Is what in signe of joy among the blest The face's lightning, or a smile is here. Those stings of care that his strong heart opprest, A desperate, Oh mee! drew from his deepe brest.
XXVI.
Oh mee! (thus bellow'd he) Oh mee! what great Portents before mine eyes their powers advance? And serves my purer sight, onely to beat Downe my proud thought, and leave it in a trance? Frowne I: and can great Nature keep her seat? And the gay starrs lead on their golden dance? Can His attempts above still prosp'rous be, Auspicious still, in spight of Hell and me?
XXVII.
Hee has my Heaven (what would He more?) whose bright And radiant scepter this bold hand should beare: And for the never-fading fields of light, My faire inheritance, He confines me here To this darke house of shades, horrour and night, To draw a long-liv'd death, where all my cheere Is the solemnity my sorrow weares, That mankind's torment waits upon my teares.
XXVIII.
Darke, dusky Man, He needs would single forth, To make the partner of His Owne pure ray: And should we powers of Heav'n, spirits of worth, Bow our bright heads before a king of clay? It shall not be, said I, and clombe the North, Where never wing of angell yet made way: What though I mist my blow? yet I strooke high, And to dare something, is some victory.
XXIX.
Is He not satisfied? meanes He to wrest Hell from me too, and sack my territories? Vile humane nature means He not t' invest (O my despight!) with His divinest glories? And rising with rich spoiles upon His brest With His faire triumphs fill all future stories? Must the bright armes of Heav'n, rebuke these eyes? Mocke me, and dazle my darke mysteries?
XXX.
Art thou not Lucifer? he to whom the droves Of stars that gild the Morne, in charge were given? The nimblest of the lightning-winged loves, The fairest, and the first-borne smile of Heav'n? Looke in what pompe the mistrisse planet moves Rev'rently circled by the lesser seaven: Such, and so rich, the flames that from thine eyes, Opprest the common-people of the skyes.
XXXI.
Ah wretch! what bootes thee to cast back thy eyes, Where dawning hope no beame of comfort showes? While the reflection of thy forepast joyes, Renders thee double to thy present woes: Rather make up to thy new miseries, And meet the mischiefe that upon thee growes. If Hell must mourne, Heav'n sure shall sympathize, What force cannot effect, fraud shall devise.
XXXII.
And yet whose force feare I? have I so lost My selfe? my strength too with my innocence? Come try who dares, Heav'n, Earth, what ere doth boast A borrowed being, make thy bold defence. Come thy Creator too: What though it cost Me yet a second fall? wee'd try our strengths: Heav'n saw us struggle once; as brave a fight Earth now should see, and tremble at the sight.
XXXIII.
Thus spoke th' impatient prince, and made a pause: His foule hags rais'd their heads, and clapt their hands, And all the powers of Hell in full applause Flourisht their snakes, and tost their flaming brands. We (said the horrid sisters) wait thy lawes, Th' obsequious handmaids of thy high commands: Be it thy part, Hell's mighty lord, to lay On us thy dread command, our's to obey.
XXXIV.
What thy Alecto, what these hands can doe, Thou mad'st bold proofe upon the brow of Heav'n, Nor should'st thou bate in pride, because that now To these thy sooty kingdomes thou art driven. Let Heav'n's Lord chide above lowder than thou In language of His thunder, thou art even With Him below: here thou art lord alone, Boundlesse and absolute: Hell is thine owne.
XXXV.
If usuall wit, and strength will doe no good, Vertues of stones, nor herbes: use stronger charmes, Anger and love, best hookes of humane blood. If all faile, wee'l put on our proudest armes, And pouring on Heav'n's face the Sea's huge flood Quench His curl'd fires: wee'l wake with our alarmes Ruine, where e're she sleepes at Nature's feet: And crush the World till His wide corners meet.
XXXVI.
Reply'd the proud king, O my crowne's defence, Stay of my strong hopes, you of whose brave worth, The frighted stars tooke faint experience, When 'gainst the Thunder's mouth we marched forth: Still you are prodigall of your Love's expence In our great projects, both 'gainst Heav'n and Earth: I thanke you all, but one must single out: Cruelty, she alone shall cure my doubt.
XXXVII.
Fourth of the cursed knot of hags is shee, Or rather all the other three in one; Hell's shop of slaughter shee do's oversee, And still assist the execution. But chiefly there do's she delight to be, Where Hell's capacious cauldron is set on: And while the black soules boile in their own gore, To hold them down, and looke that none seeth o're.
XXXVIII.
Thrice howl'd the caves of Night, and thrice the sound, Thundring upon the bankes of those black lakes, Rung through the hollow vaults of Hell profound: At last her listning eares the noise o're takes, She lifts her sooty lampes, and looking round, A gen'rall hisse from the whole tire of snakes Rebounding, through Hell's inmost cavernes came, In answer to her formidable name.
XXXIX.
'Mongst all the palaces in Hell's command, No one so mercilesse as this of her's. The adamantine doors, for ever stand Impenetrable, both to prai'rs and teares; The walls inexorable steele, no hand Of Time, or teeth of hungry Ruine feares. Their ugly ornaments are the bloody staines Of ragged limbs, torne sculls, and dasht-out braines.
XL.
There has the purple Vengeance a proud seat Whose ever-brandisht sword is sheath'd in blood: About her Hate, Wrath, Warre and Slaughter sweat; Bathing their hot limbs in life's pretious flood: There rude impetuous Rage do's storme and fret, And there as master of this murd'ring brood, Swinging a huge sith stands impartiall Death: _scythe_ With endlesse businesse almost out of breath.
XLI.
For hangings and for curtaines, all along The walls (abominable ornaments!) Are tooles of wrath, anvills of torments hung; Fell executioners of foule intents, Nailes, hammers, hatchets sharpe, and halters strong, Swords, speares, with all the fatall instruments Of Sin and Death, twice dipt in the dire staines Of brothers' mutuall blood, and fathers' braines.
XLII.
The tables furnisht with a cursed feast Which Harpyes, with leane Famine feed upon, Vnfill'd for ever. Here among the rest, Inhumane Erisicthon too makes one; Tantalus, Atreus, Progne, here are guests: Wolvish Lycaon here a place hath won. The cup they drinke in is Medusa's scull, Which mixt with gall and blood they quaffe brim-full.
XLIII.
The foule queen's most abhorred maids of honour, Medaea, Jezabell, many a meager witch, With Circe, Scylla, stand to wait upon her: But her best huswife's are the Parcae, which Still worke for her, and have their wages from her: They prick a bleeding heart at every stitch. Her cruell cloathes of costly threds they weave, Which short-cut lives of murdred infants leave.
XLIV.
The house is hers'd about with a black wood, _hearsed_ Which nods with many a heavy-headed tree: Each flowers a pregnant poyson, try'd and good, Each herbe a plague. The wind's sighes timed bee By a black fount, which weeps into a flood. Through the thick shades obscurely might you see Minotaures, Cyclopses, with a darke drove Of Dragons, Hydraes, Sphinxes, fill the grove.
XLV.
Here Diomed's horses, Phereus' dogs appeare, With the fierce lyons of Therodamas. Busiris has his bloody altar here: Here Sylla his severest prison has: The Lestrigonians here their table reare: Here strong Procrustes plants his bed of brasse: Here cruell Scyron boasts his bloody rockes And hatefull Schinis his so feared oakes.
XLVI.
What ever schemes of blood, fantastick Frames Of death, Mezentius or Geryon drew; Phalaris, Ochus, Ezelinus: names Mighty in mischiefe; with dread Nero too; Here are they all, here all the swords or flames Assyrian tyrants or Egyptian knew. Such was the house, so furnisht was the hall, Whence the fourth Fury answer'd Pluto's call.
XLVII.
Scarce to this monster could the shady king The horrid summe of his intentions tell; But shee (swift as the momentary wing Of lightning, or the words he spoke) left Hell. She rose, and with her to our World did bring Pale proofe of her fell presence; th' aire too well With a chang'd countenance witnest the sight, And poore fowles intercepted in their flight.
XLVIII.
Heav'n saw her rise, and saw Hell in the sight: The fields' faire eyes saw her, and saw no more, But shut their flowry lids for ever: Night And Winter strow her way: yea, such a sore Is she to Nature, that a generall fright, An universal palsie spreading o're The face of things, from her dire eyes had run, Had not her thick snakes hid them from the sun.
XLIX.
Now had the Night's companion from her dew, Where all the busie day she close doth ly, With her soft wing wipt from the browes of men Day's sweat; and by a gentle tyranny And sweet oppression, kindly cheating them Of all their cares, tam'd the rebellious eye Of Sorrow, with a soft and downy hand, Sealing all brests in a Lethaean band.
L.
When the Erinnys her black pineons spread, And came to Bethlem, where the cruell king Had now retyr'd himselfe, and borrowed His brest a while from Care's unquiet sting; Such as at Thebes' dire feast she shew'd her head, Her sulphur-breathed torches brandishing: Such to the frighted palace now she comes, And with soft feet searches the silent roomes.
LI.
By Herod___________________now was borne The scepter, which of old great David swaid; Whose right by David's linage so long worne, _lineage_ Himselfe a stranger to, his owne had made; And from the head of Judah's house quite torne The crowne, for which upon their necks he laid A sad yoake, under which they sigh'd in vaine, And looking on their lost state sigh'd againe.
LII.
Vp, through the spatious pallace passed she, To where the king's proudly-reposed head (If any can be soft to Tyranny And selfe-tormenting sin) had a soft bed. She thinkes not fit, such, he her face should see, As it is seene in Hell, and seen with dread. To change her face's stile she doth devise, And in a pale ghost's shape to spare his eyes.
LIII.
Her selfe a while she layes aside, and makes Ready to personate a mortall part. Ioseph, the king's dead brother's shape, she takes: What he by nature was, is she by art. She comes to th' king, and with her cold hand slakes His spirits (the sparkes of life) and chills his heart, Life's forge; fain'd is her voice, and false too, be Her words: 'sleep'st thou, fond man? sleep'st thou?' said she.
LIV.
So sleeps a pilot, whose poore barke is prest With many a mercylesse o're-mastring wave; For whom (as dead) the wrathfull winds contest Which of them deep'st shall digge her watry grave. Why dost thou let thy brave soule lye supprest In death-like slumbers, while thy dangers crave A waking eye and hand? looke vp and see The Fates ripe, in their great conspiracy.
LV.
Know'st thou not how of th' Hebrewes' royall stemme (That old dry stocke) a despair'd branch is sprung: A most strange Babe! Who here conceal'd by them In a neglected stable lies, among Beasts and base straw: Already is the streame Quite turn'd: th' ingratefull rebells, this their young Master (with voyce free as the trumpe of Fame) Their new King, and thy Successour proclame.
LVI.
What busy motions, what wild engines stand On tiptoe in their giddy braynes! th' have fire Already in their bosomes, and their hand Already reaches at a sword; they hire Poysons to speed thee; yet through all the Land What one comes to reveale what they conspire? Goe now, make much of these; wage still their wars And bring home on thy brest, more thanklesse scarrs.
LVII.
Why did I spend my life, and spill my blood, That thy firme hand for ever might sustaine A well-pois'd scepter? does it now seeme good Thy brother's blood be spilt, life spent in vaine? 'Gainst thy owne sons and brothers thou hast stood In armes, when lesser cause was to complaine: And now crosse Fates a watch about thee keepe, Can'st thou be carelesse now? now can'st thou sleep?
LVIII.
Where art thou man? what cowardly mistake Of thy great selfe, hath stolne king Herod from thee? O call thy selfe home to thy self, wake, wake, And fence the hanging sword Heav'n throws upon thee. Redeeme a worthy wrath, rouse thee, and shake Thy selfe into a shape that may become thee. Be Herod, and thou shalt not misse from mee Immortall stings to thy great thoughts, and thee.
LIX.
So said, her richest snake, which to her wrist For a beseeming bracelet she had ty'd (A speciall worme it was as ever kist The foamy lips of Cerberus) she apply'd To the king's heart: the snake no sooner hist, But Vertue heard it, and away she hy'd: Dire flames diffuse themselves through every veine: This done, home to her Hell she hy'd amaine.
LX.
He wakes, and with him (ne're to sleepe) new feares: His sweat-bedewed bed hath now betraid him To a vast field of thornes; ten thousand speares All pointed in his heart seem'd to invade him: So mighty were th' amazing characters With which his feeling dreame had thus dismay'd him, He his owne fancy-framed foes defies: In rage, My armes, give me my armes, he cryes.
LXI.
As when a pile of food-preparing fire, The breath of artificiall lungs embraves, The caldron-prison'd waters streight conspire And beat the hot brasse with rebellious waves; He murmurs, and rebukes their bold desire; Th' impatient liquor frets, and foames, and raves, Till his o're-flowing pride suppresse the flame Whence all his high spirits and hot courage came.
LXII.
So boyles the fired Herod's blood-swolne brest, Not to be slak't but by a sea of blood: His faithlesse crowne he feeles loose on his crest, Which a false tyrant's head ne're firmely stood. The worme of jealous envy and unrest To which his gnaw'd heart is the growing food, Makes him, impatient of the lingring light, Hate the sweet peace of all-composing Night.
LXIII.
A thousand prophecies that talke strange things Had sowne of old these doubts in his deepe brest. And now of late came tributary kings, Bringing him nothing but new feares from th' East, More deepe suspicions, and more deadly stings, With which his feav'rous cares their cold increast. And now his dream (Hel's fireband) still more bright, Shew'd him his feares, and kill'd him with the sight.
LXIV.
No sooner therefore shall the Morning see (Night hangs yet heavy on the lids of Day) But all the counsellours must summon'd bee, To meet their troubled lord: without delay Heralds and messengers immediately Are sent about, who poasting every way To th' heads and officers of every band, Declare who sends, and what is his command.
LXV.
Why art thou troubled, Herod? what vaine feare Thy blood-revolving brest to rage doth move? Heaven's King, Who doffs Himselfe weak flesh to weare, Comes not to rule in wrath, but serve in love. Nor would He this thy fear'd crown from thee teare, But give thee a better with Himselfe above. Poor jealousie! why should He wish to prey Vpon thy crowne, Who gives His owne away?
LXVI.
Make to thy reason, man, and mock thy doubts, Looke how below thy feares their causes are; Thou art a souldier, Herod; send thy scouts, See how Hee's furnish't for so fear'd a warre? What armour does He weare? A few thin clouts. His trumpets? tender cries; His men to dare So much? rude shepheards: what His steeds? alas Poore beasts! a slow oxe and a simple asse.
_Il fine del primo Libro._
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
See our Essay for critical remarks on the original and CRASHAW'S interpretation. These things may be recorded:
St. viii. line 6. '(His shop of flames) he _fries_ himself.' This verb 'fries,' like 'stick' and some others, had not in Elizabethan times and later, that colloquial, and therefore in such a context ludicrous, sound that it has to us. In MARLOWE'S or JONSON'S translation of Ovid's fifteenth elegy (book i.) the two lines which originally ran thus,
'Lofty Lucretius shall live that hour That Nature shall dissolve this earthly bower,'
were afterwards altered by JONSON himself to,
'Then shall Lucretius' lofty numbers die, When earth and seas in fire and flame shall _frie_.'
In another way one of our most ludicrous-serious experiences of printers' errors was in a paper contributed by us to an American religious periodical. The subject was Affliction, and we remarked that God still, as of old with the 'three children' (so-called) permits His people to be put into the furnace of 'fiery trials,' wherein He _tries_ them whether they be ore or dross. To our horror we found the _t_ changed into _f_, and so read sensationally '_fries_'--all the worse that some might think it the author's own word.
St. xxviii. and xxx. The star Lucifer or Phosporos, to whom 'the droves of stars that guild the morn, in charge were given,' can never climb the North or reach the zenith, being conquered by the effulgence of the sun of day. When did the fable of the angel Lucifer, founded on an astronomical appearance, mingle itself as it has done here, and grandly in MILTON, and in the popular mind generally, with the biblical history of Satan?
St. xxxvi. line 2. TURNBULL perpetuates the misprint of 'whose' for 'my' from 1670.
St. li. line 3, 'linage' = 'lineage.' For once 1670 is correct in reading 'linage' for the misprint 'image' of 1646 and 1648. The original is literally as follows:
'Herod the liege of Augustus, a man now aged, Then ruled over the royal courts of David: Not of the royal _line_ ...'
St. lix. line 3, 'a special worm:' so SHAKESPEARE (Ant. and Cleopatra, v. 2), 'the pretty worm' and 'the worm.'
St. lx. Every one will be reminded of the tent-scene in Richard III.
At end of this translation PEREGRINE PHILLIPS adds 'cetera desunt--heu! heu!'
MARINO and CRASHAW have left proper names in the poem unannotated. They are mostly trite; but these may be noticed: st. xlii. l. 4, Erisichton (see Ovid, _Met._ viii. 814 &c.); he offended Ceres, and was by her punished with continual hunger, so that he devoured his own limbs: line 5, Tantalus the fabled son of Zeus and Pluto, whose doom in the 'lower world,' has been celebrated from Homer (_Od._ xi. 582) onward: ib. Atreus, grandson of Tantalus, immortalised in infamy with his brother Thyestes: ib. Progne = Procne, wife of Tereus, who was metamorphosed into a swallow (Apollod. iii. 14, 8): l. 6, Lycaon, like Tantalus, with his sons changed by Zeus into wolves (Ovid; Paus. viii. 3, Sec. 1): st. xliii. line 2, Medea, most famous of the mythical sorcerers: ib. Jezebel, 2 Kings ix. 10, 36: line 3, Circe, another mythical sorceress: Scylla, daughter of Typho and rival of Circe, who transformed her (Ovid, _Met._ xiv. 1-74); cf. Paradise Lost: line 4, the Parae = the Fates, ever spinning: st. xliv. lines 7-8, all classic monsters: st. xlv. line 1, 'Diomed's horses' = the fabled 'mares' fed on human flesh (Apollod. ii. 5, Sec. 8): 'Phereus' dogs,' or Fereus of mythical celebrity: line 2, Therodamas or Theromedon, king of Scythia, who fed lions with human blood (Ovid, _Ibis_ 385, _Pont._ i. 2, 121): line 3, Busiris, associated with Osiris of Egypt; but Herodotus denies that the Egyptians ever offered human sacrifices: line 4, Sylla = Sulla: line 5, Lestrigonians, ancient inhabitants of Sicily who fed on human flesh (Ovid, _Met._ xiv. 233, &c.): line 6, Procrustes, _i.e._ the Stretcher, being a surname of the famous robber Damastes (Ovid, _Met._ vii. 438): line 7, Scyron, or Sciron (Ovid, _Met._ vii. 444-447), who threw his captives from the rocks: line 8, Schinis, more accurately Sinis or Sinnis, a celebrated robber, his name being connected with {sinomai}, expressing the manner in which he tore his victims to pieces by tying them to branches of two trees, which he bent together and then let go (Ovid, _Met._ vii. 440); according to some he was surnamed Procrustes, but MARINO and CRASHAW distinguish the two: st. xlvi. line 2, Mezentius, a mythical king of the Etruscans (Virgil, _Aeneid_, viii. 480, &c.); he put men to death by tying them to a corpse: ib. Geryon, a fabulous king of Hesperia (Apollod. ii. 5, Sec. 10); under this name the very reverend Dr. J.H. Newman has composed one of his most remarkable poems: line 3, Phalaris, _the_ tyrant of Sicily, whose 'brazen bull' of torture gave point to Cicero's words concerning him, as 'crudelissimus omnium tyrannorum' (in Verr. iv. 33): ib. Ochus = Artaxerxes III. a merciless king of Persia: ib. Ezelinus or Ezzelinus, another wicked tyrant.
THE HYMN OF SAINTE THOMAS,
IN ADORATION OF THE BLESSED SACRAMENT.[42]
Ecce panis Angelorum, Adoro te.
With all the powres my poor heart hath 1 Of humble loue and loyall faith, Thus lowe (my hidden life!) I bow to Thee Whom too much loue hath bow'd more low for me. Down, down, proud Sense! discourses dy! 5 Keep close, my soul's inquiring ey! Not touch, nor tast, must look for more But each sitt still in his own dore.
Your ports are all superfluous here, Saue that which lets in Faith, the eare. 10 Faith is my skill: Faith can beleiue As fast as Loue new lawes can giue. Faith is my force: Faith strength affords To keep pace with those powrfull words. And words more sure, more sweet then they, 15 Loue could not think, Truth could not say.
O let Thy wretch find that releife Thou didst afford the faithful theife. Plead for me, Loue! alleage and show That Faith has farther here to goe 20 And lesse to lean on: because than _then_ Though hidd as God, wounds with Thee man: Thomas might touch, none but might see At least the suffring side of Thee; And that too was Thy self which Thee did couer, 25 But here eu'n that's hid too which hides the other.
Sweet, consider then, that I Though allow'd nor hand nor eye To reach at Thy lou'd face; nor can Tast Thee God, or touch Thee man, 30 Both yet beleiue; and witnesse Thee My Lord too and my God, as lowd as he.
Help, Lord, my faith, my hope increase, And fill my portion in Thy peace: Giue loue for life; nor let my dayes 35 Grow, but in new powres to Thy name and praise.
O dear memoriall of that Death Which liues still, and allowes vs breath! Rich, royall food! Bountyfull bread! Whose vse denyes vs to the dead; 40 Whose vitall gust alone can giue The same leaue both to eat and liue; Liue euer bread of loues, and be My life, my soul, my surer-selfe to mee.
O soft self-wounding Pelican! 45 Whose brest weepes balm for wounded man: Ah! this way bend Thy benign floud To a bleeding heart that gaspes for blood. That blood, whose least drops soueraign be To wash my worlds of sins from me. 50
Come Loue! come Lord! and that long day For which I languish, come away. When this dry soul those eyes shall see, And drink the vnseal'd sourse of Thee: When Glory's sun, Faith's shades shall chase, 55 And for Thy veil giue me Thy face. Amen.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
The original title is 'A Hymne to our Saviour by the Faithfull Receiver of the Sacrament.' As before in the title of 'The Weeper' 'Sainte' is misspelled 'Sanite.'
Line 1 in 1648 reads 'power.'
" 8, 'sitt still in his own dore.'
" 9, 'ports' = openings or gates. So in Edinburgh the 'West-port' = a gate of the city in the old west wall.
Line 21, 'than' = 'then.' See our PHINEAS FLETCHER, as before.
Line 29, TURNBULL leaves undetected the 1670 misprint of 'teach' for 'reach.'
Line 33, 1648 supplies 'my faith,' which in our text is inadvertently dropped; 1670 continues the error, which of course TURNBULL repeated.
Line 36, 1670 edition reads 'Grow, but in new pow'rs to name thy Praise.'
Lines 37-38 are inadvertently omitted in 1648 edition.
Our text, as will be seen, is arranged in stanzas of irregular form. In 1648 edition it is one continuous poem thus printed:
--------------------- --------------------- --------------------- --------------------- G.
LAVDA SION SALVATOREM:
THE HYMN FOR THE BL. SACRAMENT.[43]
I.
Rise, royall Sion! rise and sing Thy soul's kind shepheard, thy hart's King. Stretch all thy powres; call if you can Harpes of heaun to hands of man. This soueraign subject sitts aboue The best ambition of thy loue.
II.
Lo, the Bread of Life, this day's Triumphant text, prouokes thy prayse: _incites_ The liuing and life-giuing bread To the great twelue distributed; When Life, Himself, at point to dy Of loue, was His Own legacy.
III.
Come, Loue! and let vs work a song Lowd and pleasant, sweet and long; Let lippes and hearts lift high the noise Of so iust and solemn ioyes, Which on His white browes this bright day Shall hence for euer bear away.
IV.
Lo, the new law of a new Lord, With a new Lamb blesses the board: The aged Pascha pleads not yeares But spyes Loue's dawn, and disappeares. Types yield to truthes; shades shrink away; And their Night dyes into our Day.
V.
But lest that dy too, we are bid Euer to doe what He once did: And by a mindfull, mystick breath That we may liue, reuiue His death; With a well-bles't bread and wine, Transsum'd and taught to turn diuine.
VI.
The Heaun-instructed house of Faith Here a holy dictate hath, That they but lend their form and face;-- Themselues with reuerence leaue their place, Nature, and name, to be made good, By a nobler bread, more needfull blood.
VII.
Where Nature's lawes no leaue will giue, Bold Faith takes heart, and dares beleiue In different species: name not things, Himself to me my Saviovr brings; As meat in that, as drink in this, But still in both one Christ He is.
VIII.
The receiuing mouth here makes Nor wound nor breach in what he takes. Let one, or one thovsand be Here diuiders, single he Beares home no lesse, all they no more, Nor leaue they both lesse then before.
IX.
Though in it self this soverain Feast Be all the same to euery guest, Yet on the same (life-meaning) Bread The child of death eates himself dead: Nor is't Loue's fault, but Sin's dire skill That thus from Life can death distill.
X.
When the blest signes thou broke shalt see Hold but thy faith intire as He Who, howsoe're clad, cannot come Lesse then whole Christ in euery crumme. In broken formes a stable Faith Vntouch't her precious totall hath.
XI.
So the life-food of angells then Bow'd to the lowly mouths of men! The children's Bread, the Bridegroom's Wine; Not to be cast to dogges, or swine.
XII.
Lo, the full, finall Sacrifice On which all figures fix't their eyes: The ransom'd Isack, and his ramme; The manna, and the paschal lamb.
XIII.
Iesv Master, iust and true! Our food, and faithfull Shephard too! O by Thy self vouchsafe to keep, As with Thy selfe Thou feed'st Thy sheep.
XIV.
O let that loue which thus makes Thee Mix with our low mortality, Lift our lean soules, and sett vs vp Con-victors of Thine Own full cup, Coheirs of saints. That so all may Drink the same wine; and the same way: Nor change the pastvre, but the place, To feed of Thee, in Thine Own face. Amen.
NOTES.
In 1648, line 3 has 'thou' for 'you:' line 4 'and' for 'to:' line 6, 'ambitious:' line 19, 'Lord' is misprinted 'Law:' line 39, 'names:' line 42 spells 'one' as 'on:' line 55, our text (1652) misprints 'shall:' line 75, 1648 reads 'mean' for 'lean.' G.
PRAYER:
AN ODE WHICH WAS PRAEFIXED TO A LITTLE PRAYER-BOOK GIVEN TO A YOUNG GENTLE-WOMAN.[44]
Lo here a little volume, but great book! 1 (Feare it not, sweet, It is no hipocrit) Much larger in itselfe then in its looke. A nest of new-born sweets; 5 Whose natiue fires disdaining To ly thus folded, and complaining Of these ignoble sheets, Affect more comly bands (Fair one) from thy kind hands; 10 And confidently look To find the rest Of a rich binding in your brest. It is, in one choise handfull, Heauvn; and all Heaun's royall host; incampt thus small 15 To proue that true, Schooles vse to tell, Ten thousand angels in one point can dwell. It is Loue's great artillery Which here contracts it self, and comes to ly 19 Close-couch't in your white bosom; and from thence As from a snowy fortresse of defence, Against the ghostly foes to take your part, And fortify the hold of your chast heart. It is an armory of light; Let constant vse but keep it bright, 25 You'l find it yields To holy hands and humble hearts More swords and sheilds Then sin hath snares, or Hell hath darts. Only be sure 30 The hands be pure That hold these weapons; and the eyes, Those of turtles, chast and true; Wakefull and wise: Here is a freind shall fight for you; 35 Hold but this book before your heart, Let prayer alone to play his part; But O the heart That studyes this high art Must be a sure house-keeper: 40 And yet no sleeper. Dear soul, be strong! Mercy will come e're long And bring his bosome fraught with blessings, Flowers of neuer-fading graces 45 To make immortall dressings For worthy soules, whose wise embraces Store vp themselues for Him, Who is alone The Spovse of virgins and the virgin's Son. But if the noble Bridegroom, when He come, 50 Shall find the loytering heart from home; Leauing her chast aboad To gadde abroad Among the gay mates of the god of flyes; To take her pleasure, and to play 55 And keep the deuill's holyday; To dance in th' sunshine of some smiling But beguiling Spheare of sweet and sugred lyes; Some slippery pair 60 Of false, perhaps, as fair, Flattering but forswearing, eyes; Doubtlesse some other heart Will gett the start Meanwhile, and stepping in before 65 Will take possession of that sacred store Of hidden sweets and holy ioyes; Words which are not heard with eares (Those tumultuous shops of noise) Effectuall whispers, whose still voice 70 The soul it selfe more feeles then heares; Amorous languishments; luminous trances; Sights which are not seen with eyes; Spirituall and soul-peircing glances Whose pure and subtil lightning flyes 75 Home to the heart, and setts the house on fire, And melts it down in sweet desire Yet doth not stay To ask the windows' leaue, to passe that way; Delicious deaths; soft exalations 80 Of soul; dear and diuine annihilations; A thousand vnknown rites Of ioyes and rarefy'd delights; A hundred thousand goods, glories, and graces: And many a mystick thing 85 Which the diuine embraces Of the deare Spouse of spirits, with them will bring, For which it is no shame That dull mortality must not know a name. Of all this hidden store 90 Of blessings, and ten thousand more (If when He come He find the heart from home) Doubtlesse He will vnload Himself some other where, 95 And poure abroad His pretious sweets On the fair soul whom first He meets. O fair, O fortunate! O riche! O dear! O happy and thrice-happy she 100 Deare silver-breasted dove Who ere she be, Whose early loue With winged vowes Makes hast to meet her morning Spouse, 105 And close with His immortall kisses. Happy indeed, who neuer misses To improue that pretious hour, And euery day Seize her sweet prey, 110 All fresh and fragrant as He rises, Dropping with a baulmy showr, A delicious dew of spices; O let the blissfull heart hold it fast Her heaunly arm-full; she shall tast 115 At once ten thousand paradises; She shall haue power To rifle and deflour The rich and roseall spring of those rare sweets Which with a swelling bosome there she meets: 120 Boundles and infinite ___________ ___________ Bottomles treasures Of pure inebriating pleasures. Happy proof! she shal discouer What ioy, what blisse, 125 How many heau'ns at once it is To haue her God become her Lover.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
The text of 1648 corresponds pretty closely, except in the usual changes of orthography, with our text (1652): and 1670, in like manner, follows that of 1646. 1646 edition furnishes some noticeable variations:
Line 1, 'large' for 'great.'
" 2-4 restored to their place here. TURNBULL gives them in a foot-note with this remark: 'So in the Paris edition of 1652. In all the others,
Fear it not, sweet, It is no hypocrite, Much larger in itself, than in its book.'
This is a mistake. The only edition that omits the lines (5-13) besides the first (1646) and substitutes these three is that of 1670.
Lines 5-13 not in 1646 edition: first appeared in 1648 edition.
" 14, 'choise' for 'rich.'
" 15, 'hoasts' for 'host.'
" 17, 'Ten thousand.'
" 20. Our text (1652) here and elsewhere misreads 'their:' silently corrected.
Line 22. Our text (1652) misprints 'their' for 'the:' as 'the' is the reading of 1648 and 1670, I have adopted it.
Line 24, 'the' for 'an.'
" 27, 'hand' for 'hands.'
" 37, 1648 edition has 'its' for 'his.'
" 44. Our text (1652) oddly misprints 'besom' for 'bosome:' the latter reading in 1646, 1648 and 1670 vindicates itself. 1646 reads 'her' and 1648 'its' for 'his.'
Line 50, 'comes' for 'come.'
" 51, 'wandring' for 'loytering.'
" 54. The allusion is to one of the names of Satan, viz. Baal-zebub = fly-god, dunghill-god.
Line 55, 'pleasures.'
" 57. Our text (1652) inadvertently drops 'in.' 1648 has 'i' th'.'
Line 59. Our text misprints 'spheares:' 1648 adopts 'spheare' from 1646 edition. 1670 misprints 'spear.'
Line 62, 'forswearing:' a classic word.
" 64, 'git' is the spelling.
" 65. All the editions save our text (1652) omit 'meanwhile.'
Line 66, 'the' for 'that.'
" 69, 'These' for 'Those,' by mistake.
" 78, 'doth' for 'does' I have adopted here.
" 83, 1648, by misprint, has 'O' for 'Of.'
" 84, 'An hundred thousand loves and graces.'
" 90. I have accepted 'hidden' before 'store' from 1646 edition.
Line 101. I have also adopted this characteristic line from 1646 edition. In all the others (except 1670) it is 'Selected dove.'
Line 107, 'soule' for 'indeed.'
" 114, 'that' for 'the.'
" 121-122. In 1648 printed as _supra_, the lines probably indicating a blank where the MS. was illegible. In our text (1652) we have two lines, but no blank indicated.
Line 124, 'soul' for 'proof.'
" 127, 'a' for 'her.' G.
TO THE SAME PARTY:
COVNCEL CONCERNING HER CHOISE.[45]
Dear, Heaun-designed sovl! 1 Amongst the rest Of suters that beseige your maiden brest, Why may not I My fortune try 5 And venture to speak one good word, Not for my self, alas! but for my dearer Lord? You have seen allready, in this lower sphear Of froth and bubbles, what to look for here: Say, gentle soul, what can you find 10 But painted shapes, Peacocks and apes; Illustrious flyes, Guilded dunghills, glorious lyes; Goodly surmises 15 And deep disguises, Oathes of water, words of wind? Trvth biddes me say 'tis time you cease to trust Your soul to any son of dust. 'Tis time you listen to a brauer loue, 20 Which from aboue Calls you vp higher And biddes you come And choose your roome Among His own fair sonnes of fire; 25 Where you among The golden throng That watches at His palace doores May passe along, And follow those fair starres of your's; 30 Starrs much too fair and pure to wait vpon The false smiles of a sublunary sun. Sweet, let me prophesy that at last t'will proue Your wary loue Layes vp his purer and more pretious vowes, 35 And meanes them for a farre more worthy Spovse Then this World of lyes can giue ye: Eu'n for Him with Whom nor cost, Nor loue, nor labour can be lost; Him Who neuer will deceiue ye. 40 Let not my Lord, the mighty Louer Of soules, disdain that I discouer The hidden art Of His high stratagem to win your heart: It was His heaunly art 45 Kindly to cross you In your mistaken loue; That, at the next remoue Thence, He might tosse you And strike your troubled heart 50 Home to Himself; to hide it in His brest: The bright ambrosiall nest Of Loue, of life, and euerlasting rest. Happy mystake! That thus shall wake 55 Your wise soul, neuer to be wonne Now with a loue below the sun. Your first choyce failes; O when you choose agen May it not be amongst the sonnes of men.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
The first line, 'To Mistress M.R. Dear, Heav'n-designed soul,'
as in 1670, is not to be considered as an unrhymed line, but as the address or superscription, though so contrived as not to interfere with the metre, but to make a five-foot line with the two feet of the true first line of the poem. So Parolles prefaces his verse with
'Dian, the count's a fool and full of gold.'
(_All's Well that ends Well_, iv. 3.)
and Longaville (_Love's Labour Lost_) prefixes to his sonnet,
'O sweet Maria, empress of my love.'
In fact, it is the 'Madam' of a poetical epistle brought into metrical harmony with the verse. G.
DESCRIPTION OF A RELIGIOVS HOVSE AND CONDITION OF LIFE.
(OVT OF BARCLAY.)[46]
No roofes of gold o're riotous tables shining 1 Whole dayes and suns, deuour'd with endlesse dining. No sailes of Tyrian sylk, proud pauements sweeping, Nor iuory couches costlyer slumber keeping; False lights of flairing gemmes; tumultuous ioyes; 5 Halls full of flattering men and frisking boyes; What'ere false showes of short and slippery good Mix the mad sons of men in mutuall blood. But walkes, and vnshorn woods; and soules, iust so Vnforc't and genuine; but not shady tho. 10 Our lodgings hard and homely as our fare, That chast and cheap, as the few clothes we weare. Those, course and negligent, as the naturall lockes Of these loose groues; rough as th' vnpolish't rockes. A hasty portion of praescribed sleep; 15 Obedient slumbers, that can wake and weep, And sing, and sigh, and work, and sleep again; Still rowling a round spear of still-returning pain. Hands full of harty labours; paines that pay And prize themselves: doe much, that more they may, 20 And work for work, not wages; let to-morrow's New drops, wash off the sweat of this daye's sorrows. A long and dayly-dying life, which breaths A respiration of reuiuing deaths. But neither are there those ignoble stings 25 That nip the blossome of the World's best things, And lash Earth-labouring souls.... No cruell guard of diligent cares, that keep Crown'd woes awake, as things too wise for sleep: But reuerent discipline, and religious fear, 30 And soft obedience, find sweet biding here; Silence, and sacred rest; peace, and pure ioyes; Kind loues keep house, ly close, make no noise; And room enough for monarchs, while none swells Beyond the kingdomes of contentfull cells. 35 The self-remembring sovl sweetly recouers Her kindred with the starrs; not basely houers Below: but meditates her immortall way Home to the originall sourse of Light and intellectuall day
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
In 1648 the heading is simply 'Description of a religious house.' The original occurs in BARCLAY'S _Argenis_, book v. These variations include one important correction of a long-standing blunder:
Line 3, 1648 misprints 'weeping' for 'sweeping.'
" 4, 'costly' for 'costlyer.'
" 6, 'flatt'ring' for 'flattering.'
" 19-20. Our text (1652), followed by 1670, strangely confuses this couplet by printing,
'Hands full of harty labours; doe much, that more they may.'
TURNBULL, as usual, unintelligently repeats the blunder. Even in using the text of 1652 exceptionally, if only he found it confirmed by 1670, there was no vigilance. The reading of 1648 puts all right.
Line 23. Our text misspells 'ding.'
" 26. Misprinted 'bosome' in all the editions, and perpetuated by TURNBULL. Line 27 that follows is a break (unrhymed).
Line 33. 1648 misreads 'keep no noise.' G.
ON MR. GEORGE HERBERT'S BOOKE INTITULED THE TEMPLE OF SACRED POEMS.
SENT TO A GENTLE-WOMAN.[47]
Know you, faire, on what you looke? 1 Divinest love lyes in this booke: Expecting fier from your faire eyes, To kindle this his sacrifice.
When your hands untie these strings, 5 Think, yo' have an angell by the wings; One that gladly would be nigh, To waite upon each morning sigh; To flutter in the balmy aire Of your well-perfumed praier; 10 These white plumes of his hee'l lend you, Which every day to Heaven will send you: To take acquaintance of each spheare, And all your smooth-fac'd kindred there. And though HERBERT'S name doe owe 15 These devotions; fairest, know While I thus lay them on the shrine Of your white hand, they are mine.
A HYMN TO THE NAME AND HONOR OF THE ADMIRABLE SAINTE TERESA:
Fovndresse of the Reformation of the discalced Carmelites, both men and women; a Woman for angelicall heigth of speculation, for masculine courage of performance more then a woman: who yet a child, out-ran maturity, and durst plott a Martyrdome;
Misericordias Domini in Aeternvm cantabo.
Le Vray portraict de Ste Terese, Fondatrice des Religieuses et Religieux reformez de l'ordre de N. Dame du mont Carmel: Decedee le 4e Octo. 1582. Canonisee le 12e Mars. 1622.[48]
THE HYMNE.
Loue, thou art absolute, sole lord 1 Of life and death. To proue the word Wee'l now appeal to none of all Those thy old souldiers, great and tall, Ripe men of martyrdom, that could reach down 5 With strong armes, their triumphant crown; Such as could with lusty breath Speak lowd into the face of death, Their great Lord's glorious name, to none Of those whose spatious bosomes spread a throne 10 For Love at large to fill; spare blood and sweat: And see him take a priuate seat, Making his mansion in the mild And milky soul of a soft child. Scarse has she learn't to lisp the name 15 Of martyr; yet she thinks it shame Life should so long play with that breath Which spent can buy so braue a death. She neuer vndertook to know What Death with Loue should haue to doe; 20 Nor has she e're yet vnderstood Why to show loue, she should shed blood, Yet though she cannot tell you why She can love, and she can dy. Scarse has she blood enough to make 25 A guilty sword blush for her sake; Yet has she a heart dares hope to proue How much lesse strong is Death then Love. Be Loue but there; let poor six yeares Be pos'd with the maturest feares 30 Man trembles at, you straight shall find Love knowes no nonage, nor the mind; 'Tis love, not yeares or limbs that can Make the martyr, or the man. Love touch't her heart, and lo it beates 35 High, and burnes with such braue heates; Such thirsts to dy, as dares drink vp A thousand cold deaths in one cup. Good reason: for she breathes all fire; Her white brest heaues with strong desire 40 Of what she may with fruitles wishes Seek for amongst her mother's kisses. Since 'tis not to be had at home She'l trauail to a martyrdom. No home for hers confesses she 45 But where she may a martyr be. She'l to the Moores; and trade with them _Moors_ For this vnualued diadem: She'l offer them her dearest breath, With Christ's name in't, in change for death: 50 She'l bargain with them; and will giue Them God; teach them how to liue In Him: or, if they this deny, For Him she'l teach them how to dy: So shall she leaue amongst them sown 55 Her Lord's blood; or at lest her own. _least_ Farewel then, all the World! adieu! Teresa is no more for you. Farewell, all pleasures, sports, and ioyes (Never till now esteemed toyes) 60 Farewell, what ever deare may bee, Mother's armes or father's knee: Farewell house, and farewell home! She's for the Moores, and martyrdom. Sweet, not so fast! lo thy fair Spouse 65 Whom thou seekst with so swift vowes; Calls thee back, and bidds thee come T'embrace a milder martyrdom. Blest powres forbid, thy tender life Should bleed vpon a barbarous knife: 70 Or some base hand haue power to raze Thy brest's chast cabinet, and vncase A soul kept there so sweet: O no, Wise Heaun will neuer have it so. Thou art Love's victime; and must dy 75 A death more mysticall and high: Into Loue's armes thou shalt let fall A still-suruiuing funerall. His is the dart must make the death Whose stroke shall tast thy hallow'd breath; 80 A dart thrice dip't in that rich flame Which writes thy Spouse's radiant name Vpon the roof of Heau'n, where ay It shines; and with a soueraign ray Beates bright vpon the burning faces 85 Of soules which in that Name's sweet graces Find euerlasting smiles: so rare, So spirituall, pure, and fair Must be th' immortall instrument Vpon whose choice point shall be sent 90 A life so lou'd: and that there be Fitt executioners for thee, The fair'st and first-born sons of fire Blest seraphim, shall leaue their quire, And turn Loue's souldiers, vpon thee 95 To exercise their archerie. O how oft shalt thou complain Of a sweet and subtle pain: Of intolerable ioyes: Of a death, in which who dyes 100 Loues his death, and dyes again And would for euer so be slain. And liues, and dyes; and knowes not why To liue, but that he thus may neuer leaue to dy. How kindly will thy gentle heart 105 Kisse the sweetly-killing dart! And close in his embraces keep Those delicious wounds, that weep Balsom to heal themselves with: thus When these thy deaths, so numerous 110 Shall all at last dy into one, And melt thy soul's sweet mansion; Like a soft lump of incense, hasted By too hott a fire, and wasted Into perfuming clouds, so fast 115 Shalt thou exhale to Heaun at last In a resoluing sigh, and then O what? Ask not the tongues of men; Angells cannot tell; suffice Thy selfe shall feel thine own full ioyes, 120 And hold them fast for euer there. So soon as thou shalt first appear, The moon of maiden starrs, thy white Mistresse, attended by such bright Soules as thy shining self, shall come 125 And in her first rankes make thee room; Where 'mongst her snowy family Immortall wellcomes wait for thee. O what delight, when reueal'd Life shall stand, And teach thy lipps Heaun with His hand; 130 On which thou now maist to thy wishes Heap vp thy consecrated kisses. What ioyes shall seize thy soul, when she, Bending her blessed eyes on Thee, (Those second smiles of Heau'n,) shall dart 135 Her mild rayes through Thy melting heart. Angels, thy old friends, there shall greet thee Glad at their own home now to meet thee. All thy good workes which went before And waited for thee, at the door, 140 Shall own thee there; and all in one Weaue a constellation Of crowns, with which the King thy Spouse Shall build vp thy triumphant browes. All thy old woes shall now smile on thee, 145 And thy paines sitt bright vpon thee, All thy sorrows here shall shine, All thy svfferings be diuine: Teares shall take comfort, and turn gemms And wrongs repent to diademms. 150 Eu'n thy death shall liue; and new- Dresse the soul that erst he slew. Thy wounds shall blush to such bright scarres As keep account of the Lamb's warres. Those rare workes where thou shalt leaue writt 155 Loue's noble history, with witt Taught thee by none but Him, while here They feed our soules, shall clothe thine there. Each heaunly word, by whose hid flame Our hard hearts shall strike fire, the same 160 Shall flourish on thy browes, and be Both fire to vs and flame to thee; Whose light shall liue bright in thy face By glory, in our hearts by grace. Thou shalt look round about, and see 165 Thousands of crown'd soules throng to be Themselues thy crown: sons of thy vowes The virgin-births with which thy soueraign Spouse Made fruitfull thy fair soul. Goe now And with them all about thee, bow 170 To Him; put on (Hee'l say) put on (My rosy loue) that thy rich zone Sparkling with the sacred flames Of thousand soules, whose happy names Heau'n keep vpon thy score: (Thy bright 175 Life brought them first to kisse the light, That kindled them to starrs,) and so Thou with the Lamb, thy Lord, shalt goe, And whereso'ere He setts His white Stepps, walk with Him those wayes of light, 180 Which who in death would liue to see, Must learn in life to dy like thee.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
The original edition (1646) has this title, 'In memory of the Vertuous and Learned Lady Madre de Teresa, that sought an early Martyrdome;' and so also in 1648. 1670 agrees with 1652; only the Latin line above the portrait and the French verses are omitted.
The text of 1646 furnishes a number of variations corrective in part of all the subsequent editions. These are recorded below. 1648 agrees substantially with 1652: but a few unimportant readings peculiar to it are also given in these Notes.
_Various readings from 1646 edition._
Line 3, 'Wee need to goe to none of all.'
" 4, 'stout' for 'great.'
" 5, 'ripe and full growne.'
" 8, 'unto' for 'into;' the latter preferable.
" 10, 'Of those whose large breasts built a throne.'
" 11-13,
'For Love their Lord, glorious and great Weel see Him take a private seat, And make ...'
I have hesitated whether this ought not to have been adopted as our text; but it is a characteristic of CRASHAW to introduce abruptly long and short lines as in our text, and to carry a thought or metaphor through a number of lines.
Line 15, 'had' for 'has,' and 'a' for 'the.'
" 21, 'hath,' and so in 1648 edition.
" 23, our text (1652) misprints 'enough:' I correct from 1648.
" 25, 'had,' 1648 'hath.'
" 27, 1648, 'hath.'
" 31, 'wee' for 'you.'
Line 37, 'thirst' for 'thirsts,' and 'dare' for 'dares.'
" 38 spells 'coled.'
" 40, 'weake' for 'white;' the latter a favourite epithet with CRASHAW: 1648 'weake.'
Line 43, 1648 drops 'at' inadvertently.
" 44 spells 'travell:' 1648 has 'for' instead of 'to.'
" 45, 'her,' by misprint for 'her's.'
" 47, 1648 has 'try' for 'trade.'
" 49, 'Shee offers.' 57 spells 'adeiu.'
" 61, this line is by oversight dropped from our text (1652).
Line 70, spelled 'barborous' in our text, but I have adopted 'a' from 1646 and 1648.
Line 71, 'race' for 'raze;' a common contemporary spelling.
" 77, 'hand' for 'armes.'
" 93, 'The fairest, and the first borne Loves of fire.'
" 94, 'Seraphims,' the usual misspelling of the plural of seraph in our English Bible.
Line 104, 'To live, but that he still may dy.'
" 106, our text (1652) misreads 'sweetly-kissing.' I have adopted 'sweetly-killing' from 1646, 1648 and 1670.
Line 108, 1648 has 'thine' for 'his.'
" 118, 'disolving.'
" 123, our text (1652) inadvertently drops 'shalt,' and misreads 'you' for 'thou.' I accept the text of 1646, 1648 and 1670.
line 129, 'on.'
" 130, 'shee' for 'reueal'd Life;' and in next line 'her' for 'His.' Our text (1652) is preferable, as pointing to Christ the Life, our Life. See under lines 11-13.
Line 133, 'joy.'
" 146, 'set;' a common contemporary spelling.
" 147, this line, dropped inadvertently from our text (1652), is restored from 1646, 1648 and 1670.
Line 148, 'And' for 'All.'
" 151, 'Even thy deaths.'
" 152, 'Dresse the soul that late they slew.'
" 167 misprints 'nowes;' corrected in 1648, but not in 1670.
" 168 drops 'soueraign.' See under lines 11-13.
" 175, 'keeps.'
" 178, 'shall.' Cf. Rev. xiv. 5, as before. G.
AN APOLOGIE FOR THE FOREGOING HYMN,
AS HAUING BEEN WRITT WHEN THE AUTHOR WAS YET AMONG THE PROTESTANTS.[49]
Thus haue I back again to thy bright name 1 (Fair floud of holy fires!) transfus'd the flame I took from reading thee: 'tis to thy wrong I know, that in my weak and worthlesse song Thou here art sett to shine where thy full day 5 Scarse dawnes. O pardon, if I dare to say Thine own dear bookes are guilty. For from thence I learn't to know that Loue is eloquence. That hopefull maxime gaue me hart to try If, what to other tongues is tun'd so high, 10 Thy praise might not speak English too: forbid (By all thy mysteryes that here ly hidde) Forbid it, mighty Loue! let no fond hate Of names and wordes, so farr praeiudicate. Souls are not Spaniards too: one freindly floud 15 Of baptism blends them all into a blood. Christ's faith makes but one body of all soules, And Loue's that body's soul; no law controwlls Our free traffique for Heau'n; we may maintaine Peace, sure, with piety, though it come from Spain. 20 What soul so e're, in any language, can Speak Heau'n like her's, is my soul's country-man. O 'tis not Spanish, but 'tis Heau'n she speaks! 'Tis Heau'n that lyes in ambush there, and breaks From thence into the wondring reader's brest; 25 Who feels his warm heart hatcht into a nest Of little eagles and young loues, whose high Flights scorn the lazy dust, and things that dy. There are enow whose draughts (as deep as Hell) Drink vp all Spain in sack. Let my soul swell 30 With the strong wine of Loue: let others swimme In puddles; we will pledge this seraphim Bowles full of richer blood then blush of grape Was euer guilty of. Change we our shape (My soul) some drink from men to beasts, O then 35 Drink we till we proue more, not lesse, then men, And turn not beasts but angels. Let the King Me euer into these His cellars bring, Where flowes such wine as we can haue of none But Him Who trod the wine-presse all alone: 40 Wine of youth, life, and the sweet deaths of Loue; Wine of immortall mixture; which can proue Its tincture from the rosy nectar; wine That can exalt weak earth; and so refine Our dust, that at one draught, Mortality 45 May drink it self vp, and forget to dy.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
The title in 1646 'Steps' is 'An Apologie for the precedent Hymne:' in 1648 the 'Flaming Heart' also precedes the 'Apologie,' and its title, 'Hymnes on Teresa,' is added. 1670 has 'was yet a Protestant.'
_Various readings from 1646._
Line 2, 'sea.'
" 9, 'heavenly.'
" 12, 'there' for 'here.'
" 14, 'prejudicate.'
" 16, 'one' for 'a:' 1670 has 'one.'
" 18, 1648 spells 'comptrolls.'
" 20, 'dwell in' for 'come from.'
" 21, 'soever.'
" 26, 'finds' for 'feels:' our text (1652) drops 'hatcht,' which we have restored after 1646 and 1648; 1670 reads 'hatch,' and TURNBULL follows blindly.
Line 29, our text (1652) misreads 'now:' we restore 'enow,' after the editions as in No. 9.
Line 34, our text misreads 'too' after 'we:' I omit it, as in 1646 and 1670. 1648 has 'to.'
Line 41, 'Wine of youth's Life.'
" 45, 'in' for 'at.' As the 'Apologie' refers only to the Hymn preceding, and not to what follows, I have placed it after the former, not (as in 1648) the latter, which would make it refer to both. G.
THE FLAMING HEART:
VPON THE BOOK AND PICTURE OF THE SERAPHICAL SAINT TERESA, AS SHE IS VSVALLY EXPRESSED WITH A SERAPHIM BISIDE HER.[50]
Wel-meaning readers! you that come as freinds 1 And catch the pretious name this peice pretends; Make not too much hast to admire That fair-cheek't fallacy of fire. That is a seraphim, they say 5 And this the great Teresia. Readers, be rul'd by me; and make Here a well-plact and wise mistake: You must transpose the picture quite, And spell it wrong to read it right; 10 Read him for her, and her for him, And call the saint the seraphim. Painter, what didst thou vnderstand To put her dart into his hand? See, euen the yeares and size of him 15 Showes this the mother seraphim. This is the mistresse flame; and duteous he Her happy fire-works here, comes down to see. O most poor-spirited of men! Had thy cold pencil kist her pen, 20 Thou couldst not so vnkindly err To show vs this faint shade for her. Why, man, this speakes pure mortall frame; And mockes with female frost Loue's manly flame. One would suspect thou meant'st to paint 25 Some weak, inferiour, woman-saint. But had thy pale-fac't purple took Fire from the burning cheeks of that bright booke, Thou wouldst on her haue heap't vp all That could be found seraphicall; 30 What e're this youth of fire, weares fair, Rosy fingers, radiant hair, Glowing cheek, and glistering wings, All those fair and fragrant things But before all, that fiery dart 35 Had fill'd the hand of this great heart. Doe then, as equall right requires, Since his the blushes be, and her's the fires, Resume and rectify thy rude design, Vndresse thy seraphim into mine; 40 Redeem this iniury of thy art, Giue him the vail, giue her the dart. Giue him the vail; that he may couer The red cheeks of a riuall'd louer. Asham'd that our world now can show 45 Nests of new seraphims here below. Giue her the dart, for it is she (Fair youth) shootes both thy shaft, and thee; Say, all ye wise and well-peirc't hearts That liue and dy amidst her darts, 50 What is't your tastfull spirits doe proue In that rare life of her, and Loue? Say, and bear witnes. Sends she not A seraphim at euery shott? What magazins of immortall armes there shine! 55 Heaun's great artillery in each loue-spun line. Giue then the dart to her who giues the flame; Giue him the veil, who giues the shame. But if it be the frequent fate Of worst faults to be fortunate; 60 If all's praescription; and proud wrong Hearkens not to an humble song; For all the gallantry of him, Giue me the suffring seraphim. His be the brauery of all those bright things, 65 The glowing cheekes, the glistering wings; The rosy hand, the radiant dart; Leaue her alone the flaming heart. Leaue her that; and thou shalt leaue her Not one loose shaft but Loue's whole quiver. 70 For in Loue's feild was neuer found A nobler weapon then a wovnd. Loue's passiues are his actiu'st part, The wounded is the wounding heart. O heart! the aequall poise of Loue's both parts 75 Bigge alike with wound and darts. Liue in these conquering leaues; liue all the same, And walk through all tongues one triumphant flame. Liue here, great heart; and loue and dy and kill; And bleed and wound; and yeild and conquer still. 80 Let this immortall life wherere it comes Walk in a crowd of loues and martyrdomes. Let mystick deaths wait on't; and wise soules be The loue-slain wittnesses of this life of thee.
O sweet incendiary! shew here thy art, 85 Vpon this carcasse of a hard, cold hart; Let all thy scatter'd shafts of light, that play Among the leaues of thy larg books of day. Combin'd against this brest at once break in And take away from me my self and sin; 90 This gratious robbery shall thy bounty be, And my best fortunes such fair spoiles of me. O thou vndanted daughter of desires! By all thy dowr of lights and fires; By all the eagle in thee, all the doue; 95 By all thy liues and deaths of loue; By thy larg draughts of intellectuall day, And by thy thirsts of loue more large then they; By all thy brim-fill'd bowles of feirce desire, By thy last morning's draught of liquid fire; 100 By the full kingdome of that finall kisse That seiz'd thy parting soul, and seal'd thee His; By all the Heau'n thou hast in Him (Fair sister of the seraphim!) By all of Him we have in thee; 105 Leaue nothing of my self in me. Let me so read thy life, that I Vnto all life of mine may dy.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
The title in 1648 omits the words 'the seraphical saint,' and the text there lacks the last twenty-four lines.
_Various readings from 1648._
Line 3, 'so' for 'too.'
" 11, 'And' for 'read.'
" 18, 'happier.'
Line 31 misreads 'But e're,' and 'were' for 'weares.'
" 33, 'cheekes.'
" 34 flagrantly misreads 'flagrant' for 'fragrant,' which TURNBULL as usual blindly repeats.
Line 48, 'shafts.'
" 58 reads '... kindly tells the shame.' It is a characteristic of CRASHAW to vary his measures, else I should have adopted this reading from 1648. The line is somewhat obscure through the conceitful repetition of 'gives.' The sense is, who, being pictured red, shows the blushing shamefacedness of being outdone in his own seraphic nature by an earthly saint. G.
A SONG OF DIVINE LOVE.[51]
Lord, when the sense of Thy sweet grace 1 Sends vp my soul to seek Thy face, Thy blessed eyes breed such desire, I dy in Loue's delicious fire. O Loue, I am thy sacrifice! 5 Be still triumphant, blessed eyes! Still shine on me, fair suns! that I Still may behold, though still I dy.
SECOND PART.
Though still I dy, I liue again; Still longing so to be still slain; 10 So gainfull is such losse of breath, I dy euen in desire of death. Still liue in me this longing strife Of liuing death and dying life; For while Thou sweetly slayest me 15 Dead to my selfe, I liue in Thee.
IN THE GLORIOVS ASSVMPTION OF OVR BLESSED LADY.[52]
THE HYMN.
Hark! she is call'd, the parting houre is come; 1 Take thy farewell, poor World! Heaun must go home. A peice of heau'nly earth; purer and brighter Then the chast starres, whose choise lamps come to light her, Whil'st through the crystall orbes, clearer then they 5 She climbes; and makes a farre more Milkey Way. She's call'd! Hark, how the dear immortall Doue Sighes to His syluer mate, 'Rise vp, my loue'! Rise vp, my fair, my spotlesse one! The Winter's past, the rain is gone; 10 The Spring is come, the flowrs appear, No sweets, (save thou,) are wanting here. Come away, my loue! Come away, my doue! Cast off delay; 15 The court of Heau'n is come To wait vpon thee home; Come, come away! The flowrs appear, Or quickly would, wert thou once here. 20 The Spring is come, or if it stay 'Tis to keep time with thy delay. The rain is gone, except so much as we Detain in needfull teares to weep the want of thee. The Winter's past, 25 Or if he make lesse hast, His answer is, why she does so, If Sommer come not, how can Winter goe? Come away, come away! The shrill winds chide, the waters weep thy stay; 30 The fountains murmur, and each loftyest tree Bowes low'st his leauy top, to look for thee. Come away, my loue! Come away, my doue &c. She's call'd again. And will she goe? 35 When Heau'n bidds come, who can say no? Heau'n calls her, and she must away, Heau'n will not, and she cannot stay. Goe then; goe, gloriovs on the golden wings Of the bright youth of Heau'n, that sings 40 Vnder so sweet a burthen. Goe, Since thy dread Son will haue it so. And while thou goest, our song and we Will, as we may, reach after thee. Hail, holy queen of humble hearts! 45 We in thy prayse will haue our parts. And though thy dearest lookes must now give light To none but the blest heavens, whose bright Beholders, lost in sweet delight, Feed for ever their faire sight 50 With those divinest eyes, which we And our darke world noe more shall see; Though our poore eyes are parted soe, Yet shall our lipps never lett goe Thy gracious name, but to the last 55 Our loving song shall hold it fast. Thy pretious name shall be Thy self to vs; and we With holy care will keep it by vs. We to the last 60 Will hold it fast, And no Assvmption shall deny vs. All the sweetest showres Of our fairest flowres Will we strow vpon it. 65 Though our sweets cannot make It sweeter, they can take Themselues new sweetness from it. Maria, men and angels sing, Maria, mother of our King. 70 Live, rosy princesse, live! and may the bright Crown of a most incomparable light Embrace thy radiant browes. O may the best Of euerlasting ioyes bath thy white brest. Live, our chast loue, the holy mirth 75 Of Heau'n; the humble pride of Earth. Liue, crown of woemen; queen of men; Liue, mistresse of our song. And when Our weak desires haue done their best, Sweet angels come, and sing the rest. 80
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
The heading in the SANCROFT MS. is 'On the Assumption of the Virgin Marie.' In line 5 it reads 'whil'st,' and so in line 43: line 7, 'againe th' immortal Dove:' line 12, our text (1652) reads 'but;' we prefer 'saue' of 1648 and the MS.: line 30, our text (1652) misprints 'heauy' for 'leavy' of 1648: line 42, the MS. reads 'great:' line 47, 'give' for 'be;' adopted: line 53, 'eyes' for 'ioyes;' adopted: line 57, 'sacred:' line 76, 'bragg:' line 77, '_praise_ of women, _pride_ of men.'
By an unaccountable inadvertence, our text (1652) omits lines 47-56. They are restored from 1648: they also appear in 1670. Line 18 in 1648 reads 'Come, come away:' in 1670 it is 'Come away, come away;' but this edition strangely, but characteristically, omits lines 19-34; and TURNBULL, following it, though pronounced by himself 'the most inaccurate of all' (Preliminary Observations, p. xi. of his edition), has overlooked them. Confer, for a quaint parallel with these lines (19-34), our JOSEPH FLETCHER. It may also be noted here that TURNBULL betrays his habitual use of his self-condemned text of 1670 by misreading in line 12, 'No sweets since thou art wanting here;' so converting the fine compliment into ungrammatical nonsense. Earlier also (line 3) he similarly reads, after the same text, 'light' for 'earth.' So too in line 7 he reads 'She's call'd again; hark! how th' immortall dove:' and line 42, for the favourite 'dread' of our Poet the weaker 'great,' as _supra_: and the following line 63 omits 'the:' line 64, 'our:' line 65 reads 'We'll:' line 76, 'and' for 'the.' On lines 9-10, cf. Song of Solomon, ii. 10-13. G.
UPON FIVE PIOVS AND LEARNED DISCOURSES:
BY ROBERT SHELFORD.[53]
Rise, then, immortall maid! Religion, rise! 1 Put on thy self in thine own looks: t' our eyes Be what thy beauties, not our blots, have made thee; Such as (ere our dark sinnes to dust betray'd thee) Heav'n set thee down new drest; when thy bright birth 5 Shot thee like lightning to th' astonisht Earth. From th' dawn of thy fair eyelids wipe away Dull mists and melancholy clouds: take Day And thine own beams about thee: bring the best Of whatsoe're perfum'd thy Eastern nest. 10 Girt all thy glories to thee: then sit down, Open this book, fair Queen, and take thy crown. These learned leaves shall vindicate to thee Thy holyest, humblest, handmaid, Charitie; She'l dresse thee like thy self, set thee on high 15 Where thou shalt reach all hearts, command each eye. Lo! where I see thy altars wake, and rise From the pale dust of that strange sacrifice Which they themselves were; each one putting on A majestie that may beseem thy throne. 20 The holy youth of Heav'n, whose golden rings Girt round thy awfull altars; with bright wings Fanning thy fair locks, (which the World beleeves As much as sees) shall with these sacred leaves Trick their tall plumes, and in that garb shall go 25 If not more glorious, more conspicuous tho. --------Be it enacted then, By the fair laws of thy firm-pointed pen, God's services no longer shall put on Pure sluttishnesse for pure religion: 30 No longer shall our Churches' frighted stones Lie scatter'd like the burnt and martyr'd bones Of dead Devotion; nor faint marbles weep In their sad ruines; nor Religion keep A melancholy mansion in those cold 35 Urns: Like God's sanctuaries they lookt of old; Now seem they Temples consecrate to none, Or to a new god, Desolation. No more the hypocrite shall th' upright be Because he's stiffe, and will confesse no knee: 40 While others bend their knee, no more shalt thou, (Disdainfull dust and ashes!) bend thy brow; Nor on God's altar cast two scorching eyes, Bak't in hot scorn, for a burnt sacrifice: But (for a lambe) thy tame and tender heart, 45 New struck by Love, still trembling on his dart; Or (for two turtle-doves) it shall suffice To bring a pair of meek and humble eyes. This shall from henceforth be the masculine theme Pulpits and pennes shall sweat in; to redeem 50 Vertue to action, that life-feeding flame That keeps Religion warm: not swell a name Of Faith; a mountain-word, made up of aire, With those deare spoils that wont to dresse the fair And fruitfull Charitie's full breasts (of old), 55 Turning her out to tremble in the cold. What can the poore hope from us, when we be Uncharitable ev'n to Charitie? Nor shall our zealous ones still have a fling At that most horrible and horned thing, 60 Forsooth the Pope: by which black name they call The Turk, the devil, Furies, Hell and all, And something more. O he is Antichrist: Doubt this, and doubt (say they) that Christ is Christ: Why, 'tis a point of Faith. What e're it be, 65 I'm sure it is no point of Charitie. In summe, no longer shall our people hope, To be a true Protestant's but to hate the Pope.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
I have taken the text of this poem as it originally appeared, because in all the editions of the Poems wherein it is given the last ten lines are omitted. TURNBULL discovered this after his text of the Poems was printed off, and so had to insert them in a Postscript, wherein his genius for blundering describes Shelford's volume as 'Five ... _Poems_.' These slight variations may be recorded:
The title in all is 'On a Treatise of Charity.'
Line 12, 1648 has 'thy' for 'this.'
" 16, ib. 'shall' for 'shalt.'
" 17, all the editions 'off'rings' for 'altars.'
" 30, ib. 'A' for the first 'pure.'
" 36, our text misprints 'look' for 'look't.'
The poem is signed in Shelford's volume 'RICH. CRASHAW, Aul. Pemb. A.B.' It appeared in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 86-8), 1648 (pp. 101-2), 1670 (pp. 68-70). G.
DIES IRAE, DIES ILLA:
THE HYMN OF THE CHVRCH, IN MEDITATION OF THE DAY OF IVDGMENT.[54]
I.
Hear'st thou, my soul, what serious things Both the Psalm and sybyll sings Of a sure Iudge, from Whose sharp ray The World in flames shall fly away.
II.
O that fire! before whose face Heaun and Earth shall find no place. O those eyes! Whose angry light Must be the day of that dread night.
III.
O that trump! whose blast shall run An euen round with the circling sun, And vrge the murmuring graues to bring Pale mankind forth to meet his King.
IV.
Horror of Nature, Hell, and Death! When a deep groan from beneath Shall cry, We come, we come, and all The caues of Night answer one call.
V.
O that Book! whose leaues so bright Will sett the World in seuere light. O that Iudge! Whose hand, Whose eye None can indure; yet none can fly.
VI.
Ah then, poor soul, what wilt thou say? And to what patron chuse to pray? When starres themselues shall stagger; and The most firm foot no more then stand.
VII.
But Thou giu'st leaue (dread Lord!) that we Take shelter from Thy self, in Thee; And with the wings of Thine Own doue Fly to Thy scepter of soft loue.
VIII.
Dear, remember in that Day Who was the cause Thou cam'st this way. Thy sheep was stray'd; and Thou wouldst be Euen lost Thyself in seeking me.
IX.
Shall all that labour, all that cost Of loue, and eu'n that losse, be lost? And this lou'd soul, iudg'd worth no lesse Then all that way, and wearyness.
X.
Iust mercy then, Thy reckning be With my Price, and not with me; 'Twas pay'd at first with too much pain, To be pay'd twice; or once, in vain.
XI.
Mercy (my Iudge), mercy I cry With blushing cheek and bleeding ey: The conscious colors of my sin Are red without and pale within.
XII.
O let Thine Own soft bowells pay Thy self; and so discharge that day. If Sin can sigh, Loue can forgiue: O say the word, my soul shall liue.
XIII.
Those mercyes which Thy Mary found, Or who Thy crosse confes't and crown'd; Hope tells my heart, the same loues be Still aliue, and still for me.
XIV.
Though both my prayres and teares combine, Both worthlesse are; for they are mine. But Thou Thy bounteous Self still be; And show Thou art, by sauing me.
XV.
O when Thy last frown shall proclaim The flocks of goates to folds of flame, And all Thy lost sheep found shall be; Let 'Come ye blessed,' then call me.
XVI.
When the dread '_Ite_' shall diuide Those limbs of death, from Thy left side; Let those life-speaking lipps command That I inheritt Thy right hand.
XVII.
O hear a suppliant heart, all crush't And crumbled into contrite dust. My hope, my fear! my Iudge, my Freind! Take charge of me, and of my end.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
In st. vi. line 4, 'then' is = than, on which cf. our PHINEAS FLETCHER, as before: in st. xvi. line 1, '_Ite_' = 'go ye' of the Vulgate. 1670, st. ii. line 3, misprints 'these' for 'those:' st. viii. line 3, 'And Thou would'st be,' _i.e._ didst will to be,--not merely wished to be, but carried out Thy intent. G.
CHARITAS NIMIA, OR THE DEAR BARGAIN.[55]
Lord, what is man? why should he coste Thee 1 So dear? what had his ruin lost Thee? Lord, what is man? that thou hast ouerbought So much a thing of nought?
Loue is too kind, I see; and can 5 Make but a simple merchant-man. 'Twas for such sorry merchandise, Bold painters haue putt out his eyes.
Alas, sweet Lord, what wer't to Thee If there were no such wormes as we? 10 Heau'n ne're the lesse still Heau'n would be, Should mankind dwell In the deep Hell: What haue his woes to doe with Thee?
Let him goe weep 15 O're his own wounds; Seraphims will not sleep Nor spheares let fall their faithfull rounds. Still would the youthfull spirits sing; And still Thy spatious palace ring; 20 Still would those beauteous ministers of light Burn all as bright.
And bow their flaming heads before Thee: Still thrones and dominations would adore Thee; Still would those euer-wakefull sons of fire 25 Keep warm Thy prayse Both nights and dayes, And teach Thy lou'd name to their noble lyre.
Let froward dust then doe it's kind; And giue it self for sport to the proud wind. 30 Why should a peice of peeuish clay plead shares In the aeternity of Thy old cares? Why shouldst Thou bow Thy awfull brest to see What mine own madnesses haue done with me?
Should not the king still keepe his throne 35 Because some desperate fool's vndone? Or will the World's illustrious eyes Weep for euery worm that dyes.
Will the gallant sun E're the lesse glorious run? 40 Will he hang down his golden head Or e're the sooner seek his Western bed, Because some foolish fly Growes wanton, and will dy?
If I were lost in misery, 45 What was it to Thy Heaun and Thee? What was it to Thy pretious blood If my foul heart call'd for a floud?
What if my faithlesse soul and I Would needs fall in 50 With guilt and sin; What did the Lamb, that He should dy? What did the Lamb, that He should need, When the wolf sins, Himself to bleed?
If my base lust, 55 Bargain'd with Death and well-beseeming dust: Why should the white Lamb's bosom write The purple name Of my sin's shame? 60 Why should His vnstaind brest make good My blushes with His Own heart-blood?
O my Saviovr, make me see How dearly Thou hast payd for me, That lost again my life may proue, 65 As then in death, so now in loue.
S. MARIA MAIOR.
Dilectus meus mihi, et ego illi, qui pascitur inter lilia. _Cant._ ii.
THE HIMN, O GLORIOSA DOMINA.[56]
Hail, most high, most humble one! 1 Aboue the world, below thy Son; Whose blush the moon beauteously marres And staines the timerous light of stares. He that made all things, had not done 5 Till He had made Himself thy Son: The whole World's host would be thy guest And board Himself at thy rich brest. O boundles hospitality! The Feast of all things feeds on thee. 10 The first Eue, mother of our Fall, E're she bore any one, slew all. Of her vnkind gift might we haue Th' inheritance of a hasty grave: Quick-burye'd in the wanton tomb 15 Of one forbidden bitt; Had not a better frvit forbidden it. Had not thy healthfull womb The World's new eastern window bin, And giuen vs heau'n again, in giuing Him. 20 Thine was the rosy dawn, that spring the Day Which renders all the starres she stole away. Let then the aged World be wise, and all Proue nobly here vnnaturall; 'Tis gratitude to forgett that other 25 And call the maiden Eue their mother. Yee redeem'd nations farr and near, Applaud your happy selues in her; (All you to whom this loue belongs) And keep't aliue with lasting songs. 30 Let hearts and lippes speak lowd; and say Hail, door of life: and sourse of Day! The door was shut, the fountain seal'd; Yet Light was seen and Life reueal'd. The door was shut, yet let in day, 35 The fountain seal'd, yet life found way. Glory to Thee, great virgin's Son In bosom of Thy Father's blisse. The same to Thee, sweet Spirit be done; As euer shall be, was, and is. Amen. 40
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
The heading in 1648 is simply 'The Virgin-Mother:' in 1670 it is 'The Hymn, O Gloriosa Domina.'
Line 2, 1648 reads 'the Son.'
" 10, our text (1652) misprints 'the' for 'thee.'
Line 21, I follow here the text of 1648. 1652 reads
'Thine was the rosy dawn that sprung the day.'
and this is repeated in 1670 and, of course, by TURNBULL.
Line 26, 1648 has 'your' for 'their.'
" 35 is inadvertently dropped in our text (1652), though the succeeding line (with which it rhymes) appears. I restore it. 1670 also drops it; and so again TURNBULL!
Lines 43-44, 'Because some foolish fly.' This metaphorical allusion to the Fall and its results (as described by MILTON and others) is founded on the dying of various insects after begetting their kind. G.
HOPE.[57]
Hope, whose weak beeing ruin'd is 1 Alike if it succeed or if it misse! Whom ill and good doth equally confound, And both the hornes of Fate's dilemma wound. Vain shadow; that dost vanish quite 5 Both at full noon and perfect night! The starres haue not a possibility Of blessing thee. If thinges then from their end we happy call, 'Tis Hope is the most hopelesse thing of all. 10
Hope, thou bold taster of delight! Who in stead of doing so, deuourst it quite. Thou bringst vs an estate, yet leau'st vs poor By clogging it with legacyes before. The ioyes which we intire should wed 15 Come deflour'd-virgins to our bed. Good fortunes without gain imported be Such mighty custom's paid to thee For ioy, like wine kep't close, doth better tast; If it take air before, his spirits wast. 20
Hope, Fortun's cheating lottery, Where for one prize, an hundred blankes there be. Fond anchor, Hope! who tak'st thine aime so farr That still or short or wide thine arrows are; Thinne empty cloud which th' ey deceiues 25 With shapes that our own fancy giues. A cloud which gilt and painted now appeares But must drop presently in teares: When thy false beames o're reason's light preuail, By _ignes fatvi_ for North starres we sail. 30
Brother of Fear, more gaily clad, The merryer fool o' th' two, yet quite as mad. Sire of Repentance, child of fond desire That blow'st the chymick's and the louer's fire. Still leading them insensibly on 35 With the strong witchcraft of 'anon.' By thee the one does changing nature, through Her endlesse labyrinths pursue; And th' other chases woman; while she goes More wayes and turnes then hunted Nature knowes. 40
M. COWLEY.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
In all the editions save that of 1652 the respective portions of COWLEY and CRASHAW are alternated as Question and Answer, after a fashion of the day exemplified by _Pembroke_ and RUDYARD and others. The heading in 1646, 1648 and 1670 accordingly is 'On Hope, by way of Question and Answer, between A. COWLEY and R. CRASHAW.'
_Various readings from 1646 edition._
Line 3, 'and' for 'or,' and 'doth' for 'does.'
" 7, 'Fates' for 'starres:' but as Fate occurs in line 4, 'starres' seems preferable.
Line 9, 'ends' for 'end.'
" 18, 'so' for 'such.'
" 19, 'doth' for 'does;' adopted.
" 20, 'its' for 'his;' the personification warrants 'his.'
" 25. All the other editions misread
'Thine empty cloud, the eye it selfe deceives.'
There can be no question that 'thinne' not 'thine' was the poet's word. Cf. CRASHAW'S reference in his Answer. TURNBULL perpetuates the error.
Line 30, 'not' for 'for.'
" 33, 'shield' in all the editions save 1652 by mistake.
" 34, 'blows' and 'chymicks' for 'chymick;' the latter adopted.
Line 37, as in line 19.
" 38, spelled 'laborinths.'
In our Essay see critical remarks showing that COWLEY and CRASHAW revised their respective portions. It seems to have escaped notice that COWLEY himself wrote another poem '_For_ Hope,' as his former was '_Against_ Hope.' See it in our Study of Crashaw's Life and Poetry. G.
M. CRASHAW'S ANSWER FOR HOPE.[58]
Dear Hope! Earth's dowry, and Heaun's debt! 1 The entity of things that are not yet. Subtlest, but surest beeing! thou by whom Our nothing has a definition! Substantiall shade! whose sweet allay 5 Blends both the noones of Night and Day: Fates cannot find out a capacity Of hurting thee. From thee their lean dilemma, with blunt horn, Shrinkes, as the sick moon from the wholsome morn. 10
Rich hope! Loue's legacy, vnder lock Of Faith! still spending, and still growing stock! Our crown-land lyes aboue, yet each meal brings A seemly portion for the sonnes of kings. Nor will the virgin ioyes we wed 15 Come lesse vnbroken to our bed, Because that from the bridall cheek of Blisse Thou steal'st vs down a distant kisse. Hope's chast stealth harmes no more Ioye's maidenhead Then spousal rites preiudge the marriage bed. 20 Fair hope! Our earlyer Heau'n! by thee Young Time is taster to Eternity: Thy generous wine with age growes strong, not sowre, Nor does it kill thy fruit, to smell thy flowre. Thy golden, growing head neuer hangs down 25 Till in the lappe of Loue's full noone It falls; and dyes! O no, it melts away As doth the dawn into the Day: As lumpes of sugar loose themselues, and twine Their subtile essence with the soul of wine. 30
Fortune? alas, aboue the World's low warres Hope walks; and kickes the curld heads of conspiring starres. Her keel cutts not the waues where these winds stirr, Fortune's whole lottery is one blank to her. Her shafts and shee, fly farre above, 35 And forage in the fields of light and love. Sweet Hope! kind cheat! fair fallacy! by thee We are not where nor what we be, But what and where we would be. Thus art thou Our absent presence, and our future now. 40
Faith's sister! nurse of fair desire! Fear's antidote! a wise and well-stay'd fire! Temper 'twixt chill Despair, and torrid Ioy! Queen regent in yonge Loue's minority! Though the vext chymick vainly chases 45 His fugitiue gold through all her faces; Though Loue's more feirce, more fruitlesse, fires assay: One face more fugitiue then all they; True Hope's a glorious huntresse, and her chase, The God of Nature in the feilds of grace. 50
NOTES.
_Various readings from 1646 edition._
Line 2, 'things' for 'those;' adopted. But in HARLEIAN MS. 6917-18, it is 'those.' As this MS. supplies in poems onward various excellent readings (_e.g._ 'Wishes'), it may be noted that the Collection came from Lord Somers' Library of MSS., and is accordingly authoritative.
Lines 5-6 read
'Faire cloud of fire, both shade and light Our life in death, our day in night.'
Our text (1652) seems finer and deeper, and to put the thought with more concinnity.
Line 9, 'thinne' for 'lean.'
" 10, 'like' for 'as.'
" 11, 'Rich hope' dropped in all the other editions; but as it is parallel with the 'dear Hope' and 'fair Hope' of the preceding and succeeding stanzas, I have restored the words. The line reads elsewhere,
'Thou art Love's Legacie under lock'
and the next,
'Of Faith: the steward of our growing stock.'
Line 13, 'crown-lands lye.'
" 18, 'Thou thus steal'st downe a distant kisse.'
" 19, 'Hope's chaste kisse wrongs.'...
" 24, 'Nor need wee.'...
" 25, 'growing' is dropped.
" 28, 'doth' for 'does;' adopted.
" 30, 'subtile' for 'supple;' adopted: but in HARLEIAN MS. as before, it is 'supple.'
Lines 31-32. This couplet is oddly misprinted in all the other editions,
'Fortune, alas, above the world's law warres, Hope kicks the curld'....
In 1670 there is a capital L to Law: but 'low' yields the evident meaning intended. Alas is = exclamation simply, not in our present limitation of it to sorrow. See Epitaph of HERRYS onward, lines 49-52.
Line 33, 'our' for 'these;' the latter necessary in its relation to 'low' not 'law,' the 'winds' being those of the 'warres' of our world.
Line 34, 'And Fate's' for 'Fortune's.'
" 35-36 dropped by our text (1652) inadvertently.
" 36, 'or' for 'nor.'
" 45, 'And' for 'Though.'
" 47, 'huntresse' for 'hunter;' adopted.
" 48, 'field' for 'fields.'
" 49. I prefer 'huntresse' of 1646, 1648 and 1670, to 'hunter' of our text (1652). G.
=Sacred Poetry.=
II.
AIRELLES.
FROM UNPUBLISHED MSS.
NOTE.
See our Preface for explanation of the title. 'Airelles' to these and other hitherto unprinted and unpublished Poems from the TANNER MSS. of Archbishop Sancroft: and our Essay for the biographic interest of the poems on the Gunpowder-Plot. I adhere strictly throughout to the orthography of the MS. G.
MARY SEEKING JESUS WHEN LOST.
St. Luke ii. 41-52: _Quaerit Jesum suum Maria_, &c. (v. 44.)
And is He gone, Whom these armes held but now? Their hope, their vow! Did euer greife and joy in one poore heart Soe soone change part? Hee's gone! The fair'st flower that e're bosome drest; My soule's sweet rest. My wombe's chast pride is gone, my heauen-borne boy; And where is joy? Hee's gone! and His lou'd steppes to wait vpon, My joy, is gone. My joyes, and Hee are gone; my greife, and I Alone must ly. Hee's gone! not leaving with me, till He come, One smile at home. Oh come then, bring Thy mother her lost joy: Oh come, sweet boy! Make hast, and come, or e're my greife and I Make hast, and dy. Peace, heart! The heauens are angry, all their spheres Rivall thy teares. I was mistaken, some faire sphere or other Was Thy blest mother. What but the fairest heauen, could owne the birth Of soe faire earth? Yet sure Thou did'st lodge heere: this wombe of mine Was once call'd Thine! Oft haue these armes Thy cradle envied, Beguil'd Thy bed. Oft to Thy easy eares hath this shrill tongue Trembled, and sung. Oft haue I wrapt Thy slumbers in soft aires, And stroak't Thy cares. Oft hath this hand those silken casements kept, While their sunnes slept. Oft haue my hungry kisses made Thine eyes Too early rise. Oft haue I spoild my kisses' daintiest diet, To spare Thy quiet. Oft from this breast to Thine, my loue-tost heart Hath leapt, to part. Oft my lost soule haue I bin glad to seeke On Thy soft cheeke. Oft haue these armes--alas!--show'd to these eyes Their now lost joyes. Dawne then to me, Thou morne of mine owne day, And lett heauen stay. Oh, would'st Thou heere still fixe Thy faire abode, My bosome God: What hinders, but my bosome still might be Thy heauen to Thee?
THE WOUNDS OF THE LORD JESUS.
IN CICATRICES DOMINI JESU.
Come braue soldjers, come and see Mighty Loue's artillery. This was the conquering dart; and loe There shines His quiuer, there His bow. These the passiue weapons are, That made great Loue, a man of warre. The quiver that He bore, did bide Soe neare, it prov'd His very side: In it there sate but one sole dart, A peircing one--His peirced heart. His weapons were nor steele, nor brasse, The weapon that He wore, He was. For bow His vnbent hand did serue, Well strung with many a broken nerue. Strange the quiver, bow and dart! A bloody side, and hand, and heart! But now the feild is wonne; and they (The dust of Warre cleane wip'd away) The weapons now of triumph be, That were before of Victorie.
ON YE GUNPOWDER-TREASON.[59]
I sing Impiety beyond a name: Who stiles it any thinge, knowes not the same. Dull, sluggish Ile! what more than lethargy Gripes thy cold limbes soe fast, thou canst not fly, And start from of[f] thy center? hath Heauen's loue Stuft thee soe full with blisse, thou can'st not moue? If soe, oh Neptune, may she farre be throwne By thy kind armes to a kind world vnknowne: Lett her surviue this day, once mock her fate, And shee's an island truely fortunate. Lett not my suppliant breath raise a rude storme To wrack my suite: O keepe Pitty warme In thy cold breast, and yearely on this day Mine eyes a tributary streame shall pay. Dos't thou not see an exhalation Belch'd from the sulph'ry lungs of Phlegeton? A living comet, whose pestiferous breath Adulterates the virgin aire? with death It laboures: stif'led Nature's in a swound, Ready to dropp into a chaos, round About horror's displai'd; It doth portend, That earth a shoure of stones to heauen shall send, And crack the christall globe; the milkly streame Shall in a siluer raine runne out, whose creame Shall choake the gaping earth, wch then shall fry In flames, & of a burning feuer dy. That wonders may in fashion be, not rare, A Winter's thunder with a groane shall scare, And rouze the sleepy ashes of the dead, Making them skip out of their dusty bed. Those twinckling eyes of heauen, wch eu'n now shin'd, Shall with one flash of lightning be struck blind. The sea shall change his youthfull greene, & slide Along the shore in a graue purple tide. It does praesage, that a great Prince shall climbe, And gett a starry throne before his time. To vsher in this shoale of prodigies, Thy infants, Aeolus, will not suffice. Noe, noe, a giant wind, that will not spare To tosse poore men like dust into the aire; Justle downe mountaines: Kings courts shall be sent, Like bandied balles, into the firmament. Atlas shall be tript vpp, Ioue's gate shall feele The weighty rudenes of his boysterous heele. All this it threats, & more: Horror, that flies To th' empyraeum of all miseries. Most tall hyperbole's cannot descry it; Mischeife, that scornes expression should come nigh it. All this it only threats: the meteor ly'd; It was exhal'd, a while it hung, & dy'd. Heauen kickt the monster downe: downe it was throwne, The fall of all things it praesag'd, its oune It quite forgott: the fearfull earth gaue way, And durst not touch it, heere it made noe stay. At last it stopt at Pluto's gloomy porch; He streightway lighted vpp his pitchy torch. Now to those toiling soules it giues its light, Wch had the happines to worke ith' night. They banne the blaze, & curse its curtesy, For lighting them vnto their misery. Till now Hell was imperfect; it did need Some rare choice torture; now 'tis Hell indeed. Then glutt thy dire lampe with the warmest blood, That runnes in violett pipes: none other food It can digest, then watch the wildfire well, Least it breake forth, & burne thy sooty cell.
UPON THE GUNPOWDER-TREASON.
Reach me a quill, pluckt from the flaming wing Of Pluto's Mercury, that I may sing Death to the life. My inke shall be the blood Of Cerberus, or Alecto's viperous brood. Vnmated malice! Oh vnpeer'd despight! Such as the sable pinions of the night Neuer durst hatch before: extracted see The very quintessence of villanie: I feare to name it; least that he, wch heares, Should haue his soule frighted beyond the spheres. Heauen was asham'd, to see our mother Earth Engender with the Night, & teeme a birth Soe foule, one minute's light had it but seene, The fresh face of the morne had blasted beene. Her rosy cheekes you should haue seene noe more Dy'd in vermilion blushes, as before: But in a vaile of clouds mufling her head A solitary life she would haue led. Affrighted Phoebus would haue lost his way, Giving his wanton palfreys leaue to play Olympick games in the' Olympian plaines, His trembling hands loosing the golden raines. The Queene of night gott the greene sicknes then, Sitting soe long at ease in her darke denne, Not daring to peepe forth, least that a stone Should beate her headlong from her jetty throne. Ioue's twinckling tapers, that doe light the world, Had beene puft out, and from their stations hurl'd: Aeol kept in his wrangling sonnes, least they With this grand blast should haue bin blowne away. Amazed Triton, with his shrill alarmes Bad sporting Neptune to pluck in his armes, And leaue embracing of the Isles, least hee Might be an actor in this Tragedy. Nor should wee need thy crisped waues, for wee An Ocean could haue made t' haue drowned thee. Torrents of salt teares from our eyes should runne, And raise a deluge, where the flaming sunne Should coole his fiery wheeles, & neuer sinke Soe low to giue his thirsty stallions drinke; Each soule in sighes had spent its dearest breath, As glad to waite vpon their King in death. Each winged chorister would swan-like sing A mournfull dirge to their deceased king. The painted meddowes would haue laught no more For ioye of their neate coates; but would haue tore Their shaggy locks, their flowry mantles turn'd Into dire sable weeds, & sate, & mourn'd. Each stone had streight a Niobe become, And wept amaine; then rear'd a costly tombe, T' entombe the lab'ring earth. For surely shee Had died just in her deliuery. But when Ioue's winged heralds this espied, Vpp to th' Almighty thunderer they hied, Relating this sad story. Streight way hee The monster crusht, maugre their midwiferie. And may such Pythons neuer liue to see The Light's faire face, but still abortiue bee.
UPON THE GUNPOWDER-TREASON.
Grow plumpe, leane Death; his Holinesse a feast Hath now praepar'd, & you maist be his guest. Come grimme Destruction, & in purple gore Dye seu'n times deeper than they were before Thy scarlet robes: for heere you must not share A common banquett: noe, heere's princely fare. And least thy blood-shott eyes should lead aside This masse of cruelty, to be thy guide Three coleblack sisters, (whose long sutty haire, And greisly visages doe fright the aire; When Night beheld them, shame did almost turne Her sable cheekes into a blushing morne, To see some fowler than herselfe) these stand, Each holding forth to light the aery brand, Whose purer flames tremble to be soe nigh, And in fell hatred burning, angry dy. Sly, lurking treason is his bosome freind, Whom faint, & palefac't Feare doth still attend. These need noe invitation, onely thou Black dismall Horror, come; make perfect now Th' epitome of Hell: oh lett thy pinions Be a gloomy canopy to Pluto's minions. In this infernall Majesty close shrowd Your selues, you Stygian states; a pitchy clowd Shall hang the roome, & for your tapers bright, Sulphureous flames, snatch'd from aeternall night. But rest, affrighted Muse; thy siluer wings May not row neerer to these dusky rings.[60] Cast back some amorous glances on the cates, That heere are dressing by the hasty Fates, Nay stopp thy clowdy eyes, it is not good, To drowne thy selfe in this pure pearly flood. But since they are for fire-workes, rather proue A phenix, & in chastest flames of loue Offer thy selfe a virgin sacrifice To quench the rage of hellish deities. But dares Destruction eate these candid breasts, The Muses, & the Graces sugred neasts? Dares hungry Death snatch of one cherry lipp? Or thirsty Treason offer once to sippe One dropp of this pure nectar, wch doth flow In azure channells warme through mounts of snow? The roses fresh, conserued from the rage, And cruell ravishing of frosty age, Feare is afraid to tast of: only this, He humbly crau'd to banquett on a kisse. Poore meagre horror streightwaies was amaz'd, And in the stead of feeding stood, & gaz'd. Their appetites were gone at th' uery sight; But yet theire eyes surfett with sweet delight. Only the Pope a stomack still could find; But yett they were not powder'd to his mind. Forth-with each god stept from his starry throne, And snatch'd away the banquett; euery one Convey'd his sweet delicious treasury To the close closet of aeternity: Where they will safely keepe it, from the rude, And rugged touch of Pluto's multitude.
=Secular Poetry.=
I.
THE DELIGHTS OF THE MUSES
(1646).
NOTE.
For the title-page of 'The Delights of the Muses' see Note immediately before the original Preface, and our Preface on the classification of the several poems. G.
MUSICK'S DUELL.[61]
Now Westward Sol had spent the richest beams 1 Of Noon's high glory, when hard by the streams Of Tiber, on the sceane of a greene plat, Vnder protection of an oake, there sate A sweet Lute's-master; in whose gentle aires 5 He lost the daye's heat, and his owne hot cares. Close in the covert of the leaves there stood A Nightingale, come from the neighbouring wood: (The sweet inhabitant of each glad tree, Their Muse, their Syren--harmlesse Syren she!) 10 There stood she listning, and did entertaine The musick's soft report, and mold the same In her owne murmures, that what ever mood His curious fingers lent, her voyce made good: The man perceiv'd his rivall, and her art; 15 Dispos'd to give the light-foot lady sport, Awakes his lute, and 'gainst the fight to come Informes it in a sweet praeludium Of closer straines, and ere the warre begin, He lightly skirmishes on every string, 20 Charg'd with a flying touch: and streightway she Carves out her dainty voyce as readily, Into a thousand sweet distinguish'd tones, And reckons up in soft divisions, Quicke volumes of wild notes; to let him know 25 By that shrill taste, she could do something too. His nimble hands' instinct then taught each string A capring cheerefullnesse; and made them sing To their owne dance; now negligently rash He throwes his arme, and with a long drawne dash 30 Blends all together; then distinctly tripps From this to that; then quicke returning skipps And snatches this again, and pauses there. Shee measures every measure, every where Meets art with art; sometimes as if in doubt 35 Not perfect yet, and fearing to be out, Trayles her plaine ditty in one long-spun note, Through the sleeke passage of her open throat, A cleare unwrinckled song; then doth shee point it With tender accents, and severely joynt it 40 By short diminutives, that being rear'd In controverting warbles evenly shar'd, With her sweet selfe shee wrangles. Hee amazed That from so small a channell should be rais'd The torrent of a voyce, whose melody 45 Could melt into such sweet variety, Straines higher yet; that tickled with rare art The tatling strings (each breathing in his part) Most kindly doe fall out; the grumbling base In surly groans disdaines the treble's grace; 50 The high-perch't treble chirps at this, and chides, Vntill his finger (Moderatour) hides And closes the sweet quarrell, rowsing all, Hoarce, shrill at once; as when the trumpets call Hot Mars to th' harvest of Death's field, and woo 55 Men's hearts into their hands: this lesson too Shee gives him back, her supple brest thrills out Sharpe aires, and staggers in a warbling doubt Of dallying sweetnesse, hovers o're her skill, And folds in wav'd notes with a trembling bill 60 The plyant series of her slippery song; Then starts shee suddenly into a throng Of short, thicke sobs, whose thundring volleyes float And roule themselves over her lubrick throat In panting murmurs, 'still'd out of her breast, 65 That ever-bubling spring; the sugred nest Of her delicious soule, that there does lye Bathing in streames of liquid melodie; Musick's best seed-plot, whence in ripen'd aires A golden-headed harvest fairely reares 70 His honey-dropping tops, plow'd by her breath, Which there reciprocally laboureth In that sweet soyle; it seemes a holy quire Founded to th' name of great Apollo's lyre, Whose silver-roofe rings with the sprightly notes 75 Of sweet-lipp'd angel-imps, that swill their throats In creame of morning Helicon, and then Preferre soft-anthems to the eares of men, To woo them from their beds, still murmuring That men can sleepe while they their mattens sing: 80 (Most divine service) whose so early lay, Prevents the eye-lidds of the blushing Day! There you might heare her kindle her soft voyce, In the close murmur of a sparkling noyse, And lay the ground-worke of her hopefull song, 85 Still keeping in the forward streame, so long, Till a sweet whirle-wind (striving to get out) Heaves her soft bosome, wanders round about, And makes a pretty earthquake in her breast, Till the fledg'd notes at length forsake their nest, 90 Fluttering in wanton shoales, and to the sky Wing'd with their owne wild ecchos, pratling fly. Shee opes the floodgate, and lets loose a tide Of streaming sweetnesse, which in state doth ride On the wav'd backe of every swelling straine, 95 Rising and falling in a pompous traine. And while she thus discharges a shrill peale Of flashing aires; she qualifies their zeale With the coole epode of a graver noat, Thus high, thus low, as if her silver throat 100 Would reach the brazen voyce of War's hoarce bird; Her little soule is ravisht: and so pour'd Into loose extasies, that she is plac't Above her selfe, Musick's Enthusiast. Shame now and anger mixt a double staine 105 In the Musitian's face; yet once againe (Mistresse) I come; now reach a straine my lute Above her mocke, or be for ever mute; Or tune a song of victory to me, Or to thy selfe, sing thine own obsequie: 110 So said, his hands sprightly as fire, he flings And with a quavering coynesse tasts the strings. The sweet-lip't sisters, musically frighted, Singing their feares, are fearefully delighted, Trembling as when Appolo's golden haires 115 Are fan'd and frizled, in the wanton ayres Of his own breath: which marryed to his lyre Doth tune the spheares, and make Heaven's selfe looke higher. From this to that, from that to this he flyes. Feeles Musick's pulse in all her arteryes; 120 Caught in a net which there Apollo spreads, His fingers struggle with the vocall threads. Following those little rills, he sinkes into A sea of Helicon; his hand does goe Those pathes of sweetnesse which with nectar drop, 125 Softer than that which pants in Hebe's cup. The humourous strings expound his learned touch, By various glosses; now they seeme to grutch, And murmur in a buzzing dinne, then gingle In shrill-tongu'd accents: striving to be single. 130 Every smooth turne, every delicious stroake Gives life to some new grace; thus doth h' invoke Sweetnesse by all her names; thus, bravely thus (Fraught with a fury so harmonious) The lute's light genius now does proudly rise, 135 Heav'd on the surges of swolne rapsodyes, Whose flourish (meteor-like) doth curle the aire With flash of high-borne fancyes: here and there Dancing in lofty measures, and anon Creeps on the soft touch of a tender tone; 140 Whose trembling murmurs melting in wild aires Runs to and fro, complaining his sweet cares, Because those pretious mysteryes that dwell In Musick's ravish't soule, he dares not tell, But whisper to the world: thus doe they vary 145 Each string his note, as if they meant to carry Their Master's blest soule (snatcht out at his eares By a strong extasy) through all the spheares Of Musick's heaven; and seat it there on high In th' empyraeum of pure harmony. 150 At length (after so long, so loud a strife Of all the strings, still breathing the best life Of blest variety, attending on His fingers fairest revolution In many a sweet rise, many as sweet a fall) 155 A full-mouth'd diapason swallowes all. This done, he lists what she would say to this, And she, (although her breath's late exercise Had dealt too roughly with her tender throate,) Yet summons all her sweet powers for a noate. 160 Alas! in vaine! for while (sweet soule!) she tryes To measure all those wild diversities Of chatt'ring strings, by the small size of one Poore simple voyce, rais'd in a naturall tone; She failes, and failing grieves, and grieving dyes. 165 She dyes: and leaves her life the Victor's prise, Falling upon his lute: O, fit to have (That liv'd so sweetly) dead, so sweet a grave!
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
In our Essay we give the original Latin of this very remarkable poem, that the student may see how CRASHAW has ennobled and transfigured STRADA. Still further to show how much we owe to our Poet, I print here (_a_) An anonymous translation, which I discovered at the British Museum in Additional MSS. 19.268; never before printed. (_b_) Sir FRANCIS WORTLEY'S translation from his 'Characters and Elegies' (1646). In the former I have been obliged to leave one or two words unfilled-in as illegible in the MS.
(_a_) _The Musicke Warre between ye Fidler and the Nightingale._
Nowe had greate Sol ye middle orbe forsooke When as a fidler by a slidinge brooke With shadie bowers was guarded from ye aire And on his fidle plaid away his care. A nightingale hid in the leaues there stood The muse and harmeles Syren of the wood; Shee snatcht ye soundes and with an echo prates: What his hand playde her voice reiterates. Perceavinge how ye listninge bird did sit Ye fidler faine would make some sport with it, And neately stroke ye lute; then she began And through those notes ran glib division; Then with quicke hand he strikes ye tremblinge strings, Now with a skilfull negligence he flings His carelesse armes, then softly playes his part: Then shee begins and answers art with art, And now as if vncertaine how to singe Lengthens her notes and choisest art doth bringe, And interminglinge softer notes with shrill Daintily quavers through her trembling bill. Ye fidler wonders such melodious notes Shold haue proceedinges from soe slender throats; Tryes her againe, then loudly spoke ye.... Sometimes graue were ye tones, sometimes.... Then high, then lowe againe, yn sweetly iarrs Just like a trumpet callinge men to warrs. Thus did ye dainty Philomela doe And with hoarse voice sange an alarme too. The fidler blusht, and al in ragg [_i.e._ rage] he went About to breake his conquered instrument, But yet suspectinge lest ambitious shee Shold to the woods warble her victory; Strikes with inimitable blowes And flies through all the strings, now these, now those, Then tryes the notes, labours in each strayne And then expects if shee replyed agayne. The poore harmonious bird now almost dombe, But impatient, to be overcome Calls her sweet strength together all in vayne, For while shee thinkes to imitate each strayne In pure and natiue language, in this strife And dayntie musicke warre shee left her life, And yeldinge to the gladsome conquerour Falls in his fidle: a fit sepulchere.
(_b_) _From 'Characters and Elegies.' By Francis Wortley, knight and baronet: 1646_ (p. 66). _A Paraphrase upon the Verses which Famianus Strada made of the Lutanist and Philomell in Contestation._
'When past the middle orbe the parching sun Had downward nearer our horizon run A Lutenist neare Tiber's streames had found Where the eccho did resound. Under a holme a shady bower he made To ease his cares, his severall phancies play'd; The philomell no sooner did the musicke hear But straight-wayes she drew neare. The harmlesse Syren, musicke of the wood, Hid in a leavy-bush, she hearking stood, She ruminates upon the ayers he plaid, And to him answers made. With her shirl voyce doth all his paines requite Lost not one note, but to his play sung right; Well pleased to heare her skil, and envy, he Tryes his variety. And dares her with his severall notes, runs throw Even all the strains his skill could reach unto: A thousand wayes he tryes: she answers all, And for new straynes dares call. He could not touch a string in such a straine, To which she warble and not sung it plaine; His fingers could not reach to greater choice, Then she did with her voyce. The Lutenist admired her narrow throat Could reach so high or fall to any note: But that which he did thinke in her most strange, She instantly could change. Or sharpe or flat, or meane, or quicke, or slow, What ere he plaid, she the like skill would show: And if he inward did his notes recall, She answer made to all. Th' inraged Lutenist, he blusht for shame That he could not this weake corrivall tame: If thou canst answer this I'le breake my lute, And yeild in the dispute. He said no more, but aimes at such a height Of skill, he thought she could not imitate: He shows the utmost cunning of his hand And all he could command. He tryes his strength, his active fingers flye To every string and stop, now low, now high, And higher yet he multiplyes his skill, Then doth his chorus fill. Then he expecting stands to try if she His envy late would yeeld the victory: She would not yeeld, but summons all her force Though tyred out and hoarse. She strives with various strings the lute's bast chest The spirit of man, one narrow throat and chest: Unequal matches, yet she's pleased that she Concludes victoriously. Her spirit was such she would not live to heare The Lutenist bestow on her a jeere, But broken-hearted fall upon the tombe She choose the sweet lute's wombe. The warbling lutes doe yet their triumphs tell (With mournfull accents) of the philomell, And have usurpt the title ever since, Of harmony the prince. The morall this, by emulation wee May much improve both art and industry, Though she deserve the name of Philomell Yet men must her excell.'
A third (anonymous) translation, with the Latin on the opposite pages, I came on in LANSDOWNE MSS. 3910, Pl. lxvi. from which extracts will be found in our Essay.
In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is 'Fidicinis et Philomelae Bellum Musicum. R. CR.' It reads in line 79 'whence' for 'where;' adopted: line 125, 'pathes' for 'parts;' adopted: other variations only orthographic, as is the case with the different editions. I note these: in 1670, line 83 reads 'might you:' line 99, 1646 misprints 'grave:' line 156, our text misprints 'full-mouth,' and so 1646; I adopt 'full-mouth'd' from 1670 and SANCROFT MS. G.
THE PRAISE OF THE SPRING:
OUT OF VIRGIL.[62]
All trees, all leavy groves confesse the Spring 1 Their gentlest friend; then, then the lands begin To swell with forward pride, and feed desire To generation; Heaven's Almighty Sire Melts on the bosome of His love, and powres 5 Himselfe into her lap in fruitfull showers. And by a soft insinuation, mixt With Earth's large masse, doth cherish and assist Her weake conceptions. No lone shade but rings With chatring birds' delicious murmurings; 10 Then Venus' mild instinct (at set times) yields The herds to kindly meetings, then the fields (Quick with warme Zephyre's lively breath) lay forth Their pregnant bosomes in a fragrant birth. Each body's plump and jucy, all things full 15 Of supple moisture: no coy twig but will Trust his beloved blossome to the sun (Growne lusty now): no vine so weake and young That feares the foule-mouth'd Auster or those stormes That the Southwest-wind hurries in his armes, 20 But hasts her forward blossomes, and layes out Freely layes out her leaves: nor doe I doubt But when the world first out of chaos sprang So smil'd the dayes, and so the tenor ran Of their felicity. A Spring was there, 25 An everlasting Spring, the jolly yeare Led round in his great circle; no wind's breath As then did smell of Winter or of Death. When Life's sweet light first shone on beasts, and when From their hard mother Earth, sprang hardy men, 30 When beasts tooke up their lodging in the Wood, Starres in their higher chambers: never cou'd The tender growth of things endure the sence Of such a change, but that the Heav'ns indulgence Kindly supplyes sick Nature, and doth mold 35 A sweetly-temper'd meane, nor hot nor cold.
WITH A PICTURE SENT TO A FRIEND.[63]
I paint so ill, my peece had need to be 1 Painted againe by some good poesie. I write so ill, my slender line is scarce So much as th' picture of a well-lim'd verse: Yet may the love I send be true, though I 5 Send not true picture, nor true poesie. Both which away, I should not need to feare, My love, or feign'd or painted should appeare.
IN PRAISE OF LESSIUS'S RULE OF HEALTH.[64]
Goe now, with some dareing drugg, 1 Baite thy disease, and while they tugg, Thou, to maintaine their cruell strife Spend the deare treasure of thy life: Goe take physicke, doat upon 5 Some big-nam'd composition,-- The oraculous doctors' mistick bills, Certain hard words made into pills; And what at length shalt get by these? Onely a costlyer disease. 10 Goe poore man, thinke what shall bee Remedie 'gainst thy remedie. That which makes us have no need Of phisick, that's phisick indeed. Heark hither, Reader: would'st thou see 15 Nature her own physician be? Would'st see a man all his own wealth, His own musick, his own health? A man, whose sober soul can tell How to wear her garments well? 20 Her garments, that upon her sit, (As garments should do) close and fit? A well-clothed soul, that's not opprest Nor choked with what she should be drest? Whose soul's sheath'd in a crystall shrine, 25 Through which all her bright features shine? As when a piece of wanton lawn, A thin aerial vail is drawn, O're Beauty's face; seeming to hide, More sweetly shows the blushing bride: 30 A soul, whose intellectuall beams No mists do mask, no lazie steams? A happie soul, that all the way To Heav'n, hath a Summer's day? Would'st see a man whose well-warm'd bloud 35 Bathes him in a genuine floud? A man, whose tuned humours be A set of rarest harmonie? Would'st see blithe looks, fresh cheeks beguile Age? Would'st see December smile? 40 Would'st see a nest of roses grow In a bed of reverend snow? Warm thoughts, free spirits, flattering Winter's self into a Spring? In summe, would'st see a man that can 45 Live to be old, and still a man? Whose latest, and most leaden houres, Fall with soft wings, stuck with soft flowres; And when Life's sweet fable ends, His soul and bodie part like friends: 50 No quarrels, murmures, no delay: A kisse, a sigh, and so away? This rare one, Reader, would'st thou see, Heark hither: and thyself be he.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
Besides the reprint of 1646 as _supra_, this poem appeared in 1648 (pp. 8, 9), 1652 (pp. 126-8), where it is entitled 'Temperance. Of the Cheap Physitian, vpon the Translation of Lessivs (pp. 126-8):' and 1670 (pp. 108-9 and pp. 207-8, being inadvertently printed twice). These variations are noticeable:
Line 1, in 1648 and 1652, 'Goe now and with....'
" 2, in 1670, 'the' for 'thy;' and TURNBULL, as usual, repeats the error.
Line 3, in 1648 'pretious' for 'cruel:' so 1670 in 2d copy.
" 9, ib. 'last' for 'length,' and 1670 'gaine' for 'get' in 2d copy.
Lines 11, 12, this couplet is inadvertently dropped in 1648. I adopt ''gainst' for 'against' from SANCROFT MS. in line 12.
Line 15, ib. 'wilt' for 'wouldst.'
" 18, 'physick' in 1646, 1648 and 1670 (1st copy); but 'musick' is assuredly the finer reading, as in Hygiasticon and 1670 (in 2d copy). Cf. lines 19, 20, onward, which show that 'music' was intended.
Line 25, in all the three editions 'a' for 'whose:' in 1670 (2d copy) 'A soul sheath'd....'
Line 34, in 1646 'hath' for 'rides in,' and so in 1670 (1st copy): 'hath' seems the simpler and better.
Line 35, 1646 and 1670 misinsert 'thou' before 'see.'
" 38, 'set' for 'seat' in the three editions (1670, 1st copy); adopted.
Line 41, in 1648 'Would'st see nests of new roses grow:' so 1670 (2d copy).
Line 46, 1646 and 1670 end here.
Leonard Lessius was a learned Jesuit, born 1st October 1554, and died 15th January 1623-4. He was professor of theology in the University of Louvaine. His 'Hygiasticon, seu vera ratio valetudinis bonae et vitae' is still readable and quick. G.
THE BEGINNING OF HELIODORUS.[65]
The smiling Morne had newly wak't the Day, 1 And tipt the mountaines with a tender ray: When on a hill (whose high imperious brow Lookes downe, and sees the humble Nile below Licke his proud feet, and haste into the seas 5 Through the great mouth that's nam'd from Hercules) A band of men, rough as the armes they wore Look't round, first to the sea, then to the shore. The shore that shewed them, what the sea deny'd, Hope of a prey. There to the maine-land ty'd 10 A ship they saw; no men she had, yet prest Appear'd with other lading, for her brest Deep in the groaning waters wallowed Vp to the third ring: o're the shore was spread Death's purple triumph; on the blushing ground 15 Life's late forsaken houses all lay drown'd In their owne blood's deare deluge: some new dead; Some panting in their yet warme ruines bled, While their affrighted soules, now wing'd for flight Lent them the last flash of her glimmering light. 20 Those yet fresh streames which crawled every where Shew'd that sterne Warre had newly bath'd him there. Nor did the face of this disaster show Markes of a fight alone, but feasting too: A miserable and a monstruous feast, 25 Where hungry Warre had made himself a guest: And comming late had eat up guests and all, Who prov'd the feast to their owne funerall &c.
CUPID'S CRYER:
OUT OF THE GREEKE.[66]
Love is lost, nor can his mother 1 Her little fugitive discover: She seekes, she sighes, but no where spyes him; Love is lost: and thus shee cryes him. O yes! if any happy eye, 5 This roaving wanton shall descry; Let the finder surely know Mine is the wagge; 'tis I that owe The winged wand'rer; and that none May thinke his labour vainely gone, 10 The glad descryer shall not misse, To tast the nectar of a kisse From Venus lipps. But as for him That brings him to me, he shall swim In riper joyes: more shall be his 15 (Venus assures him) than a kisse. But lest your eye discerning slide, These markes may be your judgement's guide; His skin as with a fiery blushing High-colour'd is; his eyes still flushing 20 With nimble flames; and though his mind Be ne're so curst, his tongue is kind: For never were his words in ought Found the pure issue of his thought. The working bees' soft melting gold, 25 That which their waxen mines enfold, Flow not so sweet as doe the tones Of his tun'd accents; but if once His anger kindle, presently It boyles out into cruelty, 30 And fraud: he makes poor mortalls' hurts The objects of his cruell sports. With dainty curles his froward face Is crown'd about: But O what place, What farthest nooke of lowest Hell 35 Feeles not the strength, the reaching spell Of his small hand? Yet not so small As 'tis powerfull therewithall. Though bare his skin, his mind he covers, And like a saucy bird he hovers 40 With wanton wing, now here, now there, 'Bout men and women, nor will spare Till at length he perching rest, In the closet of their brest. His weapon is a little bow, 45 Yet such a one as--Jove knows how-- Ne're suffred, yet his little arrow, Of Heaven's high'st arches to fall narrow. The gold that on his quiver smiles, Deceives men's feares with flattering wiles. 50 But O---too well my wounds can tell-- With bitter shafts 'tis sauc't too well. He is all cruell, cruell all, His torch imperious though but small Makes the sunne--of flames the sire-- 55 Worse than sun-burnt in his fire. Wheresoe're you chance to find him Ceaze him, bring him--but first bind him-- Pitty not him, but feare thy selfe Though thou see the crafty elfe, 60 Tell down his silver-drops unto thee: They'r counterfeit, and will undoe thee. With baited smiles if he display His fawning cheeks, looke not that way. If he offer sugred kisses, 65 Start, and say, the serpent hisses. Draw him, drag him, though he pray Wooe, intreat, and crying say Prethee, sweet, now let me go, Here's my quiver, shafts and bow, 70 I'le give thee all, take all; take heed Lest his kindnesse make thee bleed. What e're it be Loue offers, still presume That though it shines, 'tis fire and will consume.
VPON BISHOP ANDREWS' PICTURE BEFORE HIS SERMONS.[67]
This reverend shadow cast that setting sun, 1 Whose glorious course through our horrizon run, Left the dimme face of this dull hemispheare, All one great eye, all drown'd in one great teare. Whose faire, illustrious soule, led his free thought 5 Through Learning's vniverse, and (vainly) sought Room for her spatious selfe, untill at length Shee found the way home, with an holy strength; Snatch't her self hence to Heaven: fill'd a bright place, 'Mongst those immortall fires, and on the face 10 Of her great Maker fixt her flaming eye, There still to read true, pure divinity. And now that grave aspect hath deign'd to shrinke Into this lesse appearance: If you thinke 'Tis but a dead face, Art doth here bequeath: 15 Looke on the following leaves, and see him breath.
VPON THE DEATH OF A GENTLEMAN.[68]
Faithlesse and fond Mortality! 1 Who will ever credit thee? Fond, and faithlesse thing! that thus, In our best hopes beguilest us. What a reckoning hast thou made, 5 Of the hopes in him we laid! For life by volumes lengthened, A line or two to speake him dead. For the laurell in his verse, The sullen cypresse o're his herse _crape_ 10 For soe many hoped yeares Of fruit, soe many fruitles teares: For a silver-crowned head A durty pillow in Death's bed. For so deare, so deep a trust, 15 Sad requitall, thus much dust! Now though the blow that snatch him hence, Stopt the mouth of Eloquence: Though shee be dumbe e're since his death, Not us'd to speake but in his breath; 20 Leaving his death vngarnished Therefore, because hee is dead Yet if at least shee not denyes, The sad language of our eyes, Wee are contented: for then this 25 Language none more fluent is. Nothing speakes our griefe so well As to speak nothing. Come then tell Thy mind in teares who e're thou be, That ow'st a name to misery. 30 Eyes are vocall, teares have tongues, And there be words not made with lungs; Sententious showres: O let them fall, Their cadence is rhetoricall. Here's a theame will drinke th' expence, 35 Of all thy watry eloquence. Weepe then! onely be exprest Thus much, 'he's dead:' and weep the rest.
VPON THE DEATH OF MR. HERRYS.[69]
A plant of noble stemme, forward and faire, 1 As ever whisper'd to the morning aire, Thriv'd in these happie grounds; the Earth's just pride; Whose rising glories made such haste to hide His head in cloudes, as if in him alone 5 Impatient Nature had taught motion To start from Time, and cheerfully to fly Before, and seize upon Maturity. Thus grew this gratious tree, in whose sweet shade The sunne himselfe oft wisht to sit, and made 10 The morning Muses perch like birds, and sing Among his branches: yea, and vow'd to bring His owne delicious phoenix from the blest Arabia, there to build her virgin nest, To hatch her selfe in; 'mongst his leaves, the Day 15 Fresh from the rosie East, rejoyc't to play; To them shee gave the first and fairest beame That waited on her birth: she gave to them The purest pearles, that wept her evening death; The balmy Zephirus got so sweet a breath 20 By often kissing them. And now begun Glad Time to ripen Expectation: The timorous maiden-blossomes on each bough Peept forth from their first blushes; so that now A thousand ruddy hopes smil'd in each bud, 25 And flatter'd every greedy eye that stood Fixt in delight, as if already there Those rare fruits dangled, whence the golden Yeare His crowne expected: when, (O Fate! O Time! That seldome lett'st a blushing youthfull prime 30 Hide his hot beames in shade of silver age, So rare is hoary Vertue) the dire rage Of a mad storme these bloomy joyes all tore, Ravisht the maiden blossoms, and downe bore The trunke. Yet in this ground his pretious root 35 Still lives, which when weake Time shall be pour'd out Into Eternity, and circular joyes Dance in an endlesse round, again shall rise The faire son of an ever-youthfull Spring, To be a shade for angels while they sing; 40 Meane while who e're thou art that passest here, O doe thou water it with one kind teare.
VPON THE DEATH OF THE MOST DESIRED MR. HERRYS.[70]
Death, what dost? O, hold thy blow, 1 What thou dost thou dost not know. Death, thou must not here be cruell, This is Nature's choycest iewell: This is hee, in whose rare frame 5 Nature labour'd for a name: And meant to leave his pretious feature The patterne of a perfect creature. Ioy of Goodnesse, love of Art, Vertue weares him next her heart. 10 Him the Muses love to follow, Him they call their vice-Apollo. Apollo, golden though thou bee, Th' art not fairer than is hee, Nor more lovely lift'st thy head 15 (Blushing) from thine Easterne bed. The glories of thy youth ne're knew Brighter hopes than his can shew. Why then should it e're be seen That his should fade, while thine is green? 20 And wilt thou (O, cruell boast!) Put poore Nature to such cost? O, twill undoe our common mother, To be at charge of such another. What? thinke me to no other end 25 Gracious heavens do use to send Earth her best perfection, But to vanish, and be gone? Therefore onely given to day To-morrow to be snatch't away? 30 I've seen indeed the hopefull bud Of a ruddy rose that stood Blushing, to behold the ray Of the new-saluted Day: (His tender toppe not fully spread) 35 The sweet dash of a shower new shead, Invited him, no more to hide Within himselfe the purple pride Of his forward flower; when lo, While he sweetly 'gan to show His swelling gloryes, Auster spide him, 40 Cruell Auster thither hy'd him, And with the rush of one rude blast, Sham'd not, spitefully to wast All his leaves, so fresh, so sweet, And lay them trembling at his feet. 45 I've seen the Morning's lovely ray Hover o're the new-borne Day, With rosie wings so richly bright, As if she scorn'd to thinke of Night; When a rugged storme, whose scowle 50 Made heaven's radiant face looke foule Call'd for an untimely night, To blot the newly-blossom'd light. But were the rose's blush so rare, Were the Morning's smile so faire, 55 As is he, nor cloud, nor wind, But would be courteous, would be kind. Spare him Death, ah! spare him then, Spare the sweetest among men: And let not Pitty, with her teares 60 Keepe such distance from thine eares. But O, thou wilt not, can'st not spare, Haste hath never time to heare. Therefore if he needs must go, And the Fates will have it so; 65 Softly may he be possest Of his monumentall rest. Safe, thou darke home of the dead, Safe, O hide his loved head: Keepe him close, close in thine armes, 70 Seal'd vpp with a thousand charmes. For Pittie's sake, O, hide him quite From his mother Nature's sight; Lest for griefe his losse may move All her births abortive proue. 75
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
See our Essay for notice of 'Mr. Herrys.' In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is 'An Elegie on Mr. Herris. R. CR.' It offers these variations: lines 1 and 2, 'doest:' line 18, 'his' for 'he;' adopted: line 29, 'given' for 'give;' adopted: line 36, 'new' for 'now;' adopted from 1648: line 50, the MS. reads 'rugged' for 'ruddy;' adopted: line 58, 'ah' for 'O;' adopted: line 60, 'And let:' lines 70-71 added from the MS., where in the margin is written 'not printed.' G.
ANOTHER.[71]
If ever Pitty were acquainted 1 With sterne Death; if e're he fainted, Or forgot the cruell vigour Of an adamantine rigour; Here, O, here we should have knowne it, 5 Here, or no where, hee'd have showne it. For hee, whose pretious memory Bathes in teares of every eye; Hee, to whom our Sorrow brings All the streames of all her springs; 10 Was so rich in grace, and nature, In all the gifts that blesse a creature; The fresh hopes of his lovely youth Flourish't in so faire a growth; So sweet the temple was, that shrin'd 15 The sacred sweetnesse of his mind; That could the Fates know to relent, Could they know what mercy meant, Or had ever learnt to beare The soft tincture of a teare; 20 Teares would now have flow'd so deepe, As might have taught Griefe how to weepe. Now all their steely operation Would quite have lost the cruell fashion. Sicknesse would have gladly been 25 Sick himselfe to have sav'd him; And his feaver wish'd to prove, Burning onely in his love. Him when Wrath it selfe had seen, Wrath it selfe had lost his spleen. 30 Grim Destruction here amaz'd, In stead of striking, would have gaz'd. Even the iron-pointed pen, That notes the tragick doomes of men, Wet with teares, 'still'd from the eyes 35 Of the flinty Destinies, Would have learn't a softer style, And have been asham'd to spoyle His live's sweet story, by the hast Of a cruell stop, ill plac't. 40 In the darke volume of our fate, Whence each lease of life hath date, Where in sad particulars The totall summe of man appeares, And the short clause of mortall breath, 45 Bound in the period of Death: In all the booke if any where Such a tearme as this, 'Spare here,' Could been found, 'twould have been read, Writ in white letters o're his head: 50 Or close unto his name annext, The faire glosse of a fairer text. In briefe, if any one were free Hee was that one, and onely hee. But he, alas! even hee is dead, 55 And our hope's faire harvest spread In the dust. Pitty, now spend All the teares that Griefe can lend. Sad Mortality may hide In his ashes all her pride; 60 With this inscription o're his head, 'All hope of never dying here is dead.'
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS
The SANCROFT MS. furnishes these variations: line 1, 'was:' line 26, 't' have:' line 34, 'quotes' for 'notes:' l. 42, 'lease' for 'leafe;' adopted: line 49 omits rightly the first 'have' and spells 'bin;' the former adopted: line 50, 'wrote:' line 62, 'is' for 'lyes;' adopted: line 23, 'steely' = hard as steel, or, as we say, iron-hearted. The SANCROFT MS. writes the two poems as one. G.
HIS EPITAPH.[72]
Passenger, who e're thou art 1 Stay a while, and let thy heart Take acquaintance of this stone, Before thou passest further on. This stone will tell thee, that beneath, 5 Is entomb'd the crime of Death; The ripe endowments of whose mind Left his yeares so much behind, That numbring of his vertues' praise, Death lost the reckoning of his dayes; 10 And believing what they told, Imagin'd him exceeding old. In him Perfection did set forth The strength of her united worth. Him his wisdome's pregnant growth 15 Made so reverend, even in youth, That in the center of his brest (Sweet as is the phoenix' nest) Every reconciled Grace Had their generall meeting-place. 20 In him Goodnesse joy'd to see Learning learne Humility. The splendor of his birth and blood Was but the glosse of his owne good. The flourish of his sober youth 25 Was the pride of naked truth. In composure of his face, Liv'd a faire, but manly grace. His mouth was Rhetorick's best mold, His tongue the touchstone of her gold. 30 What word so e're his breath kept warme, Was no word now but a charme: For all persuasive Graces thence Suck't their sweetest influence. His vertue that within had root, 35 Could not chuse but shine without. And th' heart-bred lustre of his worth, At each corner peeping forth, Pointed him out in all his wayes, Circled round in his owne rayes: 40 That to his sweetnesse, all men's eyes Were vow'd Love's flaming sacrifice. Him while fresh and fragrant Time Cherisht in his golden prime; E're Hebe's hand had overlaid 45 His smooth cheekes with a downy shade; The rush of Death's unruly wave, Swept him off into his grave. Enough, now (if thou canst) passe on, For now (alas!) not in this stone 50 (Passenger who e're thou art) Is he entomb'd, but in thy heart.
AN EPITAPH VPON A YOVNG MARRIED COVPLE
DEAD AND BVRYED TOGETHER.[73]
To these, whom Death again did wed, 1 This grave's their second marriage-bed; For though the hand of Fate could force 'Twixt sovl and body, a diuorce, It could not sunder man and wife, 5 'Cause they both liued but one life. Peace, good Reader, Doe not weep. Peace, the louers are asleep. They, sweet turtles, folded ly In the last knott that Loue could ty. 10 And though they ly as they were dead, Their pillow stone, their sheetes of lead; (Pillow hard, and sheetes not warm) Loue made the bed; they'l take no harm; Let them sleep: let them sleep on, 15 Till this stormy night be gone, And the aeternall morrow dawn; Then the curtaines will be drawn And they wake into a light, Whose Day shall neuer sleepe in Night. 20
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is 'Epitaphium Conjugum vna mortuor. et sepultor. R. CR.' It was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (p. 26), where it is entitled as _supra_, and 1670 (p. 95). Our text is that of 1648, which yields the five lines (11-14), and which ELLIS in his 'Specimens' (iii. 208, 1845) introduced from a MS. copy, but as doubtful from not having appeared in any of the editions; a mistake on his part, as the lines appear in 1648 and 1652. His note is, nevertheless, 'The lines included in brackets are in _no printed edition_: they were found in a MS. copy, and are perhaps not Crashaw's.' As usual, TURNBULL overlooked them. I add a few slight various readings from 1646.
Line 2, 'the.'
" 5, 'sever.'
" 6, 'Because they both liv'd but one life.'
" 10, I accept 'that' in 1646 and SANCROFT MS. as it is confirmed by HARLEIAN MS. 6917-18, as before.
Line 17, I adopt 'And' for 'Till' from 1648.
" 19, 'waken with that Light,' and so SANCROFT MS.: 1648 reads 'And they wake into that Light:' HARLEIAN MS. as before, 'And they waken with.'
Line 20, 'sleep' for 'dy,' which I adopt as agreeing with the 'wake,' and as being confirmed by HARLEIAN MS. as before. G.
DEATH'S LECTVRE AND THE FVNERAL OF A YOVNG GENTLEMAN.[74]
Dear reliques of a dislodg'd sovl, whose lack 1 Makes many a mourning paper put on black! O stay a while, ere thou draw in thy head And wind thy self vp close in thy cold bed. Stay but a little while, vntill I call 5 A summon's worthy of thy funerall. Come then, Youth, Beavty, Blood! all ye soft powres, Whose sylken flatteryes swell a few fond howres Into a false aeternity. Come man; Hyperbolized nothing! know thy span; 10 Take thine own measure here, down, down, and bow Before thy self in thine idaea; thou Huge emptynes! contract thy bulke; and shrinke All thy wild circle to a point. O sink Lower and lower yet; till thy leane size 15 Call Heaun to look on thee with narrow eyes. Lesser and lesser yet; till thou begin To show a face, fitt to confesse thy kin, Thy neighbourhood to Nothing! Proud lookes, and lofty eyliddes, here putt on 20 Your selues in your vnfaign'd reflexion; Here, gallant ladyes! this vnpartiall glasse (Through all your painting) showes you your true face. These death-seal'd lippes are they dare giue the ly To the lowd boasts of poor Mortality; 25 These curtain'd windows, this retired eye Outstares the liddes of larg-look't Tyranny. This posture is the braue one, this that lyes Thus low, stands vp (me thinkes) thus and defies The World. All-daring dust and ashes! only you 30 Of all interpreters read Nature true.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
These various readings are worthy of record:
Line 7 in our text (1652) is misprinted as two lines, the first ending with 'blood,' a repeated blunder of the Paris printer. It reads also 'the' for 'ye' of 1646. I adopt the latter. I have also cancelled 'and' before 'blood' as a misprint.
Line 8 in 1652 is misprinted 'svlken' for 'sylken.'
" 12, ib. 'thy self,' and so in 1648 and 1670: 'bulke' from 1646 is preferable, and so adopted.
Line 15, 1646 has 'small' for 'lean,' which is inferior.
" 16, our text (1652) misspells 'norrow.'
" 19, in 1646 the readings here are,
'Thy neighbourhood to nothing I here put on Thy selfe in this unfeign'd reflection.'
1648 and our text as given. 'Nothing' is intended to rhyme with 'kin' and 'begin,' and so to form a triplet.
Line 23, our text (1652), 1648 and 1670 read 'Though ye be painted:' 1646 reads 'Through all your painting,' which is much more powerful, and therefore adopted by us. It reminds us (from line 22, 'gallant ladyes') of Hamlet's apostrophe to the skull of poor Yorick.
Line 25, 1646 reads poorly,
'To the proud hopes of poor Mortality.'
" 26, in 1646 reads curiously, 'this selfe-prison'd eye.' G.
AN EPITAPH VPON DOCTOR BROOKE.[75]
A Brooke, whose streame so great, so good, 1 Was lov'd, was honour'd, as a flood: Whose bankes the Muses dwelt upon, More than their owne Helicon; Here at length, hath gladly found 5 A quiet passage under ground; Meane while his loved bankes, now dry The Muses with their teares supply.
ON A FOULE MORNING, BEING THEN TO TAKE A JOURNEY.[76]
Where art thou Sol, while thus the blind-fold Day 1 Staggers out of the East, loses her way Stumbling on Night? Rouze thee illustrious youth, And let no dull mists choake thy Light's faire growth. Point here thy beames: O glance on yonder flocks, 5 And make their fleeces golden as thy locks. Vnfold thy faire front, and there shall appeare Full glory, flaming in her owne free spheare. Gladnesse shall cloath the Earth, we will instile The face of things, an universall smile. 10 Say to the sullen Morne, thou com'st to court her; And wilt command proud Zephirus to sport her With wanton gales: his balmy breath shall licke The tender drops which tremble on her cheeke; Which rarified, and in a gentle raine 15 On those delicious bankes distill'd againe, Shall rise in a sweet Harvest, which discloses Two ever-blushing bed[s] of new-borne roses. Hee'l fan her bright locks, teaching them to flow, And friske in curl'd maeanders: hee will throw 20 A fragrant breath suckt from the spicy nest O' th' pretious phoenix, warme upon her breast. Hee with a dainty and soft hand will trim And brush her azure mantle, which shall swim In silken volumes; wheresoe're shee'l tread, 25 Bright clouds like golden fleeces shall be spread. Rise then (faire blew-ey'd maid!) rise and discover Thy silver brow, and meet thy golden lover. See how hee runs, with what a hasty flight, Into thy bosome, bath'd with liquid light. 30 Fly, fly prophane fogs, farre hence fly away, Taint not the pure streames of the springing Day, With your dull influence; it is for you To sit and scoule upon Night's heavy brow, Not on the fresh cheekes of the virgin Morne, 35 Where nought but smiles, and ruddy joyes are worne. Fly then, and doe not thinke with her to stay; Let it suffice, shee'l weare no maske to day.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
In the SANCROFT MS. this is headed 'An Invitation to faire weather. In itinere adurgeretur matutinum coelum tali carmine invitabatur serenitas. R. CR.' In line 12 the MS. reads 'smooth' for 'proud' (TURNBULL here, after 1670, as usual misreads 'demand' for 'command'): line 18 corrects the misreading of all the editions, which is 'To every blushing...:' line 23 reads 'soft and dainty:' line 36, 'is' for 'are:' other orthographic differences only.
The opening lines of this poem seem to be adapted from remembrance of the Friar's in _Romeo and Juliet_:
'The grey-eyed Morn smiles on the frowning Night ... And flecked Darkness like a drunkard reels From forth Day's path and Titan's burning wheels.' (ii. 3.)
Line 4, in HARLEIAN MS. 6917-18 reads, as I have adopted, 'thy' for 'the.'
Line 5, ib. 'on yond faire.'
" 7, ib. 'Unfold thy front and then....'
" 9, instile is = instill, used in Latinate sense of drop into or upon: HARLEIAN MS., as before, is 'enstile.'
Line 14, HARLEIAN MS., as before, 'thy' for 'her.'
" 16, ib. 'these.'
" 17-18, ib.
... 'and disclose ... the new-born rose.'
See our Essay for critical remarks. G.
TO THE MORNING:
SATISFACTION FOR SLEEPE.[77]
What succour can I hope my Muse shall send 1 Whose drowsinesse hath wrong'd the Muses' friend? What hope, Aurora, to propitiate thee, Vnlesse the Muse sing my apologie? O in that morning of my shame! when I 5 Lay folded up in Sleepe's captivity, How at the sight did'st thou draw back thine eyes, Into thy modest veyle? how didst thou rise Twice dy'd in thine owne blushes! and did'st run To draw the curtaines, and awake the sun! 10 Who, rowzing his illustrious tresses, came, And seeing the loath'd object, hid for shame His head in thy faire bosome, and still hides Mee from his patronage; I pray, he chides: And pointing to dull Morpheus, bids me take 15 My owne Apollo, try if I can make His Lethe be my Helicon: and see If Morpheus have a Muse to wait on mee. Hence 'tis, my humble fancie finds no wings, No nimble rapture starts to Heaven, and brings 20 Enthusiasticke flames, such as can give Marrow to my plumpe genius, make it live Drest in the glorious madnesse of a Muse, Whose feet can walke the milky way, and chuse Her starry throne; whose holy heats can warme 25 The grave, and hold up an exalted arme To lift me from my lazy vrne, to climbe Vpon the stooped shoulders of old Time, And trace Eternity--But all is dead, All these delicious hopes are buried 30 In the deepe wrinckles of his angry brow, Where Mercy cannot find them: but O thou Bright lady of the Morne! pitty doth lye So warme in thy soft brest, it cannot dye. Have mercy then, and when he next shall rise 35 O meet the angry God, invade his eyes, And stroake his radiant cheekes; one timely kisse Will kill his anger, and revive my blisse. So to the treasure of thy pearly deaw, Thrice will I pay three teares, to show how true 40 My griefe is; so my wakefull lay shall knocke At th' orientall gates, and duly mocke The early larkes' shrill orizons, to be An anthem at the Daye's nativitie. And the same rosie-finger'd hand of thine, 45 That shuts Night's dying eyes, shall open mine. But thou, faint God of Sleepe, forget that I Was ever known to be thy votary. No more my pillow shall thine altar be, Nor will I offer any more to thee 50 My selfe a melting sacrifice; I'me borne Againe a fresh child of the buxome Morne, Heire of the sun's first beames. Why threat'st thou so? Why dost thou shake thy leaden scepter? goe, Bestow thy poppy upon wakefull Woe, 55 Sicknesse, and Sorrow, whose pale lidds ne're know Thy downie finger; dwell upon their eyes, Shut in their teares: shut out their miseries.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
In 1646, line 1, for 'shall' reads 'will:' ib. in HARLEIAN MS. as before, 'my' for 'the Muse;' which I adopt here, but not in next line: line 9, ib. 'thy:' line 11, illustrious is = lustrous, radiant: HARLEIAN MS. as before, line 19, 'this my humble:' line 20, 1646 misprints 'raptures:' line 27, 1670 has 'and climb:' line 28, 1646 has 'stooped' for 'stooping' of 1648; infinitely superior, and therefore adopted: 1670 misprints 'stopped:' the SANCROFT MS. has 'stooping:' line 45, HARLEIAN MS. as before, 'thy altar.' Further: in the SANCROFT MS. this poem is headed 'Ad Auroram Somnolentiae expiatio. R. CR.,' and it supplies these various readings: line 1, 'will:' line 7, 'call back:' line 16, 'my' for 'mine;' line 20-21, 'winge' and 'bringe:' line 40, 'treasures:' other orthographic differences only. See Essay, as in last poem. G.
LOVE'S HOROSCOPE.[78]
Love, brave Vertue's younger brother, 1 Erst hath made my heart a mother; Shee consults the conscious spheares To calculate her young son's yeares. Shee askes, if sad, or saving powers, 5 Gave omen to his infant howers; Shee askes each starre that then stood by, If poore Love shall live or dy.
Ah, my heart, is that the way? Are these the beames that rule thy day? 10 Thou know'st a face in whose each looke, Beauty layes ope Love's fortune-booke; On whose faire revolutions wait The obsequious motions of man's fate: Ah, my heart, her eyes, and shee, 15 Have taught thee new astrologie. How e're Love's native houres were set, What ever starry synod met, 'Tis in the mercy of her eye, If poore Love shall live or dye. 20
If those sharpe rayes putting on Points of death, bid Love be gon: (Though the Heavens in counsell sate To crowne an uncontrouled fate, Though their best aspects twin'd upon 25 The kindest constellation, Cast amorous glances on his birth, And whisper'd the confederate Earth To pave his pathes with all the good, That warmes the bed of youth and blood) 30 Love hath no plea against her eye: Beauty frownes, and Love must dye.
But if her milder influence move, And gild the hopes of humble Love: (Though Heaven's inauspicious eye 35 Lay blacke on Love's nativitie; Though every diamond in Love's crowne Fixt his forehead to a frowne:) Her eye, a strong appeale can giue, Beauty smiles, and Love shall live. 40 O, if Love shall live, O, where But in her eye, or in her eare, In her brest, or in her breath, Shall I hide poore Love from Death? For in the life ought else can give, 45 Love shall dye, although he live.
Or, if Love shall dye, O, where But in her eye, or in her eare, In her breath, or in her breast, Shall I build his funerall nest? 50 While Love shall thus entombed lye, Love shall live, although he dye.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
In line 16 the heavens are the planets. To 'crown' his fate is to invest it with regal power, and so place it beyond control. It is doubtful whether 'uncontrouled' expresses that state or result of crowning, or whether the clause is hyperbolical, and means to put further beyond control an already uncontrolled fate. 'Twin'd' seems a strange word to use, but refers, I presume, to the apparently irregular and winding-like motions of the planets through the constellations until they result in the favourable aspects mentioned. According to astrology, the beneficence or maleficence of the planetary aspects varies with the nature of the constellation in which they occur. HENRY VAUGHAN, Silurist, uses 'wind' very much as CRASHAW uses 'twin'd:' see _s.v._ in our edition.
In line 14 we have accepted the reading 'man's' for 'Loves' from the SANCROFT MS.
A SONG:
OUT OF THE ITALIAN.[79]
To thy lover Deere, discover That sweet blush of thine that shameth --When those roses It discloses-- All the flowers that Nature nameth.
In free ayre, Flow thy haire; That no more Summer's best dresses, Bee beholden For their golden Locks, to Phoebus' flaming tresses.
O deliver Love his quiver; From thy eyes he shoots his arrowes: Where Apollo Cannot follow: Featherd with his mother's sparrowes.
O envy not --That we dye not-- Those deere lips whose doore encloses All the Graces In their places, Brother pearles, and sister roses.
From these treasures Of ripe pleasures One bright smile to cleere the weather. Earth and Heaven Thus made even, Both will be good friends together.
The aire does wooe thee, Winds cling to thee; Might a word once fly from out thee, Storme and thunder Would sit under, And keepe silence round about thee.
But if Nature's Common creatures, So deare glories dare not borrow: Yet thy beauty Owes a duty, To my loving, lingring sorrow,
When to end mee Death shall send mee All his terrors to affright mee: Thine eyes' Graces Gild their faces, And those terrors shall delight mee.
When my dying Life is flying, Those sweet aires that often slew mee Shall revive mee, Or reprive mee, And to many deaths renew mee.
OUT OF THE ITALIAN.
Love now no fire hath left him, 1 We two betwixt us have divided it. Your eyes the light hath reft him, The heat commanding in my heart doth sit.[80] O that poore Love be not for ever spoyled, 5 Let my heat to your light be reconciled.
So shall these flames, whose worth Now all obscured lyes: --Drest in those beames--start forth And dance before your eyes. 10 Or else partake my flames (I care not whither) And so in mutuall names Of Love, burne both together.
OUT OF THE ITALIAN.
Would any one the true cause find 1 How Love came nak't, a boy, and blind? 'Tis this: listning one day too long, So th' Syrens in my mistris' song, The extasie of a delight 5 So much o're-mastring all his might, To that one sense, made all else thrall, And so he lost his clothes, eyes, heart and all.
VPON THE FRONTISPEECE OF MR. ISAACKSON'S CHRONOLOGIE.[81]
Let hoary Time's vast bowels be the grave 1 To what his bowels' birth and being gave; Let Nature die, (Phoenix-like) from death Revived Nature takes a second breath; If on Time's right hand, sit faire Historie, 5 If from the seed of emptie Ruine, she Can raise so faire an harvest; let her be Ne're so farre distant, yet Chronologie (Sharp-sighted as the eagle's eye, that can Out-stare the broad-beam'd daye's meridian) 10 Will have a perspicill to find her out, And, through the night of error and dark doubt, Discerne the dawne of Truth's eternall ray, As when the rosie Morne budds into Day. Now that Time's empire might be amply fill'd, 15 Babel's bold artists strive (below) to build Ruine a temple; on whose fruitfull fall History reares her pyramids, more tall Than were th' Aegyptian (by the life these give, Th' Egyptian pyramids themselves must live): 20 On these she lifts the world; and on their base Showes the two termes, and limits of Time's race: That, the creation is; the judgement, this; That, the World's morning; this, her midnight is.
NOTE.
As explained in preceding Note, I add here the poem so long misassigned to CRASHAW.
ON THE FRONTISPIECE OF ISAACSON'S CHRONOLOGIE EXPLAINED.
BY DR. EDWARD RAINBOW, BISHOP OF CARLISLE.
If with distinctive eye, and mind, you looke 1 Vpon the Front, you see more than one Booke. Creation is God's Booke, wherein He writ Each creature, as a letter filling it. History is Creation's Booke; which showes 5 To what effects the Series of it goes. Chronologie's the Booke of Historie, and beares The just account of Dayes, Moneths, and Yeares. But Resurrection, in a later Presse, And New Edition, is the summe of these. 10 The Language of these Bookes had all been one, Had not th' aspiring Tower of Babylon Confus'd the tongues, and in a distance hurl'd As farre the speech, as men, o' th' new fill'd world. Set then your eyes in method, and behold 15 Time's embleme, Saturne; who, when store of gold Coyn'd the first age, devour'd that birth, he fear'd; Till History, Time's eldest child appear'd; And Phoenix-like, in spight of Saturne's rage, Forc'd from her ashes, heyres in every age. 20 From th' Rising Sunne, obtaining by just suit, A Spring's ingender, and an Autumne's fruit. Who in those Volumes at her motion pend, Vnto Creation's Alpha doth extend. Againe ascend, and view Chronology, 25 By optick skill, pulling farre History Neerer; whose Hand the piercing Eagle's eye Strengthens, to bring remotest objects nigh. Vnder whose feet, you see the Setting Sunne, From the darke Gnomon, o're her volumes runne, 30 Drown'd in eternall night, never to rise, Till Resurrection show it to the eyes Of Earth-worne men; and her shrill trumpet's sound Affright the Bones of mortals from the ground. The Columnes both are crown'd with either Sphere, 35 To show Chronology and History beare, No other Culmen than the double Art, Astronomy, Geography, impart.
AN EPITAPH VPON MR. ASHTON,
A CONFORMABLE CITIZEN.[82]
The modest front of this small floore, 1 Beleeve me, Reader, can say more Than many a braver marble can; _Here lyes a truly honest man._ One whose conscience was a thing, 5 That troubled neither Church nor King. One of those few that in this towne, Honour all Preachers, heare their owne. Sermons he heard, yet not so many As left no time to practise any. 10 He heard them reverendly, and then His practice preach'd them o're agen. His Parlour-Sermons rather were Those to the eye, then to the eare. His prayers took their price and strength, 15 Not from the lowdnesse, nor the length. He was a Protestant at home, Not onely in despight of Rome. He lov'd his Father; yet his zeale Tore not off his Mother's veile. 20 To th' Church he did allow her dresse, True Beauty, to true Holinesse. Peace, which he lov'd in life, did lend Her hand to bring him to his end. When Age and Death call'd for the score, 25 No surfets were to reckon for. Death tore not--therefore--but sans strife Gently untwin'd his thread of life. What remaines then, but that thou Write these lines, Reader, in thy brow, 30 And by his faire example's light, Burne in thy imitation bright. So while these lines can but bequeath A life perhaps unto his death; His better Epitaph shall bee, 35 His life still kept alive in thee.
OUT OF CATULLUS.[83]
Come and let us live my deare, 1 Let us love and never feare, What the sowrest fathers say: Brightest Sol that dyes to day Lives againe as blith to morrow; 5 But if we darke sons of sorrow Set: O then how long a Night Shuts the eyes of our short light! Then let amorous kisses dwell On our lips, begin and tell 10 A thousand, and a hundred score, An hundred and a thousand more, Till another thousand smother That, and that wipe of[f] another. Thus at last when we have numbred 15 Many a thousand, many a hundred, Wee'l confound the reckoning quite, And lose our selves in wild delight: While our joyes so multiply, As shall mocke the envious eye. 20
WISHES.
TO HIS (SUPPOSED) MISTRESSE.[84]
1. Who ere she be, 1 That not impossible she That shall command my heart and me; 2. Where ere she lye, Lock't up from mortall eye, 5 In shady leaves of Destiny;
3. Till that ripe birth Of studied Fate stand forth, And teach her faire steps tread our Earth;
4. Till that divine 10 Idaea, take a shrine Of chrystall flesh, through which to shine;
5. Meet you her, my wishes, Bespeake her to my blisses, And be ye call'd, my absent kisses. 15
6. I wish her, beauty That owes not all its duty To gaudy tire or glistring shoo-ty.
7. Something more than Taffata or tissew can, 20 Or rampant feather, or rich fan.
8. More than the spoyle Of shop, or silkeworme's toyle, Or a bought blush, or a set smile.
9. A face that's best 25 By its owne beauty drest, And can alone commend the rest.
10. A face made up, Out of no other shop Than what Nature's white hand sets ope. 30
11. A cheeke where Youth, And blood, with pen of Truth Write, what their reader sweetly ru'th.
12. A cheeke where growes More than a morning rose: 35 Which to no boxe his being owes.
13. Lipps, where all day A lover's kisse may play, Yet carry nothing thence away.
14. Lookes that oppresse 40 Their richest tires, but dresse Themselves in simple nakednesse.
15. Eyes, that displace The neighbour diamond, and out-face That sunshine, by their own sweet grace. 45
16. Tresses, that weare Iewells, but to declare How much themselves more pretious are.
17. Whose native ray, Can tame the wanton day 50 Of gems, that in their bright shades play.
18. Each ruby there, Or pearle that dares appeare, Be its own blush, be its own teare.
19. A well tam'd heart, 55 For whose more noble smart, Love may be long chusing a dart.
20. Eyes, that bestow Full quivers on Love's bow; Yet pay lesse arrowes than they owe. 60
21. Smiles, that can warme The blood, yet teach a charme, That Chastity shall take no harme.
22. Blushes, that bin The burnish of no sin, 65 Nor flames of ought too hot within.
23. Ioyes, that confesse, Vertue their mistresse, And have no other head to dresse.
24. Feares, fond, and flight, 70 As the coy bride's, when Night First does the longing lover right.
25. Teares, quickly fled, And vaine, as those are shed For a dying maydenhead. 75
26. Dayes, that need borrow, No part of their good morrow, From a fore-spent night of sorrow.
27. Dayes, that in spight Of darknesse, by the light 80 Of a cleere mind are day all night.
28. Nights, sweet as they, Made short by lovers play, Yet long by th' absence of the day.
29. Life, that dares send 85 A challenge to his end, And when it comes say, Welcome friend!
30. Sydnaean showers Of sweet discourse, whose powers Can crown old Winter's head with flowers. 90
31. Soft silken hours; Open sunnes; shady bowers; 'Bove all, nothing within that lowers.
32. What ere delight Can make Daye's forehead bright, 95 Or give downe to the wings of Night.
33. In her whole frame, Haue Nature all the name, Art and ornament the shame.
34. Her flattery, 100 Picture and Poesy, Her counsell her owne vertue be.
35. I wish her store Of worth may leave her poore Of wishes; and I wish----no more. 105
36. Now if Time knowes That her, whose radiant browes Weave them a garland of my vowes;
37. Her whose just bayes, My future hopes can raise, 110 A trophie to her present praise.
38. Her that dares be, What these lines wish to see: I seeke no further: it is she.
39. 'Tis she, and here 115 Lo I uncloath and cleare, My wishes cloudy character.
40. May she enjoy it, Whose merit dare apply it, But Modesty dares still deny it. 120
41. Such worth as this is Shall fixe my flying wishes, And determine them to kisses.
42. Let her full glory, My fancyes, fly before ye, 125 Be ye my fictions; but her story.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
The HARLEIAN MS. 6917-18, as before, gives an admirable reading, corrective of all the editions in st. 3, line 3. Hitherto it has run, 'And teach her faire steps to our Earth:' the MS. as given by us 'tread' for 'to:' ib. st. 5, line 1, reads 'Meete her my wishes;' perhaps preferable: st. 6, I accept 'its' for 'his' from 1670 edition: st. 7, 'than'=then, and is spelled 'then' here and elsewhere in 1646 and 1670: st. 8, line 3, HARLEIAN MS. reads 'Or a bowe, blush, or a set smile;' inferior: st. 9, ib. reads 'commend' for 'command;' adopted: st. 11, ib. 'their' for 'the;' adopted: st. 14, ib. spells 'tyers,' and line 3 reads as we print for 'And cloath their simplest nakednesse,' which is clumsy and poor: st. 15: Here, as in the poem, 'On the bleeding wounds of our crucified Lord' (st. 6), where we read 'The thorns that Thy blest brows encloses,' and elsewhere, we have an example of the Elizabethan use of 'that' as a singular (referring to and thus made a collective plural) taken as the governing nominative to the verb. So in this poem of 'Wishes' we have 'Eyes that bestow,' 'Joys that confess,' 'Tresses that wear.' But it must be stated that the HARLEIAN MS., as before, reads not as in 1646 and 1648 'displaces,' 'out-faces' and 'graces,' but as printed by us on its authority; certainly the rhythm is improved thereby: st. 18, line 2, ib. 'dares' for 'dare;' adopted: st. 24, looking to 'tears quickly fled' of next stanza, I think 'flight' is correct, and not a misprint for 'slight.' Accordingly I have punctuated with a comma after fond, flight being = the shrinking-away of the bride, like the Horatian fair lady, a fugitive yet wishful of her lover's kiss: st. 31, HARLEIAN MS. as before, 'Open sunn:' st. 42, line 3, 'be you my fictions, she my story.' G.
TO THE QUEEN:
AN APOLOGIE FOR THE LENGTH OF THE FOLLOWING PANEGYRICK.[85]
When you are mistresse of the song, 1 Mighty queen, to thinke it long, Were treason 'gainst that majesty Your Vertue wears. Your modesty Yet thinks it so. But ev'n that too 5 --Infinite, since part of you-- New matter for our Muse supplies, And so allowes what it denies. Say then dread queen, how may we doe To mediate 'twixt your self and you? 10 That so our sweetly temper'd song Nor be too sort, nor seeme to[o] long. Needs must your noble prayses' strength That made it long excuse the length.
TO THE QUEEN,
VPON HER NUMEROUS PROGENIE: A PANEGYRICK.[86]
Britain! the mighty Ocean's lovely bride! 1 Now stretch thy self, fair isle, and grow: spread wide Thy bosome, and make roome. Thou art opprest With thine own glories, and art strangely blest Beyond thy self: for (lo!) the gods, the gods 5 Come fast upon thee; and those glorious ods Swell thy full honours to a pitch so high As sits above thy best capacitie. Are they not ods? and glorious? that to thee Those mighty genii throng, which well might be 10 Each one an Age's labour? that thy dayes Are gilded with the union of those rayes Whose each divided beam would be a sunne To glad the sphere of any Nation? Sure, if for these thou mean'st to find a seat, 15 Th' hast need, O Britain, to be truly Great. And so thou art; their presence makes thee so: They are thy greatnesse. Gods, where-e're they go, Bring their Heav'n with them: their great footsteps place An everlasting smile upon the face 20 Of the glad Earth they tread on: while with thee Those beames that ampliate mortalitie, And teach it to expatiate and swell To majestie and fulnesse, deign to dwell, Thou by thy self maist sit, (blest Isle) and see 25 How thy great mother Nature dotes on thee. Thee therefore from the rest apart she hurl'd, And seem'd to make an Isle, but made a World.
Time yet hath dropt few plumes since Hope turn'd Joy, And took into his armes the princely boy, 30 Whose birth last blest the bed of his sweet mother, And bad us first salute our prince, a brother.
_The Prince and Duke of York._
Bright Charles! thou sweet dawn of a glorious Day! Centre of those thy grandsires (shall I say, Henry and James? or, Mars and Phoebus rather? 35 If this were Wisdome's god, that War's stern father; 'Tis but the same is said: Henry and James Are Mars and Phoebus under diverse names): O thou full mixture of those mighty souls Whose vast intelligences tun'd the poles 40 Of Peace and War; thou, for whose manly brow Both lawrels twine into one wreath, and woo To be thy garland: see (sweet prince), O see, Thou, and the lovely hopes that smile in thee, Art ta'n out and transcrib'd by thy great mother: 45 See, see thy reall shadow; see thy brother, Thy little self in lesse: trace in these eyne The beams that dance in those full stars of thine. From the same snowy alabaster rock Those hands and thine were hewn; those cherries mock 50 The corall of thy lips: thou wert of all This well-wrought copie the fair principall.
_Lady Mary._
Iustly, great Nature, didst thou brag, and tell How ev'n th' hadst drawn that faithfull parallel, And matcht thy master-piece. O then go on, 55 Make such another sweet comparison. Seest thou that Marie there? O teach her mother To shew her to her self in such another. Fellow this wonder too; nor let her shine Alone; light such another star, and twine 60 Their rosie beams, that so the Morn for one Venus, may have a constellation.
_Lady Elizabeth._
These words scarce waken'd Heaven, when--lo!--our vows Sat crown'd upon the noble infant's brows. Th' art pair'd, sweet princesse: in this well-writ book 65 Read o're thy self; peruse each line, each look. And when th' hast summ'd up all those blooming blisses, Close up the book, and clasp it with thy kisses. So have I seen (to dresse their mistresse May) Two silken sister-flowers consult, and lay 70 Their bashfull cheeks together: newly they Peep't from their buds, show'd like the garden's eyes Scarce wak't: like was the crimson of their joyes; Like were the tears they wept, so like, that one Seem'd but the other's kind reflexion. 75
_The new-borne Prince._
And now 'twere time to say, sweet queen, no more. Fair source of princes, is thy pretious store Not yet exhaust? O no! Heavens have no bound, But in their infinite and endlesse round Embrace themselves. Our measure is not their's; 80 Nor may the pov'rtie of man's narrow prayers Span their immensitie. More princes come: Rebellion, stand thou by; Mischief, make room: War, blood, and death--names all averse from Ioy-- Heare this, we have another bright-ey'd boy: 85 That word's a warrant, by whose vertue I Have full authority to bid you dy. Dy, dy, foul misbegotten monsters! dy: Make haste away, or e'r the World's bright eye Blush to a cloud of bloud. O farre from men 90 Fly hence, and in your Hyperborean den Hide you for evermore, and murmure there Where none but Hell may heare, nor our soft aire Shrink at the hatefull sound. Mean while we bear High as the brow of Heaven, the noble noise 95 And name of these our just and righteous joyes, Where Envie shall not reach them, nor those eares Whose tune keeps time to ought below the spheres. But thou, sweet supernumerary starre, Shine forth; nor fear the threats of boyst'rous Warre. 100 The face of things has therefore frown'd a while On purpose, that to thee and thy pure smile The World might ow an universall calm; While thou, fair halcyon, on a sea of balm Shalt flote; where while thou layst thy lovely head, 105 The angry billows shall but make thy bed: Storms, when they look on thee, shall straigt relent; And tempests, when they tast thy breath, repent To whispers, soft as thine own slumbers be, Or souls of virgins which shall sigh for thee. 110 Shine then, sweet supernumerary starre, Nor feare the boysterous names of bloud and warre: Thy birth-day is their death's nativitie; They've here no other businesse but to die.
_To the Queen._
But stay; what glimpse was that? why blusht the Day? 115 Why ran the started aire trembling away? Who's this that comes circled in rayes that scorn Acquaintance with the sun? what second morn At midday opes a presence which Heaven's eye Stands off and points at? Is't some deity 120 Stept from her throne of starres, deignes to be seen? Is it some deity? or is't our queen? 'Tis she, 'tis she: her awfull beauties chase The Day's abashed glories, and in face Of noon wear their own sunshine. O thou bright 125 Mistresse of wonders! Cynthia's is the Night; But thou at noon dost shine, and art all day (Nor does thy sun deny't) our Cynthia. Illustrious sweetnesse! in thy faithfull wombe, That nest of heroes, all our hopes find room. 130 Thou art the mother-phenix, and thy brest Chast as that virgin honour of the East, But much more fruitfull is; nor does, as she, Deny to mighty Love, a deitie. Then let the Eastern world brag and be proud 135 Of one coy phenix, while we have a brood, A brood of phenixes: while we have brother And sister-phenixes, and still the mother. And may we long! Long may'st thou live t'increase The house and family of phenixes. 140 Nor may the life that gives their eye-lids light E're prove the dismall morning of thy night: Ne're may a birth of thine be bought so dear To make his costly cradle of thy beer. O may'st thou thus make all the year thine own, 145 And see such names of joy sit white upon The brow of every month! and when th' hast done, Mayst in a son of his find every son Repeated, and that son still in another, And so in each child, often prove a mother. 150 Long may'st thou, laden with such clusters, lean Vpon thy royall elm (fair vine!) and when The Heav'ns will stay no longer, may thy glory And name dwell sweet in some eternall story!
Pardon (bright Excellence,) an untun'd string, 155 That in thy eares thus keeps a murmuring. O speake a lowly Muse's pardon, speake Her pardon, or her sentence; onely breake Thy silence. Speake, and she shall take from thence Numbers, and sweetnesse, and an influence 160 Confessing thee. Or (if too long I stay,) O speake thou, and my pipe hath nought to say: For see Apollo all this while stands mute, Expecting by thy voice to tune his lute.
But gods are gracious; and their altars make 165 Pretious the offrings that their altars take. Give then this rurall wreath fire from thine eyes, This rurall wreath dares be thy sacrifice.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
This poem was originally entitled (as _supra_) 'Upon the Duke of York's Birth.' As new children were born additions were made to it and the title altered. Cf. the Latin poem in our vol. ii. _ad Reginam_.
The children celebrated were the following: Charles James, born May 13, 1628, died the same day; the Queen's first child: Charles II., born May 29, 1630: James, who is placed before his sister Mary, who was older than he; born Oct. 14, 1633; afterwards James II.: Princess Mary, born Nov. 4, 1631, afterwards mother of William III.: Princess Elizabeth, born Dec. 28, 1635; died of grief at her father's tragical end, Sept. 8, 1650; was buried in the church at Newport, Isle of Wight, where her remains were found in 1793. Vaughan the Silurist has a fine poem to her memory (our edition, vol. ii. pp. 115-17): Anne, born March 17, 1636-7; she died Dec. 8, 1640 (Crashaw from first to last keeps Death out of his poem): Henry, born July 8, 1640, afterwards Duke of Gloucester and Earl of Cambridge. Henrietta Anne, born June 16, 1644, is not named.
The title in 1646 is 'Vpon the Duke of Yorke his Birth: a Panegyricke;' and so in 1670, which throughout agrees with that very imperfect text, except in one deplorable blunder of its own left uncorrected by TURNBULL, as noted below. The heading in the SANCROFT MS. is 'A Panegyrick vpon the birth of the Duke of Yorke. R. CR.'
Line 7, in 1646 'glories' for 'honours.' In the SANCROFT MS. line 8 reads 'As sitts alone ....'
Line 15, ib. 'O' for 'Sure.'
" 16, ib. 'Th' art.'
" 29-32 restored from 1648. Not in SANCROFT MS.
" 33. These headings here and onward omitted hitherto.
" 34, in 1646 'great' for 'bright.'
" 43, our text (1648) misprints 'owne' for 'one' of Voces Votivae.
Line 50, 1646 oddly misprints 'these Cherrimock.'
Line 52, 1646, 'art' for 'wert.'
" 54, ib. 'may'st' for 'did'st.'
" 55, ib. 'th' art' for 'th' hadst.'
" 64-70 restored from 1648. Not in SANCROFT MS.
" 74, 1646, 'pearls' for 'tears.' So the SANCROFT MS.
" 78-118, all these lines--most characteristic---restored from 1648. TURNBULL overlooked them. Not in the SANCROFT MS.
Line 140, 1670 drops a line here, and thus confuses,
'A brood of phenixes, and still the mother: And may we long: long may'st thou live t' encrease The house,' &c.
PEREGRINE PHILLIPS in his selections from CRASHAW (1785), following the text of 1670, says in a foot-note, 'A line seems wanting, but is so in the original copy.' TURNBULL follows suit and says, 'Here a line seems deficient.' If either had consulted the 'original' editions, which both professed to know, it would have saved them from this and numerous kindred blunders.
line 145, 1646, 'light' for 'life.'
" 151, ib. 'that's.'
" 170, ib. 'their' for 'the offerings.'
In line 27 'Thee therefore &c.' is a thought not unfrequent with the panegyrists of James. BEN JONSON makes use of it at least twice. In the Masque of Blackness we have,
'With that great name Britannia, this blest isle Hath won her ancient dignity and style; A world divided from a world, and tried The abstract of it, in his general pride.'
SHAKESPEARE used the same thought more nobly when he made it the theme of that glorious outburst of patriotism from the lips of the dying Gaunt. G.
VPON TWO GREENE APRICOCKES SENT TO COWLEY BY SIR CRASHAW.[87]
Take these, Time's tardy truants, sent by me 1 To be chastis'd (sweet friend) and chide by thee. Pale sons of our Pomona! whose wan cheekes Have spent the patience of expecting weekes, Yet are scarce ripe enough at best to show 5 The redd, but of the blush to thee they ow. By thy comparrison they shall put on More Summer in their shame's reflection, Than ere the fruitfull Phoebus' flaming kisses Kindled on their cold lips. O had my wishes 10 And the deare merits of your Muse, their due, The yeare had found some fruit early as you; Ripe as those rich composures Time computes Blossoms, but our blest tast confesses fruits. How does thy April-Autumne mocke these cold 15 Progressions 'twixt whose termes poor Time grows old! With thee alone he weares no beard, thy braine Gives him the morning World's fresh gold againe. 'Twas only Paradice, 'tis onely thou, Whose fruit and blossoms both blesse the same bough. 20 Proud in the patterne of thy pretious youth, Nature (methinks) might easily mend her growth. Could she in all her births but coppie thee, Into the publick yeares proficiencie, No fruit should have the face to smile on thee 25 (Young master of the World's maturitie) But such whose sun-borne beauties what they borrow Of beames to day, pay back again to morrow, Nor need be double-gilt. How then must these Poor fruites looke pale at thy Hesperides! 30 Faine would I chide their slownesse, but in their Defects I draw mine own dull character. Take them, and me in them acknowledging, How much my Summer waites upon thy Spring.
ALEXIAS:
THE COMPLAINT OF THE FORSAKEN WIFE OF SAINTE ALEXIS.[88]
THE FIRST ELEGIE.
I late the Roman youth's loud prayse and pride, 1 Whom long none could obtain, though thousands try'd; Lo, here am left (alas!) For my lost mate T' embrace my teares, and kisse an vnkind fate. Sure in my early woes starres were at strife, 5 And try'd to make a widow ere a wife. Nor can I tell (and this new teares doth breed) In what strange path, my lord's fair footsteppes bleed. O knew I where he wander'd, I should see Some solace in my sorrow's certainty: 10 I'd send my woes in words should weep for me, (Who knowes how powerfull well-writt praires would be.) Sending's too slow a word; myselfe would fly. Who knowes my own heart's woes so well as I? But how shall I steal hence? Alexis thou, 15 Ah thou thy self, alas! hast taught me how. Loue too that leads the way would lend the wings To bear me harmlesse through the hardest things. And where Loue lends the wing, and leads the way, What dangers can there be dare say me nay? 20 If I be shipwrack't, Loue shall teach to swimme: If drown'd, sweet is the death indur'd for him: The noted sea shall change his name with me, I'mongst the blest starres, a new name shall be. And sure where louers make their watry graues, 25 The weeping mariner will augment the waues. For who so hard, but passing by that way Will take acquaintance of my woes, and say Here 'twas the Roman maid found a hard fate, While through the World she sought her wandring mate 30 Here perish't she, poor heart; Heauns, be my vowes As true to me, as she was to her spouse. O liue, so rare a loue! liue! and in thee The too frail life of femal constancy. Farewell; and shine, fair soul, shine there aboue 35 Firm in thy crown, as here fast in thy loue. There thy lost fugitiue th' hast found at last: Be happy; and for euer hold him fast.
THE SECOND ELEGIE.
Though all the ioyes I had, fled hence with thee, 1 Vnkind! yet are my teares still true to me: I'm wedded o're again since thou art gone; Nor couldst thou, cruell, leaue me quite alone. Alexis' widdow now is Sorrow's wife, 5 With him shall I weep out my weary life. Wellcome, my sad-sweet mate! Now haue I gott At last a constant Loue, that leaues me not: Firm he, as thou art false; nor need my cryes Thus vex the Earth and teare the beauteous skyes. 10 For him, alas! n'ere shall I need to be Troublesom to the world thus as for thee: For thee I talk to trees; with silent groues Expostulate my woes and much-wrong'd loues; Hills and relentlesse rockes, or if there be 15 Things that in hardnesse more allude to thee, To these I talk in teares, and tell my pain, And answer too for them in teares again. How oft haue I wept out the weary sun! My watry hour-glasse hath old Time's outrunne. 20 O I am learned grown: poor Loue and I Haue study'd ouer all Astrology; I'm perfect in Heaun's state; with euery starr My skillfull greife is grown familiar. Rise, fairest of those fires; what'ere thou be 25 Whose rosy beam shall point my sun to me. Such as the sacred light that e'rst did bring The Eastern princes to their infant King, O rise, pure lamp! and lend thy golden ray That weary Loue at last may find his way. 30
THE THIRD ELEGIE.
Rich, churlish Land! that hid'st so long in thee 1 My treasures; rich, alas! by robbing mee. Needs must my miseryes owe that man a spite Who e're he be was the first wandring knight. O had he nere been at that cruell cost 5 Natvre's virginity had nere been lost; Seas had not bin rebuk't by sawcy oares But ly'n lockt vp safe in their sacred shores; Men had not spurn'd at mountaines; nor made warrs With rocks, nor bold hands struck the World's strong barres, 10 Nor lost in too larg bounds, our little Rome Full sweetly with it selfe had dwell't at home. My poor Alexis, then, in peacefull life Had vnder some low roofe lou'd his plain wife; But now, ah me! from where he has no foes 15 He flyes; and into willfull exile goes. Cruell, return, O tell the reason why Thy dearest parents have deseru'd to dy. And I, what is my crime, I cannot tell, Vnlesse it be a crime t' haue lou'd too well. 20 If heates of holyer loue and high desire, Make bigge thy fair brest with immortall fire, What needes my virgin lord fly thus from me, Who only wish his virgin wife to be? Witnesse, chast Heauns! no happyer vowes I know 25 Then to a virgin grave vntouch't to goe. Loue's truest knott by Venus is not ty'd, Nor doe embraces onely make a bride. The queen of angels (and men chast as you) Was maiden-wife and maiden-mother too. 30 Cecilia, glory of her name and blood, With happy gain her maiden-vowes made good: The lusty bridegroom made approach; young man Take heed (said she) take heed, Valerian! My bosome's guard, a spirit great and strong, 35 Stands arm'd, to sheild me from all wanton wrong; My chastity is sacred; and my Sleep Wakefull, her dear vowes vndefil'd to keep. Pallas beares armes, forsooth; and should there be No fortresse built for true Virginity? 40 No gaping Gorgon, this: none, like the rest Of your learn'd lyes. Here you'll find no such iest. I'm your's: O were my God, my Christ so too, I'd know no name of Loue on Earth but you. He yeilds, and straight baptis'd, obtains the grace 45 To gaze on the fair souldier's glorious face. Both mixt at last their blood in one rich bed Of rosy martyrdome, twice married. O burn our Hymen bright in such high flame, Thy torch, terrestriall Loue, haue here no name. 50 How sweet the mutuall yoke of man and wife, When holy fires maintain Loue's heaunly life! But I (so help me Heaun my hopes to see) When thousands sought my loue, lou'd none but thee. Still, as their vain teares my firm vowes did try, 55 Alexis, he alone is mine (said I). Half true, alas! half false, proues that poor line, Alexis is alone; but is not mine.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
The heading in 1648 omits 'Sainte.' These variations from 1648 are interesting:
1st Elegy: Line 9, 'would' for 'should.'
Line 17, our text (1652) drops 'way' inadvertently. TURNBULL tinkers it by reading 'thee' for 'the,' instead of collating the texts.
Line 23, 'its' for 'his.'
" 25, 'when' for 'where.'
" 37, I have adopted 'th'' for 'thou' of our text (1652). 2d Elegy: Line 1, our text (1652) misspells 'fleed.' Line 3, ib. misprints 'I' am.'
" 10, ib. drops 'beauteous' inadvertently. TURNBULL, for a wonder, wakes up here to notice a deficient word; but again, instead of collating his texts, inserts without authority 'lofty.' Had he turned to 1648 edition, he would have found 'beauteous.'
Line 20, I have adopted 'Time's' for 'Time.'
" 23, as in line 17 in 1st Elegy.
" 30, a reference to the 'Love will find out the way,' in the old song 'Over the mountain.' 'Weary' is misprinted 'Wary' in 1670.
3d Elegy: Line 7, 'with' for 'by.'
Line 17, our text (1652) misprints 'Or' for 'O.'
" 20, I accept 't'' for 'to.'
" 29, 'The Blessed Virgin' for 'The queen of angels.'
" 41, 'facing' for 'gaping.'
" 43, as in line 17 in 1st Elegy.
" 50, 'hath' for 'haue.'
" 51, 'sweet's' for 'sweet.'
" 54, our text (1652) misprints 'thousand.' G.
Secular Poetry.
II.
AIRELLES.
NOTE.
See Note on page 184 for reference on the title here and elsewhere of 'Airelles.' G.
UPON THE KING'S CORONATION.[89]
Sound forth, coelestiall organs, let heauen's quire Ravish the dancing orbes, make them mount higher With nimble capers, & force Atlas tread Vpon his tiptoes, e're his siluer head Shall kisse his golden curthen. Thou glad Isle, That swim'st as deepe in joy, as seas, now smile; Lett not thy weighty glories, this full tide Of blisse, debase thee; but with a just pride Swell: swell to such an height, that thou maist vye With heauen itselfe for stately majesty. Doe not deceiue mee, eyes: doe I not see In this blest earth heauen's bright epitome, Circled with pure refined glory? heere I view a rising sunne in this our sphere, Whose blazing beames, maugre the blackest night, And mists of greife, dare force a joyfull light. The gold, in wch he flames, does well praesage A precious season, & a golden age. Doe I not see joy keepe his revels now, And sitt triumphing in each cheerfull brow? Vnmixt felicity with siluer wings Broodeth this sacred place: hither Peace brings The choicest of her oliue-crownes, & praies To haue them guilded with his courteous raies. Doe I not see a Cynthia, who may Abash the purest beauties of the day? To whom heauen's lampes often in silent night Steale from their stations to repaire their light. Doe I not see a constellation, Each little beame of wch would make a sunne? I meane those three great starres, who well may scorn Acquaintance with the vsher of the morne. To gaze vpon such starres each humble eye Would be ambitious of astronomie Who would not be a phoenix, & aspire To sacrifice himselfe in such sweet fire? Shine forth, ye flaming sparkes of Deity, Yee perfect emblemes of divinity. Fixt in your spheres of glory, shed from thence, The treasures of our liues, your influence, For if you sett, who may not justly feare, The world will be one ocean, one great teare.
UPON THE KING'S CORONATION.
Strange metamorphosis! It was but now The sullen heauen had vail'd its mournfull brow With a black maske: the clouds with child by Greife Traueld th' Olympian plaines to find releife. But at the last (having not soe much power As to refraine) brought forth a costly shower Of pearly drops, & sent her numerous birth (As tokens of her greife) vnto the Earth. Alas, the Earth, quick drunke with teares, had reel'd From of her center, had not Ioue vpheld The staggering lumpe: each eye spent all its store, As if heereafter they would weepe noe more: Streight from this sea of teares there does appeare Full glory naming in her owne free sphere. Amazed Sol throwes of his mournfull weeds, Speedily harnessing his fiery steeds, Vp to Olympus' stately topp he hies, From whence his glorious rivall hee espies. Then wondring starts, & had the curteous night Withheld her vaile, h' had forfeited his sight. The joy full sphaeres with a delicious sound Afright th' amazed aire, and dance a round To their owne musick, nor (untill they see This glorious Phoebus sett) will quiet bee. Each aery Siren now hath gott her song, To whom the merry lambes doe tripp along The laughing meades, as joy full to behold Their winter coates couer'd with naming gold. Such was the brightnesse of this Northerne starre, It made the virgin phoenix come from farre To be repair'd: hither she did resort, Thinking her father had remou'd his Court. The lustre of his face did shine soe bright, That Rome's bold egles now were blinded quite; The radiant darts shott from his sparkling eyes, Made euery mortall gladly sacrifice A heart burning in loue; all did adore This rising sunne; their faces nothing wore, But smiles, and ruddy joyes, and at this day All melancholy clouds vanisht away.
VPON THE BIRTH OF THE PRINCESSE ELIZABETH.[90]
Bright starre of Majesty, oh shedd on mee, A precious influence, as sweet as thee. That with each word, my loaden pen letts fall, The fragrant Spring may be perfum'd withall. That Sol from them may suck an honied shower, To glutt the stomack of his darling flower. With such a sugred livery made fine, They shall proclaime to all, that they are thine. Lett none dare speake of thee, but such as thence Extracted haue a balmy eloquence. But then, alas, my heart! oh how shall I Cure thee of thy delightfull tympanie? I cannot hold; such a spring-tide of joy Must haue a passage, or 'twill force a way. Yet shall my loyall tongue keepe this command: But giue me leaue to ease it with my hand. And though these humble lines soare not soe high, As is thy birth; yet from thy flaming eye Drop downe one sparke of glory, & they'l proue A praesent worthy of Apollo's loue. My quill to thee may not praesume to sing: Lett th' hallowed plume of a seraphick wing Bee consecrated to this worke, while I Chant to my selfe with rustick melodie. Rich, liberall heauen, what hath yor treasure store Of such bright angells, that you giue vs more? Had you, like our great sunne, stamped but one For earth, t' had beene an ample portion. Had you but drawne one liuely coppy forth, That might interpret our faire Cynthia's worth, Y' had done enough to make the lazy ground Dance, like the nimble spheres, a joyfull round. But such is the coelestiall excellence, That in the princely patterne shines, from whence The rest pourtraicted are, that 'tis noe paine To ravish heauen to limbe them o're againe. Wittnesse this mapp of beauty; euery part Of wch doth show the quintessence of art. See! nothing's vulgar, every atome heere Speakes the great wisdome of th' artificer. Poore Earth hath not enough perfection, To shaddow forth th' admired paragon. Those sparkling twinnes of light should I now stile Rich diamonds, sett in a pure siluer foyle; Or call her cheeke a bed of new-blowne roses; And say that ivory her front composes; Or should I say, that with a scarlet waue Those plumpe soft rubies had bin drest soe braue; Or that the dying lilly did bestow Vpon her neck the whitest of his snow; Or that the purple violets did lace That hand of milky downe; all these are base; Her glories I should dimme with things soe grosse, And foule the cleare text with a muddy glosse. Goe on then, Heauen, & limbe forth such another, Draw to this sister miracle a brother; Compile a first glorious epitome Of heauen, & Earth, & of all raritie; And sett it forth in the same happy place, And I'le not blurre it with my paraphrase.
VPON A GNATT BURNT IN A CANDLE.
Little, buzzing, wanton elfe Perish there, and thanke thy selfe. Thou deseru'st thy life to loose, For distracting such a Muse. Was it thy ambitious aime By thy death to purchase fame? Didst thou hope he would in pitty Haue bestow'd a funerall ditty On thy ghoast? and thou in that To haue outliued Virgill's gnatt? No! The treason thou hast wrought Might forbid thee such a thought. If that Night's worke doe miscarry, Or a syllable but vary; A greater foe thou shalt me find, The destruction of thy kind. Phoebus, to revenge thy fault, In a fiery trapp thee caught; That thy winged mates might know it, And not dare disturbe a poet. Deare and wretched was thy sport, Since thyselfe was crushed for't; Scarcely had that life a breath, Yet it found a double death; Playing in the golden flames, Thou fell'st into an inky Thames; Scorch'd and drown'd. That petty sunne A pretty Icarus hath vndone.
FROM PETRONIUS.[91]
_Ales Phasiacis petita Colchis, &c._
The bird that's fetch't from Phasis floud, Or choicest hennes of Africk-brood; These please our palates; and why these? 'Cause they can but seldome please. Whil'st the goose soe goodly white, And the drake, yeeld noe delight, Though his wings' conceited hewe Paint each feather, as if new. These for vulgar stomacks be, And rellish not of rarity. But the dainty Scarus, sought In farthest clime; what e're is bought With shipwrack's toile, oh, that is sweet, 'Cause the quicksands hansell'd it. The pretious barbill, now growne rife, Is cloying meat. How stale is wife? Deare wife hath ne're a handsome letter, Sweet mistris sounds a great deale better. Rose quakes at name of cinnamon. Unlesse't be rare, what's thought vpon?
FROM HORACE.
_Ille et ne fasto te posuit die, &c._
Shame of thy mother soyle! ill-nurtur'd tree! Sett, to the mischeife of posteritie! That hand (what e're it wer) that was thy nurse, Was sacrilegious (sure) or somewhat worse. Black, as the day was dismall, in whose sight Thy rising topp first stain'd the bashfull light. That man---I thinke--wrested the feeble life From his old father, that man's barbarous knife Conspir'd with darknes 'gainst the strangers throate; (Whereof the blushing walles tooke bloody note) Huge high-floune poysons, eu'n of Colchos breed, And whatsoe're wild sinnes black thoughts doe feed, His hands haue padled in; his hands, that found Thy traiterous root a dwelling in my ground. Perfidious totterer! longing for the staines Of thy kind Master's well-deseruing braines. Man's daintiest care, & caution cannot spy The subtile point of his coy destiny, Wch way it threats. With feare the merchant's mind Is plough'd as deepe, as is the sea with wind, (Rowz'd in an angry tempest), Oh the sea! Oh! that's his feare; there flotes his destiny: While from another (vnseene) corner blowes The storme of fate, to wch his life he owes; By Parthians bow the soldier lookes to die, (Whose hands are fighting, while their feet doe flie.) The Parthian starts at Rome's imperiall name, Fledg'd with her eagle's wing; the very chaine Of his captivity rings in his eares. Thus, o thus fondly doe wee pitch our feares Farre distant from our fates, our fates, that mocke Our giddy feares with an vnlook't for shocke. A little more, & I had surely seene Thy greisly Majesty, Hell's blackest Queene; And Oeacus on his tribunall too, Sifting the soules of guilt; & you, (oh you!) You euer-blushing meads, where doe the blest Farre from darke horrors home appeale to rest. There amorous Sappho plaines vpon her lute Her loue's crosse fortune, that the sad dispute Runnes murmuring on the strings. Alcaeus there In high-built numbers wakes his golden lyre To tell the world, how hard the matter went, How hard by sea, by warre, by banishment. There these braue soules deale to each wondring eare Such words, soe precious, as they may not weare Without religious silence; aboue all Warre's ratling tumults, or some tyrant's fall. The thronging clotted multitude doth feast: What wonder? when the hundred-headed beast Hangs his black lugges, stroakt with those heavenly lines; _ears_ The Furies' curl'd snakes meet in gentle twines, And stretch their cold limbes in a pleasing fire. Prometheus selfe, and Pelops sterved sire Are cheated of their paines; Orion thinkes Of lions now noe more, or spotted linx.
EX EUPHORMIONE.
_O Dea, siderei seu tu stirpe alma tonantis, &c._
Bright goddesse (whether Joue thy father be, Or Jove a father will be made by thee) Oh crowne these praiers (mov'd in a happy bower) But with one cordiall smile for Cloe. That power Of Loue's all-daring hand, that makes me burne, Makes me confess't. Oh, doe not thou with scorne, Great nymph, o'relooke my lownesse. Heau'n you know And all their fellow-deities will bow Eu'n to the naked'st vowes. Thou art my fate; To thee the Parcae haue given vp of late My threds of life: if then I shall not live By thee, by thee yet lett me die; this giue, High Beautie's soveraigne, that my funerall flames May draw their first breath from thy starry beames. The phoenix' selfe shall not more proudly burne, That fetcheth fresh life from her fruitfull vrne.
AN ELEGY VPON THE DEATH OF MR. STANNINOW,
FELLOW OF QUEENE'S COLLEDGE.[92]
Hath aged winter, fledg'd with feathered raine, To frozen Caucasus his flight now tane? Doth hee in downy snow there closely shrowd His bedrid limmes, wrapt in a fleecy clowd? Is th' Earth disrobed of her apron white, Kind Winter's guift, & in a greene one dight? Doth she beginne to dandle in her lappe Her painted infants, fedd with pleasant pappe, Wch their bright father in a pretious showre From heaven's sweet milky streame doth gently poure Doth blith Apollo cloath the heavens with joye, And with a golden waue wash cleane away Those durty smutches, wch their faire fronts wore, And make them laugh, wch frown'd, & wept before? If heaven hath now forgot to weepe; o then What meane these shoures of teares amongst vs men? These cataracts of griefe, that dare eu'n vie With th' richest clowds their pearly treasurie? If Winters gone, whence this vntimely cold, That on these snowy limmes hath laid such hold? What more than winter hath that dire art found, These purple currents hedg'd with violets round. To corrallize, wch softly wont to slide In crimson waueletts, & in scarlet tide? If Flora's darlings now awake from sleepe, And out of their greene mantletts dare to peepe O tell me then, what rude outragious blast Forc't this prime flowre of youth to make such hast? To hide his blooming glories, & bequeath His balmy treasure to the bedd of death? 'Twas not the frozen zone; one sparke of fire, Shott from his flaming eye, had thaw'd its ire, And made it burne in loue: 'twas not the rage, And too vngentle nippe of frosty age: 'Twas not the chast, & purer snow, whose nest Was in the modest nunnery of his brest: Noe, none of these ravish't those virgin roses, The Muses, & the Graces fragrant posies. Wch, while they smiling sate vpon his face, They often kist, & in the sugred place Left many a starry teare, to thinke how soone The golden harvest of our joyes, the noone Of all our glorious hopes should fade, And be eclipsed with an envious shade. Noe 'twas old doting Death, who stealing by, Dragging his crooked burthen, look't awry, And streight his amorous syth (greedy of blisse) Murdred the Earth's just pride with a rude kisse. A winged herald, gladd of soe sweet a prey, Snatch't vpp the falling starre, soe richly gay, And plants it in a precious perfum'd bedd, Amongst those lillies, wch his bosome bredd. Where round about hovers with siluer wing A golden Summer, an aeternall Spring. Now that his root such fruit againe may beare, Let each eye water't with a courteous teare.
UPON THE DEATH OF A FREIND.
Hee's dead! Oh what harsh musick's there Vnto a choyce, and curious eare! Wee must that Discord surely call, Since sighs doe rise and teares doe fall. Teares fall too low, sighes rise too high, How then can there be harmony? But who is he? him may wee know That jarres and spoiles sweet consort soe? O Death, 'tis thou: you false time keepe, And stretch'st thy dismall voice too deepe. Long time to quavering Age you giue, But to large Youth, short time to liue. You take vpon you too too much, In striking where you should not touch. How out of tune the world now lies, Since youth must fall, when it should rise! Gone be all consort, since alone He that once bore the best part's gone. Whose whole life, musick was; wherein Each vertue for a part came in. And though that musick of his life be still, The musick of his name yett soundeth shrill.
AN ELEGIE ON THE DEATH OF DR. PORTER.[93]
Stay, silver-footed Came, striue not to wed Thy maiden streames soe soone to Neptune's bed; Fixe heere thy wat'ry eyes upon these towers, Vnto whose feet in reuerence of the powers, That there inhabite, thou on euery day With trembling lippes an humble kisse do'st pay. See all in mourning now; the walles are jett, With pearly papers carelesly besett. Whose snowy cheekes, least joy should be exprest, The weeping pen with sable teares hath drest. Their wronged beauties speake a tragoedy, Somewhat more horrid than an elegy. Pure, & vnmixed cruelty they tell, Wch poseth Mischeife's selfe to parallel. Justice hath lost her hand, the law her head; Peace is an orphan now; her father's dead. Honestie's nurse, Vertue's blest guardian, That heauenly mortall, that seraphick man. Enough is said, now, if thou canst crowd on Thy lazy crawling streames, pri'thee be gone, And murmur forth thy woes to euery flower, That on thy bankes sitts in a uerdant bower, And is instructed by thy glassy waue To paint its perfum'd face wth colours braue. In vailes of dust their silken heads they'le hide, As if the oft-departing sunne had dy'd. Goe learne that fatall quire, soe sprucely dight In downy surplisses, & vestments white, To sing their saddest dirges, such as may Make their scar'd soules take wing, & fly away. Lett thy swolne breast discharge thy strugling groanes To th' churlish rocks; & teach the stubborne stones To melt in gentle drops, lett them be heard Of all proud Neptune's siluer-sheilded guard; That greife may crack that string, & now vntie Their shackled tongues to chant an elegie. Whisper thy plaints to th' Ocean's curteous eares, Then weepe thyselfe into a sea of teares. A thousand Helicons the Muses send In a bright christall tide, to thee they send, Leaving those mines of nectar, their sweet fountaines, They force a lilly path through rosy mountaines. Feare not to dy with greife; all bubling eyes Are teeming now with store of fresh supplies.
VERSE-LETTER
TO
THE COUNTESS OF DENBIGH
(1652).
NOTE.
To the volume of 1652 ('Carmen Deo Nostro' &c.) was prefixed a Verse-letter to the COUNTESS OF DENBIGH, illustrated with an engraving of a 'locked heart,' as reproduced in our quarto edition. In 1653 ('Sept. 23, 1653'), as appears from a contemporary marking in the unique copy in the British Museum, the following was printed: 'A Letter from MR. CRASHAW to the Countess of Denbigh. Against Irresolution and Delay in matters of Religion. London, n.d.'(4to). Collation: title-page and 3 pages, page 1st on reverse of title-page (British Museum E. 220. 2.). The Paris copy is very imperfect from some unexplained reason (68 as against 90 lines), and it would seem that some friend of the deceased poet, dissatisfied with it, and having in his (or her) possession a fuller MS., printed, if not published it. We give the enlarged text--never before noticed, having been only named, without taking the trouble to consult and compare it, by TURNBULL; and for the student add the abbreviated form from 1652 'Carmen,' as it, in turn, has lines and words not in the other. See our Essay for more on this most characteristic poem, and relative to the Countess of Denbigh. G.
AGAINST IRRESOLUTION AND DELAY IN MATTERS OF RELIGION.
What Heav'n-besieged heart is this 1 Stands trembling at the Gate of Blisse: Holds fast the door, yet dares not venture Fairly to open and to enter? Whose definition is, A Doubt 5 'Twixt life and death, 'twixt In and Out. Ah! linger not, lov'd soul: a slow And late consent was a long No. Who grants at last, a great while try'de And did his best, to have deny'de 10 What magick-bolts, what mystick barrs Maintain the Will in these strange warrs? What fatall, yet fantastick, bands Keep the free heart from his own hands? Say, lingring Fair, why comes the birth 15 Of your brave soul so slowly forth? Plead your pretences (O you strong In weaknesse!) why you chuse so long In labour of your self to ly, Not daring quite to live nor die. 20 So when the Year takes cold we see Poor waters their own prisoners be: Fetter'd and lock'd up fast they lie In a cold self-captivity. Th' astonish'd Nymphs their Floud's strange fate deplore, 25 find themselves their own severer shoar. Love, that lends haste to heaviest things, In you alone hath lost his wings. Look round and reade the World's wide face, The field of Nature or of Grace; 30 Where can you fix, to find excuse Or pattern for the pace you use? Mark with what faith fruits answer flowers, And know the call of Heav'n's kind showers: Each mindfull plant hasts to make good 35 The hope and promise of his bud. Seed-time's not all; there should be harvest too. Alas! and has the Year no Spring for you? Both winds and waters urge their way, And murmure if they meet a stay. 40 Mark how the curl'd waves work and wind, All hating to be left behind. Each bigge with businesse thrusts the other, And seems to say, Make haste, my brother. The aiery nation of neat doves, _pure_ 45 That draw the chariot of chast Loves, Chide your delay: yea those dull things, Whose wayes have least to doe with wings, Make wings at least of their own weight, And by their love controll their Fate. 50 So lumpish steel, untaught to move, Learn'd first his lightnesse by his love. What e're Love's matter be, he moves By th' even wings of his own doves, Lives by his own laws, and does hold 55 In grossest metalls his own gold. All things swear friends to Fair and Good Yea suitours; man alone is wo'ed, Tediously wo'ed, and hardly wone: Only not slow to be undone. 60 As if the bargain had been driven So hardly betwixt Earth and Heaven; Our God would thrive too fast, and be Too much a gainer by't, should we Our purchas'd selves too soon bestow 65 On Him, who has not lov'd us so. When love of us call'd Him to see If wee'd vouchsafe His company, He left His Father's Court, and came Lightly as a lambent flame, 70 Leaping upon the hills, to be The humble king of you and me. Nor can the cares of His whole crown (When one poor sigh sends for Him down) Detain Him, but He leaves behind 75 The late wings of the lazy wind, Spurns the tame laws of Time and Place, And breaks through all ten heav'ns to our embrace. Yield to His siege, wise soul, and see Your triumph in His victory. 80 Disband dull feares, give Faith the day: To save your life, kill your Delay. 'Tis cowardise that keeps this field; And want of courage not to yield. Yield then, O yield, that Love may win 85 The Fort at last, and let Life in. Yield quickly, lest perhaps you prove Death's prey, before the prize of Love. This fort of your fair self if't be not wone, He is repuls'd indeed, but you'r undone. 90
FINIS.
FROM 'CARMEN DEO NOSTRO' (1652).
_Non vi._
''Tis not the work of force but skill To find the way into man's will. 'Tis loue alone can hearts unlock; Who knowes the Word, he needs not knock.'
To the noblest and best of Ladyes, the Countesse of Denbigh, perswading her to Resolution in Religion, and to render her selfe without further delay into the Communion of the Catholick Church.
What heau'n-intreated heart is this 1 Stands trembling at the gate of blisse? Holds fast the door, yet dares not venture Fairly to open it, and enter. Whose definition is a doubt 5 'Twixt life and death, 'twixt in and out. Say, lingring Fair! why comes the birth Of your brave soul so slowly forth? Plead your pretences (O you strong In weaknes!) why you choose so long 10 In labor of your selfe to ly, Nor daring quite to liue nor dy? Ah! linger not, lou'd soul! a slow And late consent was a long no; Who grants at last, long time try'd 15 And did his best to haue deny'd: What magick bolts, what mystick barres Maintain the will in these strange warres? What fatall yet fantastick, bands Keep the free heart from its own hands? 20 So when the year takes cold, we see Poor waters their own prisoners be: Fetter'd and lockt vp they ly In a sad selfe-captivity. The astonisht nymphs their flood's strange fate deplore, 25 To see themselues their own seuerer shore. Thou that alone canst thaw this cold, And fetch the heart from its strong-hold; Allmighty Love! end this long warr, And of a meteor make a starr. 30 O fix this fair Indefinite! And 'mongst Thy shafts of soueraign light Choose out that sure decisiue dart Which has the key of this close heart, Knowes all the corners of't, and can controul 35 The self-shutt cabinet of an vnsearcht soul. O let it be at last, Loue's hour! Raise this tall trophee of Thy powre; Come once the conquering way; not to confute But kill this rebell-word 'irresolute,' 40 That so, in spite of all this peeuish strength Of weaknes, she may write 'resolv'd' at length. Vnfold at length, vnfold fair flowre And vse the season of Loue's showre! Meet His well-meaning wounds, wise heart, 45 And hast to drink the wholsome dart. That healing shaft, which Heaun till now Hath in Loue's quiuer hid for you. O dart of Loue! arrow of light! O happy you, if it hitt right! 50 It must not fall in vain, it must Not mark the dry, regardless dust. Fair one, it is your fate; and brings Aeternal worlds upon its wings. Meet it with wide-spread armes, and see 55 Its seat your soul's iust center be. Disband dull feares; giue faith the day; To saue your life, kill your delay. It is Loue's seege, and sure to be Your triumph, though His victory. 60 'Tis cowardise that keeps this feild And want of courage not to yeild. Yeild then, O yeild, that Loue may win The fort at last, and let life in. Yeild quickly, lest perhaps you proue 65 Death's prey, before the prize of Loue. This fort of your faire selfe, if't be not won, He is repulst indeed; but you are vndone.
END OF VOL. I.
LONDON: ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] TURNBULL in line 19 misprints 'Diseased his ...' making nonsense. Disease is = dis-ease, discompose, as used by PHINEAS FLETCHER: cf. vol. iii. p. 194 et alibi.
[2] TURNBULL again misprints in line 3 'But' for 'Best,' once more making nonsense.
[3] Edition of 1834, p. 295; of 1839, vol. i. p. 301. TURNBULL adds not one iota to our knowledge, and repeats all WILLMOTT'S erroneous dates, &c.
[4] The present eminent Head of 'Charterhouse,' Dr. HAIG-BROWN, strove to find earlier documents in vain for me.
[5] As before, vol. ii. p. 302.
[6] I feel disposed to think that it must have been some other RICHARD CRASHAW, albeit attendance at both Universities was not uncommon. WOOD'S words are, that he was 'incorporated' in 1641 at Oxford; and his authority 'the private observation of a certain Master of Arts, that was this year living in the University;' and he adds, 'afterwards he was Master of Arts, in which degree it is probable he was incorporated' (Fasti, _s. n._).
[7] I owe very hearty thanks to my good friend Mr. W. Aldis Wright, M.A., Trinity College, Cambridge, and to the Masters and other authorities of Pembroke and Peterhouse, for unfailing attention to my inquiries and the most zealous aid throughout.
[8] My 'document' was an extract from an old Register of the Church. I lent it to the late Mr. ROBERT BELL (who intended to include CRASHAW in his 'Poets'), and somehow it got astray. My priest-correspondent at Loretto was dead when I applied for another copy, and the Register has disappeared. Of the fact, however, that CRASHAW died in 1650 there can be no doubt.
[9] Life of COWLEY, in Lives of the Poets.
[10] Works, vol. i. (1707) pp. 44-7. Line 3 by a strange oversight is misprinted in all the editions I have seen 'The hard, and rarest....' I accept WILLMOTT'S correction.
[11] Query, the legal term 'seized' = taken possession of? So VAUGHAN, Silurist,
'O give it ful obedience, that so _seiz'd_ Of all I have, I may not move thy wrath' (i. 154),
and
'Thou so long _seiz'd_ of my heart' (ib. p. 289). G.
[12] = Iamblichus, the celebrated Neo-Platonic philosopher, author of {peri Pythagorou haireseus}, concerning the Philosophy of Pythagoras. G.
[13] Cf. poem on Lessius, lines 18 and 38. G.
[14] See our Memorial-Introduction and Essay, for remarks on HERBERT'S relation to CRASHAW. G.
[15] '_Seven shares and a halfe._' The same phrase occurs in Ben Jonson's _Poetaster_. The player whom Captain Tucca bullied and fleeced, was one of Henslowe's company, as shown by Tucca's stinging taunt that they had 'fortune and the good year on their side;' the facts being that the Fortune theatre had just been built, and that the year had been an exceptionally bad one with the hitherto prosperous players. To call attention tacitly to the allusion 'fortune' is, in the original editions, printed in italics. Various other players having been mimicked, ridiculed, and reviled, Tucca then bids farewell to his new acquaintance with--'commend me to seven shares and a half;' a remark which by its position seems to point to the chief men of the company. But a great part of the office of a manager like Henslowe was, as exhibited in Henslowe's own Diary, just such as is depreciatingly described in our text. He had various dramatic authors, poetasters, and others in his pay and debt. Hence as the Poetaster was written in 1601, and this preface in 1646, it may be concluded, that 'seven shares and a half' was the established proportion taken by, and therefore a theatrical cant name for, the Manager. It follows also that as the Player was one of Henslowe's company, the seven shares and a half alluded to by Jonson was Henslowe himself, from whom he had seceded, and with whom he had probably quarrelled. The question, however, yet remains open, whether seven shares and a half was the proportion received by a manager, or that taken by a proprietor-manager, such as Henslowe was. Malone has conjectured that Henslowe drew fifteen shares; if so, the other seven and a half may have been as rent, and out of one of the two halves may have come the general expenses of the house. G.
[16] '_Sixpenny soule, a suburb sinner._' This was the ordinary town courtesan, who, eschewing the penny and twopenny rabble of the pit and gallery, frequented the cheapest of the better-class seats, or main body of the house. G.
[17] = swollen. G.
[18] = as taught by Lessius, whose praise CRASHAW sang. See the Poem in its place in the 'Delights.' G.
[19] = drinkers of Canary (wine)? G.
[20] On the authorship of this Preface see our Preface. G.
[21] This couplet appeared first in 1648 edition of the 'Steps to the Temple;' but it properly belongs to the engraving in 'Carmen Deo Nostro' of 1652, which is reproduced in our illustrated 4to edition. G.
[22] 'The Weeper' appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 1-5): was reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 1-6), 1652 (pp. 85-92), 1670 (pp. 1-5). For reasons stated in our Preface, our text follows that of 1652; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem for details of various readings, &c. &c., and our Essay for critical remarks on it from POPE to DR. GEORGE MACDONALD. G.
[23] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 7-9): reprinted in 1652 and 1670. As before, our text is that of 1652 (pp. 55-61); but see Notes and Illustrations at close. The illustration, engraved by MESAGER, is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition. G.
[24] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 6-7): reprinted in 1648 (pp. 9-11) and 1670 editions. As it does not appear in 'Carmen Deo Nostro,' &c. (1652), our text follows that of 1648; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.
[25] Most of 'The Office of the Holy Crosse' appeared in the 'Steps' of 1648, but in a fragmentary form. First came a piece 'Upon our B. Saviour's Passion,' which included all the Hymns. Then 'the Antiphona,' which was the last so called here; then 'the Recommendation of the precedent Hymn;' then 'a Prayer;' and lastly, 'Christ's Victory,' including three other of the verses, called 'the Antiphona.' Our text is from 'Carmen Deo Nostro' &c. of 1652, as before (pp. 31-48)--the engraving in which is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition. See Notes and Illustrations at close of this composition. G.
[26]
Mors et vita duello Conflixero mirando: Dux vitae mortuus, regnat vivus.
_Latin Sequence_ 12th-13th century: Vict. Pasch. G.
[27] The engraving of our text (1652) here, is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition. For the Latin 'Expostulatio' belonging thereto, see our vol. ii. G.
[28] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 30-1): reprinted in 1652 (pp. 49-51) and 1670 (pp. 174-6). Our text is that of 1652, as before. See Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.
[29] Originally appeared in 'Steps' of 1646 (p. 15): was reprinted in editions 1648 (pp. 21-2) and 1670 (p. 15). Our text is that of 1648: but there are only slight orthographic differences in the others. G.
[30] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (p. 21): was reprinted in 1648 (p. 29) and 1670 (p. 22). Our text is that of 1648, but the others are the same except in the usual changes of orthography. The SANCROFT MS. in line 7 reads 'Then shall He drink;' line 9, 'My paines are in their nonage: my young feares;' line 10 I have adopted, instead of 'Are yet both in their hopes, not come to yeares,' which isn't English; line 12, 'are tender;' line 14, 'a towardnesse.' I have arranged these poems in numbered couplets as in the SANCROFT MS. I insert 'd,' dropped by misprint in 1648, but found in 1646 (line 13). G.
[31] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 21, 22): was reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 29, 30) and 1670 (pp. 22, 23). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree save in usual orthographic slight changes. In 1646 stanza ii. line 2 spells 'too' as 'two.' The SANCROFT MS. varies only, as usual, in the orthography. G.
[32] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 23, 24): was reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 32, 33), 1652 (pp. 61-63) and 1670 (pp. 24, 25). Our text is that of 1652, as before, but with an entire stanza from 1646 overlooked. See Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.
[33] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 33-40); was reprinted in 1652 (pp. 1-9) and 1670 (pp. 146-153). Our text is that of 1652, as before, and its engraving here is reproduced in our illustrated 4to edition. See Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.
[34] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 25-27): was reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 40-42) and 1670 (pp. 26-28). Our text is that of 1648: but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.
[35] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 27, 28): reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 42, 43) and 1670 (pp. 28, 29). Our text is that of 1648, with which the others agree, except in usual slight changes of orthography, and the following adopted from the SANCROFT MS.: line 7, a second 'they' inserted; line 17, 'than' for 'then;' line 21 '_vnpearch't_' = without perch or support. G.
[36] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 28-31): reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 43-47), 1652 (pp. 10-16) and 1670 (pp. 29-32). Our text is that of 1652, as before, and its engraving here, is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition. See Notes and Illustrations at close of this composition. G.
[37] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 94, 95), where it is headed 'An Himne for the Circumcision day of our Lord:' reprinted in edition of 1648 (pp. 47, 48) with 'A' for 'An' in heading, and in the 'Carmen &c.' of 1652 (pp. 17, 18), being there entitled simply 'New Year's Day,' and in the edition of 1670 (pp. 72-74). Our text is that of 1652, as before, but there are only slight differences besides the usual orthographical ones, in any. See Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.
[38] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 48-55), reprinted in 'Carmen' &c. of 1652 (pp. 19-28) and in 1670 (pp. 153-161). Our text is that of 1652, as before: but see close for Notes and Illustrations. In our illustrated quarto edition we reproduce the engraving here of 1652. G.
[39] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 55, 56): reprinted in editions of 1652 (pp. 29, 30) and 1670 (pp. 161, 162). Our text is that of 1652, as before: but see Notes at close of the poem. G.
[40] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 22, 23): reprinted in 1648 (pp. 56, 57) and in 1670 (pp. 23, 24). Our text is that of 1648, with the exception of reading in line 10, 'live' for 'lives,' from 1646 (and so in 1670). Other slight differences are simply in orthography, and not noted. In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is 'Vpon Christ's Resurrection.' G.
[41] For critical remarks on the present very striking expansion and interpretation rather than translation of MARINO, the Reader is referred to our Essay. The SANCROFT MS. must have contained this poem, for it is inserted in the index; but unfortunately the pages of the MS. containing it have disappeared. It was first published in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 51-73), and was reprinted in the editions of 1648 and 1670: and separately, with a brief introduction, a few years since. Our text is that of 1648 (pp. 57-74); but it differs from the edition of 1646 only in slight changes of spelling, _e.g._ 'hee' for 'he,' 'guild' for 'gild,' and the like--not calling for record. The edition of 1670, in st. i. line 3, misprints '_so_ what' for 'O what,' and TURNBULL repeats the error, and of himself misreads in st. xxii. 'Who thunders on a throne of stars above' for 'Who in a throne of stars thunders above,' and in like manner in st. xxiv. line 8 substitutes 'getting' for 'finding,' and in st. xxvi. line 3 'serve' for 'serves.' Again in st. li. first line of which is left partially blank, from (probably) the illegibility of CRASHAW'S MS., TURNBULL tacitly fills in, 'By proud usurping Herod now was borne,' and in line 3 misprints 'lineage' for 'image'--fetching it from the 'linage' of 1670--a plausible reading, yet scarcely in keeping with the verb 'worn.' So too, besides lesser orthographic alterations, in st. xxxvi. line 2 he does not detect the stupid misprint 'whose' for 'my,' nor that of 'fight' for 'sight' in st. xlvii. line 8, while in st. lxi. he drops 'all,' which even the 1670 edition does not do, any more than is it responsible for a tithe of TURNBULL'S mistakes here and throughout. G.
[42] Appeared first in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 74-75): was reprinted in 1652 (pp. 66-69) and 1670 (pp. 185-187). Our text is that of 1652: but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem, and our Essay for critical remarks. The engraving of 1652 is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition. G.
[43] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 76-78), where the title is 'A Hymne on the B. Sacrament:' reprinted in 1652 (pp. 70--73) and 1670 (pp. 187-190). Our text is that of 1652; but see Notes at close of the poem. G.
[44] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 74-78), where it is headed 'On a prayer booke sent to Mrs. M.R.:' was reprinted in 1648 (pp. 78-82), where the title differs from that of 1652 (pp. 108-112) in leaving out 'Prayer' and 'little,' and in 1670 as in 1646. Our text is that of 1652; but see Notes and Illustrations at close and on M.R. in our Essay. G.
[45] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 82-84), and was reprinted in 1670 (pp. 198-200). Our text is that of 1648; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.
[46] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 84-5): reprinted in 1652 (pp. 121-2) and 1670 (pp. 204-5). Out text is that of 1652, as before; but see Notes at close of the poem. G.
[47] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (p. 78): reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 88-9) and 1670 (p. 60). Our text is that of 1648, with a few adopted readings as noted onward. See our Essay on Crashaw's relation to Herbert. In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is 'Vpon Herbert's Temple, sent to a Gentlewoman. R. CR.' Line 3 in the MS. spells 'fire,' and has 'faire' before 'eyes;' adopted: line 5th, books were used to be tied with strings: line 6th, 1646, 'you have ... th':' line 7th, MS. reads 'would' for 'will;' adopted: line 8th, 'to waite on your chast.' G.
[48] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 79-84): reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 89-94), 1652 (pp. 93-100), and 1670 (pp. 61-67). Our text is that of 1652, as before, and its engraving of the Saint's portrait, and French lines here, are reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition. See Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem, and our Essay on Teresa and Crashaw. G.
[49] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 85-6): reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 97-8) and 1670 (pp. 67-8). Our text is that of 1648. See our Essay for the biographic interest of this poem, and also Notes at its close. G.
[50] Appeared originally in 1648 'Steps' (pp. 94-6): reprinted in editions of 1652 (pp. 103-107) and 1670 (pp. 194-7). Our text is that of 1652, as before. G.
[51] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (p. 98): reprinted in 1652 (p. 107) and 1670 (pp. 197-8). Our text is that of 1652, as before; but the only difference in the others is (except the usual slight changes in orthography), that in 1648, 2d part, line 5 reads 'longing' for 'louing,' which I have adopted, as pointing back to the 'longing' of the 1st part, line 2. The title I take from 1648, as in 1652 it is simply 'A Song.' G.
[52] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 90-1): reprinted in 1648 (pp. 99-101), 1652 (pp. 81-3), 1670 (pp. 70-2). Our text is that of 1652, as before; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.
[53] From 'Five Piovs and Learned Discourses:
1. A Sermon shewing how we ought to behave our selves in God's house.
2. A Sermon preferring holy Charity before Faith, Hope and Knowledge.
3. A Treatise shewing that God's Law now qualified by the Gospel of Christ, is possible, and ought to be fulfilled of us in this life.
4. A Treatise of the Divine attributes.
5. A Treatise shewing the Antichrist not to be yet come.
By Robert Shelford, of Ringsfield in Suffolk, Priest. Printed by the printers to the Universitie of Cambridge. 1635 [quarto].' See Note at close of the poem, and our Essay, for more on Shelford. G.
[54] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 106-7), where it is headed 'A Hymne in Meditation of the Day of Judgement:' reprinted 1652 (pp. 74-78), 1670 (pp. 191-4). Our text is that of 1652, and its engraving here is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition. See our Essay for critical remarks on this great version of a supreme hymn. G.
[55] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 107-9): reprinted 1652 (pp. 52-54) and 1670 (pp. 176-8). Our text is that of 1652, as before. In 1648 lines 1 and 2 read 'you' for 'thee;' and line 33 'Thou' for 'you,' the latter adopted. G.
[56] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 109-110): reprinted 1652 (pp. 79-80) and 1670 (pp. 194-5). Our text is that of 1652, as before, and its engraving here is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition in two forms (one hitherto unknown) from the Bodleian copy. G.
[57] Appeared first in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 96-9): reprinted in 1648 (pp. 111-113), 1652 (pp. 128-131), and 1670 (pp. 74-77). Our text is that of 1652, as before; with the exception of better readings from 1646, as noted below. See our Memorial Introduction and Essay for notices of the friendship of Cowley and Crashaw. G.
[58] As with Cowley's lines: see foot-note _ante_. G.
[59] See our Essay for critical remarks on this and related poems. G.
[60] May be 'kings;' but the MS. doubtful. G.
[61] Appeared originally in 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 103-7): was reprinted in 1648 (pp. 1-5), and 1670 (pp. 81-6). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but all agree. See Notes and Illustrations at close of this poem for other two earlier translations, and our Essay for the original Latin, with critical remarks. In our illustrated quarto edition will be found a pathetic and daintily-rendered illustration, done expressly for us by Mrs. Blackburn of Glasgow, and engraved by W.J. Linton, Esq. G.
[62] Appeared originally in the 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 110-1), and was reprinted in editions 1648 (pp. 7-8) and 1670 (pp. 106-7). Our text is that of 1648, as before, with the exception of 'gentlest' for 'gentle' from 1646 edition (line 2d), which is confirmed by the SANCROFT MS. The MS. in line 10 reads 'chatting:' line 16, I have corrected the usual reading of 'bosome' by 'blosome,' from the SANCROFT MS. The heading of the MS. is 'E Virg. Georg. particula. In laudem Veris. R. Cr.' _i.e._ Georg. ii. 323-345. G.
[63] Appeared originally in the 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 111): was reprinted in 1648 (p. 8) and 1670 (p. 107). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but all agree. G.
[64] Our text is from the 'Hygiasticon' of LESSIUS in the English translation of 1636, the title-page of which is as follows: 'Hygiasticon: or the right course of preserving Life and Health unto extream old Age: Together with soundnesse and integritie of the Senses, Iudgement, and Memorie. Written in Latine by LEONARD LESSIUS, and now done into English. The third Edition. Cambridge, 1636.' [42mo.] It is there entitled 'To the Reader, upon the Book's intent,' and begins at line 15; these opening lines being taken from the 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 112-3). See our Essay for remarks on this poem, and at close Notes and various readings. G.
[65] Appeared originally in 'Delights' of 1646 (p. 114): was reprinted in 1648 (p. 10) and 1670 (pp. 109-110). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. Our Poet has turned the prose of the original into verse (Aethiopica, lib. i. cap. 1). There was an early English translation of the whole, as follows: 'Heliodorus, his Aethiopian History: Done out of Greeke, and compared with other Translations. 1622' [quarto]. In line 2, 1646 and 1670 read 'in' for 'with:' line 7, 1646 misprints 'thy' for 'they.' The heading in the SANCROFT MS. is 'The faire Aethiopian, R. Cr.' TURNBULL perpetuates 1670's misprint of 'in' for 'with' in line 2, and adds one of his own in line 26, by misprinting 'guest' for 'guests.' G.
[66] Appeared originally in the 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 115-117): was reprinted 1648 (pp. 11-13) and 1670 (pp. 110-112). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree, save as follows: 1646 misprints 'cease' for 'ceaze' = seize, in line 17 from end; and 1670, line 8 from beginning, misprints 'own' for 'owe;' the latter perpetuated by TURNBULL. The poem is an interpretation of the first Idyll of Moschus. Line 5, 'O yes' = the legal _oyiez_: line 8, 'owe' = own. G.
[67] The first edition of Bishop Andrewes' Sermons was published in 1629. Its title was 'XCVI Sermons by the Right Honourable and Reverend Father in God, Launcelot Andrewes, late Lord Bishop of Winchester.' It is dedicated to the King by Laud and Buckeridge, Bishop of Ely, the latter adding a funeral sermon. It has no frontispiece. LOWNDES, as other bibliographers, does not seem to have known the edition of 1629. He calls that of 1631 the first, while it was the second; and he says it had a frontispiece, which is incorrect, if I may judge from a number of copies personally examined. The third edition (1635) I have not seen: but in the quarto (1641) appears a frontispiece-portrait, having the lines above, but no name or initials. Line 8 TURNBULL misprints 'and, with holy.' G.
[68] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 31-2): was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (pp. 18-19) and 1670 (pp. 86-7). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. The SANCROFT MS. gives us the name of the 'gentleman' celebrated, being thus headed, 'In obitum desideratissimi Mri Chambers, Coll. Reginal. Socij. R. CR.;' and in the margin in the archbishop's hand, 'The title and Name not in ye print.' The same MS. supplies us with lines 11-12 and 21-22, never before printed. This MS. in line 23 reads 'If yet at least he' ... and in line 32, 'are' for 'be.' Only other slight orthographic differences. G.
[69] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 32-3): was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (pp. 19-20) and 1670 (pp. 87-9). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. See our Essay, as before, for notice of HERRYS or HARRIS. In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is 'In ejusdem praematur. obitu. Allegoricum. R. CR.;' and line 9 reads 'tree' for 'plant;' adopted. For a short Latin poem added here, see our vol. ii. G.
[70] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 33-5): was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (pp. 20-2) and 1670 (pp. 89-91). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.
[71] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 36-7): was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (pp. 23-4) and 1670 (pp. 91-3). Our text is that of 1648; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.
[72] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 38-9): was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (pp. 24-6) and 1670 (93-4). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. The SANCROFT MS. is headed 'Epitaphium in eundem R. CR.' Line 31, TURNBULL misprints 'breast' for 'breath.' G.
[73] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 39-40), where it is headed 'An Epitaph vpon Husband and Wife, which died and were buried together.' G.
[74] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 40-1), where it is headed 'Vpon Mr. Staninough's Death:' was reprinted in the 'Delights' of 1648 (p. 27), with the simple inscription, 'At the Funerall of a young Gentleman,' and in 1652 (pp. 24-5), as 'Death's Lectvre and the Fvneral of a yovng Gentleman,' and in 1670 (_bis_), viz. p. 96 and pp. 206-7. Our text is that of 1652, as before; but see Notes at close of the poem. G.
[75] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (p. 40): was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (p. 28) and 1670 (p. 95). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is 'In obitum Dris Brooke. R. CR.' It reads 'banck' for 'bankes' in line 7. See our Essay for notice of Dr. Brooke. G.
[76] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 45-6): was reprinted in 'Delights' of 1648 (pp. 28-9) and 1670 (pp. 101-2). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.
[77] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 47-8): was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (pp. 30-1) and 1670 (pp. 102-4). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.
[78] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 49-50): was reprinted in 'Delights' of 1648 (pp. 32-3) and 1670 (pp. 104-6). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.
[79] Appeared originally in the 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 123-4), along with the other two (pp. 125-6): reprinted in 1648 (pp. 35-7) and 1670 (pp. 117-19). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. G.
[80] TURNBULL glaringly misprints 'The heart commanding in my heart,' and in line 15, 'O love;' the latter after 1670 as usual, the former his own. G.
[81] Appeared originally, without signature, in the work celebrated, which is a great folio. It was preceded by another, which, having been inserted in the 'Steps' of 1646 and the other editions (1652 excepted), has been continued to be reprinted as CRASHAW'S. It really belonged to Dr. EDWARD RAINBOW, Bishop of Carlisle, for whom, so late as 1688, it was first claimed by his biographer, Banks. This was pointed out in Notes and Queries by Rev. J.E.B. Mayor, M.A. of St. John's College, Cambridge (2d s. vol. iv. p. 286). One is thankful to have the claim confirmed by the non-presence of the poem in the SANCROFT MS., where only the above shorter one appears as by CRASHAW. Lines 5-8 of RAINBOW'S poem it was simply impossible for our singer to have written. I add the other at close of CRASHAW'S, as some may be curious to read it: but as the details of the grotesque 'Frontispiece' are celebrated by RAINBOW, not CRASHAW, I have departed from my intention of reproducing it in our illustrated quarto edition, the more readily in that I have much increased otherwise therein the reproductions announced. RAINBOW contributed to the University Collections along with CRASHAW, MORE, BEAUMONT, E. KING, &c. &c. See our Essay on Life and Poetry. G.
[82] Appeared originally in 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 130-1): was reprinted in 1648 (pp. 40-1) and 1670 (pp. 122-3). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but all agree. G.
[83] Appeared originally in 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 132-3), and was reprinted in 1648 (p. 42); but not in 1670. Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. The original is found in Carm. v. = 2. The SANCROFT M.S. reads line 4 'Blithest:' line 9 'numerous:' line 12 'A:' line 17 'our.' G.
[84] Appeared originally in 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 134-8): was reprinted in 1648 (pp. 43-7) and 1670 (pp. 124-8). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.
[85] Appeared originally in 'Voces Votivae ab Academicis Cantabrigiensibus pro novissimo Carolo et Mariae principe filio emissae. Cantabrigiae: apud Rogerum Daniel. MDCXL.' This poem did not appear in the edition of 1646; but it did in that of 1648 (p. 48). Not having been reprinted in 1670, it was overlooked by TURNBULL. Our text is from 1648; but the only variation from the original in 'Voces Votivae' is in line 7, 'to' instead of 'for.' G.
[86] Appeared as in last piece: 1648 (pp. 49-53), 1670 (pp. 97-100). Our text is that of 1648, as before, which corrects TURNBULL in many places as well in errors of commission as of omission; the latter extending to no fewer than forty-nine entire lines, in addition to the 'Apologie' of fourteen lines. See Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.
[87] Appeared originally in 1648 'Delights;' but is not given in 1670 edition. Line 14 is an exquisitely-turned allusion to COWLEY'S title-page of his juvenile Poems, 'Poetical _Blossoms_,' 1633. 'Apricocks' = apricots. So HERRICK in the 'Maiden Blush,'
'So cherries blush, and kathern peares, And _apricocks_, in youthfull yeares.'
(Works, by HAZLITT, vol. ii. p. 287.) G.
[88] Appeared originally in the 'Delights' of 1648 (pp. 67-8): was reprinted in 1652 (pp. 115-120) and 1670 (pp. 200-4). Our text is that of 1652, as before; but see various readings at close of the poems. See also our Essay for critical remarks. Our poet translates from the Latin of FRANCIS REMOND. G.
[89] Charles I. See our Essay on this and kindred poems, and their relation to the Latin royal poems. G.
[90] See our Notes to Panegyric on the Queen's 'numerous progenie.' G.
[91] Petronius, Satyricon, cap. 93. G.
[92] See notice of Staninough in our Essay, as before. G.
[93] See our Essay, as before, for notice of PORTER. G.
# Project Gutenberg #38550
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The Fuller Worthies' Library.
THE COMPLETE WORKS OF RICHARD CRASHAW.
In Two Volumes.
VOL. II.
ESSAY ON LIFE AND WRITINGS.
EPIGRAMMATA ET POEMATA LATINA: TRANSLATED FOR THE FIRST TIME. GLOSSARIAL INDEX.
London: Robson and Sons, Printers, Pancras Road, N.W.
The Fuller Worthies' Library.
THE COMPLETE WORKS OF RICHARD CRASHAW.
For the First Time Collected and Collated with the Original and Early Editions, and Much Enlarged with
I. Hitherto unprinted and inedited Poems from Archbishop Sancroft's MSS. &c. &c. II. Translation of the whole of the Poemata et Epigrammata. III. Memorial-Introduction, Essay on Life and Poetry, and Notes. IV. In Quarto, reproduction in facsimile of the Author's own Illustrations of 1652, with others specially prepared.
Edited by the
REV. ALEXANDER B. GROSART,
St. George's, Blackburn, Lancashire.
In Two Volumes.
VOL. II.
Printed for Private Circulation. 1873.
156 copies printed.
PREFACE.
In our Essay and Notes in the present Volume we so fully state such things as it seemed expedient to state on the specialties of our collection of Crashaw's Latin and Greek Poetry, in common with our like collection of his English Poetry in Vol. I., that little remains for preface here, beyond our wish renewedly to express our gratitude and obligations to our fellow-workers on the Translations now submitted. The names given at p. 4 herein, and the markings on the margin of the Contents, will show how generously my own somewhat large proportion of the task of love has been lightened by them; and throughout I have been aided and animated by the cordiality with which the friends have responded to my demands, or spontaneously sent their contributions. Preeminently I owe thanks to my 'brother beloved,' the Rev. RICHARD WILTON, M.A., Londesborough Rectory, Market Weighton.
On the text of the Latin and Greek I refer to the close of our Essay; but I must acknowledge willing and scholarly help, on certain points whereon I consulted them, from Rev. Dr. HOLDEN, Ipswich, Rev. Dr. JESSOPP, Norwich, and W. ALDIS WRIGHT, Esq. M.A. Cambridge (as before); albeit the inevitable variety of suggested emendations, as onward, compelled me to limit myself to as accurate a reproduction as possible of the text of Crashaw himself, obvious misprints excepted.
I have now to record the various University Collections wherein Crashaw's earliest poetical efforts appeared--all showing a passionate loyalty, which indeed remained with him to the end.
(_a_) Anthologia in Regis exanthemata; seu gratulatio Musarum Cantabrigiensium de felicissime conservata Regis Caroli valetudine, 1632.
(_b_) Ducis Eboracensis Fasciae a Musis Cantabrigiensibus raptim contextae, 1633.
(_c_) Rex Redux; sive Musa Cantabrigiensis Voti ... et felici reditu Regis Caroli post receptam coronam comitaque peracta in Scotia, 1633.
(_d_) Carmen Natalitium ad cunas illustrissimae Principis Elizabethae decantatum intra Nativitatis Dom. solemnia per humiles Cantabrigiae Musas, 1635.
(_e_) {Synodia}, sive Musarum Cantabrigiensium concentus et congratulatio ad serenissimum Britanniarum Regem Carolum de quinta sua sobole clarissima Principe sibi nuper felicissime nata, 1637.
(_f_) Voces votivae ab Academicis Cantabrigiensibus pro novissimo Caroli et Mariae Principe Filio emissae, 1640.
It is a noticeable fact, that Crashaw while still so young should have been invited to contribute to these University Collections along with Wren, Henry More, Edward King ('Lycidas'), Joseph Beaumont, Edward Rainbow, and kindred. His pieces in each are recorded in the places in our Volumes. They invite critical comment; but our space is fully exhausted.
By the liberality of F. MADOX-BROWN, Esq. R.A. I am enabled to furnish (in the 4to) in this our Second Volume an admirable photograph, by Hollyer of London, of his cartoon for the memorial-window in Peterhouse, Cambridge. Peterhouse is at late-last doing honour to some of her sons thus. Professor Ward, of Owens' College, Manchester, has the praise, as the privilege, of presenting the Crashaw portion of the fine Window. The figure is full of dignity and impressiveness; we may accept the creation of the Painter's genius for a Portrait. The accessories are suggestive of familiar facts in the life and poetry of Crashaw. Vignette-illustrations from W.J. LINTON, Esq. and Mrs. BLACKBURN again adorn our volume (in 4to). I regard that to the 'Captive Bird' (p. xxi.) as a gem. Finally, I cannot sufficiently acknowledge the cultured sympathy with which Mr. CHARLES ROBSON (of my Printers), one of the old learned school, has cooperated with me in securing accuracy. To 'err is human,' but I believe our Volumes will be found as little blemished as most. One misprint, however, caught our eye, just when our completed Vol. I. was sent out, which troubled us as much as ever it would have done Ritson, viz. 'anchor' for 'arrow' in Cowley's 'Hope' (p. 176, l. 23). Gentle Reader, be so good as correct this at once.
A.B.G.
Park View, Blackburn, Lancashire, March 4, 1873.
P.S. Three small overlooked items bearing on Crashaw having been recovered from a missing Note-book, I add them here.
(_a_) The 1670 edition of the 'Steps,' &c. (whose title-page is given in Vol. I. xliv.) was re-issued with an undated title-page as 'The Third Edition. London, Printed for _Richard Bently_, _Jacob Tonson_, _Francis Saunders_, and _Tho. Bennett_.' It is from the same type, and identical in every way except the fresh title-page, with the (so-called) '2d Edition.'
(_b_) In Thomas Shipman's 'Carolina, or Loyal Poems' (1683) there is a somewhat scurril piece entitled 'The Plagiary, 1658. Upon S.C., Presbyterian Minister and Captain, stealing forty-eight lines from Crashaw's Poems, to patch-up an Elegy for Mr. F. P[ierpont].' A very small specimen must suffice:
'Soft, sir,--stand! You are arraign'd for theft; hold up your hand. Impudent theft as ever was exprest, Not to steal jewels only, but the chest; Not to nib bits of gold from Crashaw's lines, But swoop whole strikes together from his mynes.'
Another piece, 'The Promise. To F.L. Esq., with Crashaw's Poems (1653),' has nothing quotable.
(_c_) In Aylett's Poems, 'Peace with her Fowre Gardens,' &c. (1622), there are three little commendatory poems signed 'R.C.,' and these have been assigned to Crashaw; but '1622' forbids this, as he was then only in his 9-10th year. G.
CONTENTS.
As neither Crashaw nor his early Editors furnished Contents to the Epigrammata et Poemata, we are left free to decide thereon; and inasmuch as (_a_) our translations are intended to make Vol. II. as generally accessible and understood as Vol. I, and as (_b_) very few of those here first printed have headings, or the Scripture-texts only--we have deemed it expedient to give as Contents the subjects in English. The Scholar-student will find the Latin headings of the Author in their places. In the right-hand margin the initials of the respective Translators are given; on which see pp. 4-5, and Notes to the successive divisions. [*] on left-hand margin indicates there is a Greek version also: [+] printed for first time: [x] translated for first time. G.
I. SACRED EPIGRAMS, 1-164. 1634-1670.
TRANS. PAGE
Note 2
x Dedication: Latin, pp. 7-11; English G., CL. 11
x To the Reader: Latin, pp. 16-22; English G. 22
* 1. Two went up into the Temple to pray CR., B. 35
2. Upon the asse that bore our Saviour CR., G. 36
3. The Lord 'despised and rejected' by His own people B. 37
x 4. The cripple at the Pool of Bethesda CL., G. 37
x 5. Christ to Thomas CL., A. 38
6. Whosoever will lose his life for My sake shall find it A., CR. 39, 206
x 7. Mary Magdalene early, when it was yet dark, cometh unto the sepulchre G. 40
x 8. On the miracle of multiplyed loaves G. 40
9. On the baptized Ethiopian CR., B. 41
10. The publican standing afar off, smote on his breast G. 42
*x 11. The widow's mites CR. 43
x 12. Mary, which also sat at Jesus' feet, and heard His word G. 43
x 13. The descent of the Holy Spirit G. 44
14. On the Prodigall CR. 45
15. I am ready not to be bound only, but to dye[1] CR., G. 45
x 16. On Herod worshipped as a god, eaten of worms CL. 46
x 17. When he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid, &c. G. 46
x 18. He offered them money CL. 47
x 19. The shadow of St. Peter heals the sick G. 47
20. The dumbe healed, and the people enjoyned silence CR., G. 48
21. And a certaine priest comming that way looked on him, &c. CR., G., A. 49
x 22. The ungrateful lepers G. 50
x 23. Be ye not fretted about to-morrow G., A. 51
x 24. Matthew called from the receipt of custom R. WI. 52
x 25. The dead son re-delivered to his mother CL. 52
26. It is better to go into heaven with one eye, &c. CR., G. 53
x 27. The man ill of dropsy cured G. 54
x 28. There was no room for them in the Inn G. 55
29. Upon Lazarus his teares CR., G. 55
x 30. Caiphas angry that Christ confesses He is the Christ G. 56
x 31. But though He had done so many miracles, &c. CL. 56
x 32. To S. Andrew, fisherman G. 57
x 33. I am the voice G. 57
x 34. The chains spontaneously fall off G. 58
x 35. On All-Saints' Day R. WI. 58
36. Upon the Powder-day CR. 59
x 37. God in the Virgin's womb R. WI. 59
x 38. To the Jews, murderers of St. Stephen G. 61
x 39. St. John in exile G. 61
40. To the infant martyrs CR., B. 62
x 41. The blessed Virgin seeks Jesus G. 63
42. I am not worthy, &c. CR. 63
43. And He answered them nothing CR., G. 64
x 44. Now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace CL. 65
x 45. The Word among thorns G. 65
x 46. The Judaic and Christian Sabbath G. 66
47. The blind cured by the word of our Saviour CR. 67
x 48. My burden is light G. 67
49. On the miracle of loaves CR., R. WI. 67
x 50. Now we know Thee to have a devil G. 68
51. On the blessed Virgin's bashfulness CR. 69
x 52. On the wounds of our crucified Lord R. WI. 69
x 53. Wherefore eateth your Master with Publicans? G. 71
* 54. Come, see the place where the Lord lay Vpon the sepulchre of our Lord CR. 72
x 55. The unthankful lepers. (Where are the nine?) G. 72
56. On the still-surviving markes of our Saviour's wounds CR., G. 73
57. The sick implore St. Peter's shadow CR., G. 74
x 58. Why are ye troubled? Behold My hands, &c. G. 75
x 59. The chains spontaneously fell from Peter, &c. G. 75
x 60. From his body there were brought ... handkerchiefs, &c. R. WI. 76
x 61. Christ the Vine to the Vinedresser-Father G. 76
x 62. Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian. CL. 77
63. But men loved darkness rather than light CR., B., G. 77
64. Dives asking a drop CR. 78
x 65. How can a man be born when he is old? R. WI. 79
x 66. The tree dried up by the word of Christ G. 80
x 67. Zacharias incredulous CL. 80
68. On the water of our Lord's baptisme CR., B. 81
x 69. The bowed-down woman healed by the Lord, &c. G. 81
x 70. Neither durst any man ... ask Him any more questions G. 82
71. St. John and his mother B. 82
72. If Thou be the Son of God, cast Thyself down B. 83
73. The Lord weeping over the Jews B. 83
x 74. Nor even as this publican G. 84
x 75. On Saul blinded with too much light R. WI. 84
76. Blessed are the eyes which see B., G. 85
x 77. Her son is delivered to his mother from the bier R. WI. 85
x 78. On the wise of this world R. WI. 86
x 79. The Jews seeking to cast Christ headlong from a precipice G. 87
x 80. The casting down of the dragon G. 87
x 81. The blessed Virgin believing G. 87
x 82. Is it lawful to give tribute to Caesar? G. 88
x 83. The minstrels and crowd making a noise about the dead G. 89
84. The fishermen called B., G., A. 89
85. Give to Caesar ... and to God CR., G. 90
86. The Lord borne on the ass B., R. WI. 90
x 87. They shall see the Son of Man coming in a cloud G. 91
x 88. Except I shall put my fingers, &c. G. 91
x 89. To the Jews stoning Stephen G. 92
x 90. To St. John the beloved disciple G. 92
91. Upon the infant martyrs CR., G. 93
x 92. God with us G. 93
93. The circumcision of Christ: Vol. I. pp. 48-9; and CR. 94
x 94. The Epiphany of our Lord CL. 94
x 95. Lo, we have sought Thee, &c. G. 95
96. Water turned into wine G., CL., A. 96
x 97. The Lord at a distance heals the absent servant, &c. G. 97
98. Why are ye so fearful? B. 97
x 99. Now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace CL. 98
x 100. Good seed in the field G. 99
101. She began to wash His feet, &c. CR., CL. 99
x 102. What seekest that I do to thee? G. 100
x 103. The silence of Christ to the woman of Canaan G. 101
104. Blessed be the paps which Thou hast sucked CR. 101
x 105. Christ the Vine (including the branches) G. 102
106. Verily I say unto you, Yee shall weep and lament CR. 102
107. Christ the good Shepherd B., CL. 103
108. On the wounds of the crucified Lord CR., G. 104
x 109. The paralytic healed G. 104
x 110. Then took they up stones G. 105
x 111. On the Resurrection of the Lord R. WI. 105
x 112. But some doubted R. WI. 106
x 113. The scars of the wounds which the Lord showed, &c. G. 106
x 114. John sends to Jesus, &c. CL. 107
115. On St. Peter cutting off Malchus his eare CR. 108
116. The withered hand healed G., B. 108
117. To Pontius washing his hands CR., B. 108
x 118. The stater-giving fish G. 109
119. I have overcome the world B., A. 110
x 120. On the ascension of our Lord R. WI. 111
*x 121. The descent of the Holy Spirit G. 112
x 122. God so loved the world, that He gave His ... Son R. WI. 112
x 123. I have bought five yoke of oxen G. 113
x 124. St. Paul healing the lame man with a word, &c. R. WI. 113
* 125. To the sacred Dove alighting on the head of Christ W. 114
x 126. The doors of the prison self-opening to Peter G. 115
127. The Pharisees murmured, &c. G., B. 116
x 128. On the beam of the Pharisee R. WI. 116
x 129. They determined ... he should be put out of the synagogue A. 117
130. Concerning the prayer of the sons of Zebedee CL., B. 117
x 131. To the guests at the miraculous supper of the five loaves R. WI. 118
x 132. Christ overcoming the world G. 119
133. The Grecian disputants go about to kill St. Paul R. WI. 119
x 134. He that is greatest among you, let him be as the younger B. 120
x 135. He beheld the city, and wept over it R. WI. 120
136. Christ in Egypt R. WI. 121
x 137. The blind confessing Christ, &c. G., B. 121
138. If any man will come after Me, &c. G. 122
139. And he left all ... and followed Him B., G. 122
140. Ye build the sepulchres of the Prophets CR., G. 123
x 141. The man with the withered hand, &c. G. 123
x 142. Luke the beloved physician B., A. 124
143. The dropsical man thirsting now for Christ G. 125
144. To the assembly of all the S W., A. 125
x 145. Christ heals in absence CL. 127
x 146. The man born blind B., A. 127
x 147. And they laughed at Him G. 127
x 148. The wisdom of the world CL. 128
*x 149. On the stable where our Lord was born A. 128
x 150. St. Stephen to his friends, to raise no monument CL. 130
x 151. On St. John, whom Domitian cast into a caldron, &c. CL. 130
x 152. The infant-martyrs G. 131
x 153. They brought unto Him all sick people, &c. R. WI. 131
x 154. A sword shall pierce through thy own soul G. 132
x 155. On the blood of the Lord's circumcision R. WI. 133
x 156. The Child Jesus among the doctors R. WI. 134
157. To our Lord, upon the water made wine CR., G. 135
x 158. The Infant Christ is presented to the Father in the Temple R. WI. 135
x 159. The leper beseeching G. 136
160. Why are ye afraid? CR., B. 137
x 161. They teach customs, &c. R. WI. 138
*x 162. Command that this stone become a loaf G. 139
163. The woman of Canaan R. WI. 139
164. Upon the dumbe devill cast out, &c. CR. 140
x 165. They said, This is of a truth that Prophet R. WI. 141
x 166. It was winter, and Jesus walked in Solomon's porch R. WI. 141
x 167. They gave large money to the soldiers R. WI. 142
x 168. To the blessed Virgin: concerning the angelic salutation R. WI. 143
169. To Pontius washing his blood-stained hands CR. 144
x 170. On the day of the Lord's Passion R. WI. 144
x 171. On the day of the Lord's Resurrection, &c. A. 146
x 172. On the scars of the Lord still remaining R. WI. 147
x 173. My peace I give unto you R. WI. 149
x 174. Paul's conversion and blindness CL. 149
x 175. I am the Way, &c. R. WI. 150
x 176. On the night and winter journey of the Infant Lord R. WI. 150
x 177. I do not say that I will pray the Father for you A. 157
*x 178. On the day of the Lord's Ascension R. WI. 159
*x 179. The blind man implores Christ R. WI. 160
*x 180. What man of you having an hundred sheep, &c. R. WI. 161
*x 181. To Herod beheading St. James R. WI. 162
*x 182. The blind men having received their sight, &c. R. WI. 163
* 183. Zaccheus in the sycamore-tree R. WI. 164
184. On our crucified Lord, naked and bloody CR. 164
185. Sampson to his Dalilah CR. 164
SECULAR EPIGRAMS, 165-6.
1. Upon Ford's two Tragedyes, 'Love's Sacrifice' and 'The Broken Heart' 165
2. Vpon the Faire Ethiopian, &c. 165
3. On marriage 165
4. On Nanus mounted upon an ant 165
5. Vpon Venus putting-on Mars his armes 166
6. Vpon the same 166
7. Out of Martiall 166
II. SACRED EPIGRAMS, NEVER BEFORE PRINTED, 167-205.
+x 1. St. Paul and the viper G. 169
+x 2. The miracle of the loaves G. 169
+x 3. Of the tears of the suffering Christ G. 170
+x 4. The sepulchre of the Lord G. 171
+x 5. The parting words of Love G. 172
+x 6. Herod devoured of worms G. 172
+x 7. It is good to be here G. 173
+x 8. Look on the lilies, &c. R. WI. 173
+x 9. The deaf healed R. WI. 173
+x 10. The modesty of the blessed Virgin G. 174
+x 11. I send you as lambs, &c. G. 174
+x 12. Christ carried by the devil G. 175
+x 13. St. John the Baptist a voice G. 175
+x 14. John the Voice, Christ the Word G. 176
+x 15. On the birth of the Lord, &c. G. 176
+x 16. Of the 'blue-blood' pride of the Athenians G. 177
+x 17. I am the True Vine G. 178
+x 18. The departure of Christ lamented, &c. G. 178
+x 19. On the descent of the Holy Spirit R. WI. 179
+x 20. Life and Death G. 179
+ 21. I am the Doore CR., G. 180
+ 22. Upon the thornes taken downe from our Lord's head, &c. CR., G. 181
+x 23. Nicodemus G. 181
+x 24. To Domitian, concerning St. John, &c. R. WI. 183
+x 25. The voice of the Baptist G. 183
+x 26. On St. Peter loosed by the angel R. WI. 184
+ 27. On St. Peter casting away his nets, &c. CR., G. 184
+x 28. The Lamb of God, &c. G. 185
+x 29. The miraculous draught of fishes G. 186
+x 30. Lord, not my feet only, &c. G. 186
+x 31. Though they beheld so many miracles, &c. G. 186
+x 32. On the cloud which received the Lord R. WI. 187
+x 33. He saw the city, and wept over it G. 188
+x 34. Nor even as this publican R. WI. 189
+x 35. His Disciples came and awoke Him R. WI. 189
+x 36. The woman of Canaan G. 189
+x 37. Wherefore sitteth your Master with sinners, &c. G. 191
+x 38. Miracles of healing, &c. G. 191
+x 39. To St. Luke the physician R. WI. 192
+x 40. He bears His own cross G. 193
+ 41. Upon our Lord's last comfortable discourse, &c. CR., G. 194
+x 42. And they spat upon Him G. 194
+x 43. He besought that He would go with him, &c. G. 194
+x 44. For dread came upon him, &c. G. 196
+ 45. But now they have seen and hated CR., G. 196
+x 46. The blind suppliant G. 197
+x 47. The Pharisees insidiously watching, &c. G. 199
+x 48. Touched the hem of His garment, &c. R. WI. 200
+x 49. The departing Saviour R. WI. 200
+x 50. Paul unfearing [page 45, and] G. 201
+x 51. The message of the Baptist to Christ R. WI. 202
+x 52. Gifts to Jesus R. WI. 202
+x 53. On the blessed Virgin's easy parturition R. WI. 203
+ 54. Upon our Saviour's tombe, &c. CR., G. 204
+x 55. On the Holy Spirit descending, &c. R. WI. 205
+ 56. Life for death CR. 205
+x 57. On the Divine love CR. 205
III. LATIN POEMS. PART FIRST: SACRED. HITHERTO UNCOLLECTED, 207-218.
x Faith, which alone justifies, exists not without hope and love G. 209
x Baptism cancels not after-sins CL. 216
IV. LATIN POEMS. PART FIRST: SACRED. NEVER BEFORE PRINTED, 219-242.
+ Psalm 1. 221
+x Wrath of the judgment-whirlwind R. WI. 221
+x Even so: come, Lord Jesus R. WI. 223
+x Circumcision of Christ R. WI. 225
+x The Virgin Mary, on losing the Child Jesus R. WI. 229
+x War in heaven R. WI. 231
+x We do not receive, but make, a short life R. WI. 233
+x Martyrs R. WI. 235
+x Hope R. WI. 237
+x On Stephen's crown R. WI. 239
x Jesus Christ's expostulation with an ungrateful world R. WI. 241
LATIN POEMS. PART SECOND: SECULAR, 243-92.
I. _From 'Steps to the Temple' and 'Delights of the Muses.'_
x The Bubble G. 247
x Peace of mind, under the similitude of a captive song-bird G. 258
x Gain out of loss G. 263
x Description of human life R. WI. 266
x On Pygmalion A., G. 269
x Arion G. 273
x On Apollo pining for Daphne G. 279
x Aeneas the bearer of his father G. 283
x Of the generation and regeneration of the Phoenix G. 284
x Epitaph A., G. 286
x Elegy R. WI. 289
x Woman a treasury of evils G. 290
LATIN POEMS. PART SECOND: SECULAR. NEVER BEFORE PRINTED, 293-330.
II. _Miscellaneous and Commemorative._
+x The beautiful not lasting G. 296
+x A hymn to Venus G. 300
+x A description of Spring R. WI. 303
+x Priscianus beaten and being beaten R. WI. 308
+x To a Tractate on this subject, &c. R. WI. 315
+ Purgation 317
+x To my most estimable preceptor ... R. Brooke R. WI. 319
x On death of Rev. Dr. Mansell R. WI. 323
x To the Right Hon. Lord Robert Heath, on being made a judge, &c. R. WI. 326
+ Ode on Horace, Lib. ii. 13, in Greek 329
LATIN POEMS. PART SECOND: SECULAR, 331-84.
III. _Royal and Academical._
x The Return of the King A. 333
x To the royal Infant not yet born R. WI. 335
x To the King on recovery from small-pox R. WI. 337
x To her serene Majesty child-bearing in winter R. WI. 339
x To the Queen CL. 342
x To the Queen ... from the university R. WI. 345
x On birth of Princess Mary CL. 346
+x On the same R. WI. 350
x To the Queen R. WI. 354
x The prayer of Peterhouse for the House of God [=its chapel] S.S. 357
x A groan on occasion of the difficult parturition of the remaining works of Peterhouse R. WI., G. 362
x To the venerable man, Master Tournay, &c. CL. 371
x To Master Brooke R. WI. 374
x Epitaph on Dr. Brooke R. WI. 376
x Epitaph on William Herries G. 378
x On the same R. WI. 383
x On the Portrait of Bishop Andrewes CR. 384
Glossarial Index 385
ILLUSTRATIONS IN VOL. II. 4TO.
Photograph of the Cartoon for the memorial-window to Crashaw in Peterhouse, by F. Madox-Brown, Esq. R.A. _facing title-page._
The captive Song-bird, by Mrs. Blackburn _vignette to Essay._
Vignette illustrations, by W.J. Linton, Esq. _pp._ 96, 242, 251, 295, 329, 350, 373, 377.
ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND POETRY OF CRASHAW.[2]
In our Memorial-Introduction (vol. i. p. xxvi.) we make two promises, which fall now to be redeemed:
(_a_) A STUDY OF THE LIFE AND POETRY OF RICHARD CRASHAW.
(_b_) A MEMOIR OF WILLIAM CRASHAW, B.D., HIS FATHER.
The latter is in so many ways elucidative and illuminative of the former, outwardly and inwardly, that I deem it well to give it first.
I. MEMOIR OF WILLIAM CRASHAW, B.D.
The late laborious and accurate Joseph Hunter, in his MS. collections yclept Chorus Vatum, which by rare good fortune are preserved in the British Museum (Addl. MSS. 24.487, pp. 34-39), thus begins, _s.n._
'I am here introducing a name which may be said to be hitherto unknown in the regions of Poetry, and which has been unaccountably passed over by biographical writers of every class; yet one who has just claims on our attention of his own as well as in being the father of Richard Crashaw, whose merits are admitted;' and he continues with a pleasant egotism that one can readily pardon, 'and he has particular claims upon me, as having been a native of the part of the kingdom from which I spring, and bearing a name which is that of a numerous family from whom I descend.'
We shall find onward, that the elder Crashaw had a unique gift of Poetry; but independent of that, a somewhat prolonged acquaintance with his numerous books enables us emphatically to ratify the 'claims' of '_his own_' otherwise--though in strong, even fierce, antagonism as Divine and Writer to his gentle-natured son's after-opinions.
Hitherto, in the brief and meagre notices of his son, and of the paternal Crashaw, it has simply been stated that he was a '_Yorkshireman_.' This is mentioned incidentally in various places. We are now enabled by the interest in our researches of local Antiquaries, together with aid from the Hunter and Cole MSS., to give for the first time family-details. Handsworth, sometimes spelled Hansworth, near Sheffield, one of the hamlets of England in the 'Black Country'--once couched among green fields and hedge-row 'lanes,' though now blighted and begrimed--was the 'nest' of the Crashaws; and there and in the neighbourhood the name is met with until comparatively recent times.[3] The Church-Register goes back to 1558, and under Baptisms, Aug. 24th, 1568, is this entry, 'Thomas, son of Richard Crawshaw, baptised;' and, alas, under the following 'November 14th,' 'Thomas, son of Richard Crawshaw, buried.' Next comes our Worthy:
'1572, October 26th, WILL., son of Richard Crawshaw, baptised.' There follow: January 12th, 1574, 'Francis;' November 24th, 1577, 'Ann'--both baptised; April 26th 1585, 'Richard,' son of Richard, buried; 1591, 'Robert Eairl [_sic_] and Dorothy Crawshaw married;' 1608, November 20th, 'Hellen Crawshaw, widow, buried.' Then in 1609, 1611, 1613, 1615, 1619, 1623, 1627, entries concerning the 'Francis' of 1574 and his household. The name does not reappear until 1682, January 1st, when 'William, son of William Crawshaw, is 'baptised;' and so the usual record of the light and shadow of 'Births and Marriages and Deaths' goes on until July 22d, 1729.
It appears from these Register-data that the father of our William Crashaw was named 'Richard,' and that he died in April 1585, when Master William was passing his 13th year. It also appears that his mother was named 'Hellen,' and that she died as 'a widow' in November 1608. In addition to these entries, I have discovered that this 'Hellen' was daughter of John Routh, of Waleswood; a name of mark in Yorkshire, in itself and through marriages.[4] That we are right in all this is made certain by his Will, wherein our Crashaw (_pater_) leaves 'to the parishe of Hansworth, in Com. Ebor., where I was borne, my owne works, all to be bounde together, to lye in the churche; and fourty shillings in monye to the stocke of the poor of that parishe.'[5] So far as I can gather from several family-tables which have been furnished to me, _the_ Richard Crashaw, father of our William Crashaw, was son of another Richard Crashaw, who in turn was Rector of Aston, next parish to Handsworth, in 1539. Thus, if not of 'blue blood' in the heraldic sense, the Crashaws must have been well-to-do; for they are found not only intermarrying with good Yorkshire families, but also occupying considerable social status: _e.g._ a son of Francis--described as of Hansworth-Woodhouse, a hamlet of Hansworth--brother of William, was admitted to the freedom of the Cutlers' Company of Sheffield in 1638, and was Master in 1675. I have lineal descents brought down to the present year; and the annals of the House may hold their own in family-histories.[6] Our Worthy had life-long intercourse and life-long friendships with the foremost in Yorkshire, as his Will genially and quaintly testifies.
Fatherless in his 13th-14th year, his widowed mother must have been in circumstances pecuniarily that enabled her to have William, at least, '_prepared_' for the University. He was of renowned 'St. John's,' Cambridge, designated by him his 'deere nurse and spirituall mother.'[7] A MS. note by Thomas Baker, in his copy of 'Romish Forgeries and Falsifications' (1606), now in the Library of St. John's, furnishes almost the only definite notice of his University career that I have met with, as follows: 'Guil. Crashawe Eboracensis admissus socius Coll. Jo. pro Dna Fundatrice, authoritate Regia, sede vacante Epi. Elien. 19 Jan. 1593.'[8] Such is the 'entry' as given by Baker; but in the original it is as follows: 'Gulielmus Chrashawe Eboracensis admissus sum sisator pro Mr. Alveye Maij 1, 1591.' The Master and each senior Fellow chose sizars at this date. Again: 'Ego Gulielmus Crashawe Eboracensis admissus sum socius huius Collegij pro domina fundatrice, Authoritate regia, sede vacante Episcopi Eliensis, 19 Januarij 1593' [_i.e._ 1593-4]. The Bishop of Ely had the right of nominating one Fellow.[9] The See of Ely was vacant from the death of Bishop Richard Cox, 22d July 1581, to the occupancy of Martin Heton in 1598-9. Hence it came that the Queen presented Crashaw to the fellowship of St. John's. (See Baker's St. John's, by Mayor (vol. i. p. 438), for more details.) This was somewhat late. How he obtained the patronage of Elizabeth does not appear. The entry in 'White Vellum Book' of the College Treasury runs simply, 'Being crediblie informed of the povertie and yet otherwise good qualities and sufficiencie of Wm. Crashaw, B.A.' &c. The opening paragraphs of his Will characteristically recount his successive ecclesiastical appointments and preferments, and hence will fittingly come in here. 'In the name of the true and everlivinge God, Amen. I William Crashawe, Bachelor in Divinitie, Preacher of God's Worde. Firste at Bridlington, then at Beverley in Yorkshire. Afterwards at the Temple; since then Pastor of the Churche of Ag[nes] Burton, in the diocese of Yorke; nowe Pastor of that too greate Parishe of White-Chappell in the suburbs of London: the unworthye and unprofitable servante of God, make and ordaine this my last Will and Testament.' Previous to the death of Elizabeth he had been '_deprived_' of a 'little vicarage' ('A Discourse on Popish Corruptions requiring a Kingly Reformation:' MS. in Royal Library). Inquiries at Bridlington, formerly Burlington, and the several places named, have resulted in nothing, from the destruction of muniments, &c. In the earlier he must have been 'Curate' only. His many legacies of his 'owne workes,' which were to 'lye' in many churches, have all perished, or at least disappeared; and equally so his various 'monyes' for the 'poore.' It is sorrowful to find how so very often like provisions are discovered to have gone out of sight, to an aggregate few indeed suspect.
With Agnes Burton he had closer relations, inasmuch as one 'item' of his Will runs: 'The next avoydance of Ag. Burton, taken in my brother's name (for which he knoweth what hath byn offered), I give and bequeathe the same to my said brother Thomas, to be by him disposed to some worthy man.'
He describes 'Mr. Henry Alvay,' 'the famous Puritan,' as his 'ffather in Christ,' in bequeathing him 'one siluer pott with a cover loose, parcell guilt, of about 13 ounces.'[10] When, or from whom, he received 'orders' and ordination does not appear, but what our Worthy became as a Preacher his 'Sermons' remain to attest. They attest his evangelical fervour even to passion, his intense convictions, his wistful tenderness alternated with the most vehement rebuke of fashionable sins and worldliness, his deep personal love for the Lord Jesus, and a strangely pathetic yearning for all men to be 'safe' in Him. He had a kind of holy ubiquity of zeal in occupying pulpits where 'witness' was to be borne 'for the Truth.' His motto, found in a copy of Valerius Maximus, and elsewhere, was 'Servire Deo regnare est' (Notes and Queries, 3d S. vii. 111). America ought to prize his Sermon 'Preached in London before the Right Honourable the Lord Lawarre, Lord Governour and Captaine Generall of Virginia, and others of his Maiestie's Counsell for that Kingdome, and the rest of the Adventurers in that Plantation. At the said Lord Generall his leaue-taking of England, his natiue countrey, and departure for Virginia, February 21, 1609. By W. Crashaw, Bachelar of Divinitie, and Preacher at the Temple. Wherein both the lawfulnesse of that Action is maintained, and the necessity thereof is also demonstrated, and so much out of the grounds of Policie, as of Humanity, Equity and Christianity. Taken from his mouth, and published by direction.' 1610. The running heading is 'A New Yeere's Gift to Virginea.' The text is St. Luke xxii. 32: 'I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not: and when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren.' There is no nobler Sermon than this of the period; and it is only one of various equally eloquent, impressive, and powerful. Politically the Preacher saw far ahead, and his patriotism is chivalrous as Sidney's. Dr. Donne later preached for the same Virginia Company. He had 'sought' to go as secretary in the outset.
Our Worthy was twice married. Of his first wife--mother of Richard, our 'sweet Singer'--I have failed utterly to get so much as her name. Of his second wife there remains a privately-printed tractate entitled 'The Honovr of Vertve, or the Monument erected by the sorowfull Husband, and the Epitaphes annexed by learned and worthy men, to the immortall memory of that worthy gentlewoman Mrs. Elizabeth Crashawe. Who dyed in child-birth, and was buried in Whit-Chappell, October 8, 1620. In the 24 yeare of her age.' Of inconceivable interest would this remarkable tractate have been, had this been the Poet's mother; but the date shows that Hunter, in his 'Chorus Vatum,' and others, are mistaken in their statement that she was such. Richard Crashaw was born in 1612-3, while the 'Epitaphes' and other allusions touchingly inform us that this fatal 'child-birth' was, 'as she most surely expected,' of her only child. The great Usher preached her funeral-sermon, 'at which Sermon and Funerall was present one of the greatest Assemblies that ever was seene in man's memorie at the burial of any priuate person.' The illustrious Preacher--who 'vseth,' the Memorial says, 'to be very wary and modeste in commendation'--is very full and articulate in his praises of the dead. One bit we read with wet eyes; for among other traits Usher praises 'her singular motherly affection _to the child of her predecessor_--a rare vertue [as he noted] in step-mothers at this day.'[11] One can scarcely avoid a sigh that such a 'step-mother' was not spared to such a 'child.' No 'quick' name is found to any of the Verse, nor is the Verse intrinsically very memorable, except for its wealth of sympathy towards the Widower.[12]
Of our Worthy's numerous Writings I have made out a careful enumeration, inasmuch as the usual bibliographical authorities (as Lowndes and Hazlitt) are exceedingly empty; but I must utilise it elsewhere, seeing that such a catalogue of (for the most part) violent invective against Popery were incongruous in an edition of the Poetry of his so opposite-minded son. These three out of our collection will show that Popery was the supreme object of his aversion; and even the full title-pages give but a poor idea of the out-o'-way learning--for he was a scholar among scholars--the grave wit, the sarcasm, the shrewd sense, and, alas, the uncharity of these and kindred sermons and books. The first is this, but from a later edition, for a reason that will appear: 'Loyola's Disloyalty; or the Iesvites' open Rebellion against God and His Church. Whose Doctrine is Blasphemie, in the highest degree, against the blood of Christ, which they Vilifie, and under-valew, that they might uphold their Merits. By Consequent, encouraging all Traytors to kill their lawfull Kings and Princes. With divers other Principles and Heads of their damnable and erronious Doctrine. Worthy to be written and read in these our doubtfull and dangerous times. 1643' (4to). This was originally issued as 'The Iesvites' Gospell' (1610), and in 1621 and 1641 as 'The Bespotted Jesuit.' Be it specially noted that Crashaw himself must not be made responsible for the after title-pages.[13] Next is this: 'The Parable of Poyson. In Five Sermons of Spirituall Poyson, &c. Wherein the poysonfull Nature of Sinne, and the Spirituall Antidotes against it, are plainely and brefely set downe. Begun before the Prince his Highnesse. Proceeded in at Greye's Inne and the Temple, and finished at St. Martin's in the fields. By William Crashaw, Batcheler of Diuinity, and Preacher of God's word. 1618' (4to). The Epistle-dedicatory is dated from Agnes Burton, Yorkshire. 'The ioyfull 5 of Nouember, the day neuer to be forgotten.' The third is this: 'The New Man, or a Svpplication from an vnknowne Person, a Roman Catholike, vnto Iames, the Monarch of Great Brittaine, and from him to the Emperour, Kings, and Princes of the Christian World. Touching the causes and reasons that will argue a necessity of a Generall Councell to be fortwith assembled against him that now vsurps the Papall Chaire vnder the name of Paul the fifth. Wherein are discouered more of the secret Iniquities of that Chaire and Court, then hitherto their friends feared, or their very aduersaries did suspect. Translated into English by William Crashaw, Batchelour in Diuinity, according to the Latine Copy, sent from Rome into England. 1622' (4to). Other of these controversial tractates, or 'Flytings' (Scotice), are more commonly known, and need not detailed notice from us. That the 'ruling passion' was 'strong' to the end, appears by the already repeatedly named Will, the opening of which has been given, and which thus continues: 'For my religion, I professe myself in lief and deathe a Christian, and the crosse of Jesus Christ is my glorye, and His sufferings my salvation. I renounce and abhorre Atheisme, Iudaisme, Turcisme, and all heresies against the Holy and Catholike faithe, oulde and newe, and (namelye) Poperie, beinge as nowe it is established by the canons of Trent and theyr present allowed decrees and doctors, lyke a confused body of all heresies.' And again: 'I accounte Poperie (as it nowe is) the heape and chaos of all heresies, and the channell whereunto the fowlest impieties and heresies that have bene in the Christian worlde have runne and closelye emptied themselves. I beleeve the Pope's seate and power to be the power of the greate Antichrist, and the doctrine of the Pope (as nowe it is) to be the doctrine of Antichrist; yea, that doctrine of devills prophesied of by the Apostles, and that the trve and absolute Papist, livinge and dyeinge, debarres himself of salvation for oughte that we knowe. And I beleve that I am bounde to separate myself from that sinagogue of Rome if I wil be saved. And I professe myselfe a member of the true Catholike Churche, but not of the Roman Churche (as nowe it is), and to looke for salvation, not by that faith nor doctrine which that Churche nowe teacheth, but that which once it had, but now falne from it.' And then follow 'groundes' in burning and 'hard' words, intermingled with strange outbursts of personal humiliation before God and an awful sense of His scrutiny.
These Title-pages and Will-extracts must suffice to indicate the Ultra-Protestantism of the elder Crashaw. To qualify them--in addition to our note of the intensified after title-pages _by others_--it must be remembered that the Armada of 1588 flung its scaring shadow across his young days, and that undoubtedly the descendants of Loyola falsified their venerable Founder's intentions by political agitations and plottings. These coloured our ecclesiastical polemique's whole ways of looking at things. His Will and codicil are dated in 1621-2, and during these years and succeeding, his most fiery and intense 'Sermons' and tractates were being published. Richard was then growing up into his teens, and without his 'second' mother. As Crashaw senior died in 1626--his Will having been 'proved' 16th October in that year--our Poet-saint was only about 13-14 when he lost his father, scarcely ten when appointed by him executor, the words being: 'I ordaine and make Mr. Robert Dixon and _my sonne Richarde_ executors of my Will' (10th June 1622).[14]
His Epistles-dedicatory and private Letters (several of which are preserved in the British Museum, and of which I have copies--one very long to Sir Julius Caesar on his brother's illness) and his Will, make it plain that our Worthy mingled in the highest society, and was consulted in the most delicate affairs. His dedication of one of his most pronounced books, 'Consilium quorundam Episcop. Bononiae &c.' (1613), to Shakespeare's Earl of Southampton, _as to a trusted friend_, settles, to my mind, the (disputed) fact as to the Earl having become a Protestant. So too the translation of Augustine's 'City of God' (1620, 2d edition) is dedicated to William Earl of Pembroke, the Earl of Arundel, and the Earl of Montgomery.
The last matter to be touched on is the Verse of the paternal Crashaw, which has a unique character of its own. It consists of translations from the Latin. His 'Loyola's Disloyalty' is based on a rendering of a Latin poem in super-exaltation of the Virgin Mary by Clarus Bonarscius (= Carolus Scribanius); and Crashaw animadverts on such 'pointes' as these: 'That the milke of Mary may come into comparison with the blood of Christ;' 'that the Christian man's faith may lawfully take hold of both as well as one;' 'that the best compound for a sicke soule is to mix together her milke and Christ's blood;' 'that Christ is still a little child in His mother's armes, and so may be prayed unto;' 'that a man shall often-times be sooner heard at God's hand in the mediation of Mary than Jesus Christ;' and so on. I give the opening, middle, and closing lines.
TO OUR LADY OF HALL AND THE CHILD JESUS.
'My thoughts are at a stand, of milke and blood, Delights of brest and side, which yeelds most good; And say, when on the teates mine eyes I cast, O Lady, of thy brest I beg a taste. But if mine eyes upon the wounds doe glide, Then, Jesu, I had rather sucke Thy side. Long have I mused, now knowe I where to rest; For with my right hand I will graspe the brest, If so I may presume: as for the wounds, With left He catch them; thus my zeale abounds.'
Again:
'Mother and Son, give eare to what I crave, I beg this milke, that bloud, and both would have. Youngling, that in Thy mother's armes art playing, Sucking her brest sometimes, and sometimes staying, Why dost Thou view me with that looke of scorne? 'Tis forceless envie that 'gainst Thee is borne. Oft hast Thou said, being angry at my sinne, Darest thou desire the teates My food lyes in? I will not, oh I dare not, golden Child; My mind from feare is not so farre exild: But one, even one poore drop I doe implore From Thy right hand or side, I ask no more. If neither, from Thy left hand let one fall; Nay from Thy foot, rather than none at all: If I displease Thee, let Thy wounds me wound, But pay my wage if I in grace be found.'
Finally:
'But ah, I thirst; ah, droght my breath doth smother, Quench me with blood, sweet Son; with milk, good mother Say to Thy mother, See My brother's thirst; Mother, your milke will ease him at the first. Say to thy Son, Behold Thy brother's bands; Sweet Son, Thou hast his ransome in Thy hands. Shew Thy redeeming power to soules opprest, Thou Sonne, if that Thy blood excel the rest. And shew Thyselfe justly so stilde indeed, Thou mother, if thy brests the rest exceed. Ah, when shall I with these be satisfi'd? When shall I swimme in joyes of brest and side? Pardon, O God, mine eager earnestnesse, If I Thy lawes and reason's bounds transgresse; Where thirst o're-swayes, patience is thrust away: Stay but my thirst, and then my cryes will stay. I am better then Thy nailes; yet did a streame Of Thy deere bloud wash both the lance and them. More worthy I then clouts; yet them a flood Moistened of mother's milke and of Son's blood.'
Rhythm, epithet, and the whole ring of these Verses remind us of the younger Crashaw. But the most remarkable Verse-production of the elder Crashaw is his translation of the 'Querela, sive Dialogvs Animae et Corporis damnati,' ascribed to St. Bernard. It originally appeared in 1616, and has been repeatedly reprinted since. Those of 1622 and 1632 are now before me, and the English title-page runs: 'The Complaint, or Dialogve betwixt the Soule and the Bodie of a damned man. Each laying the fault vpon the other. Supposed to be written by S. Bernard, from a nightly vision of his; and now published out of an ancient manuscript copie. By William Crashaw.' The Dialogue thus opens:
'In silence of a Winter's night, A sleeping yet a walking spirit; A livelesse body to my sight Methought appeared, thus addight.
In that my sleepe I did descry A Soule departed but lately From that foule body which lay by; Wailing with sighes, and loud did cry.
Fast by the body, thus she mones And questions it, with sighes and grones; O wretched flesh, thus low who makes thee lye, Whom yesterday the world had seene so high?
Was't not but yesterday the world was thine, And all the countrey stood at thy devotion? Thy traine that followed thee when thy sunne did shine Have now forsaken thee: O dolefull alteration!
Those turrets gay of costly masonry, And larger palaces, are not now thy roome; But in a coffin of small quantity Thou lyest interred in a little tombe. . . . . . O wretched flesh, with me that art forlorne, If thou couldst know how sharpe our punishment; How justly mightest thou wish not to be borne, Or from the wombe to tombe to have been hent! . . . . . How lik'st thou now, poor foole, thy latter lodging, The roofe whereof lyes even with thy nose? Thy eyes are shut, thy tongue cannot be cogging; Nothing of profit rests at thy dispose. . . . . . Thy garments, wretched fool, are farre from rich; Thy upper garment hardly worth a scute; A little linnen shrouds thee in thy ditch, No rents nor gifts men bring, nor make their suite.'
Again, st. 79-81:
'If I be clad in rich array, And well attended every day, Both wise and good I shal be thoght, My kinred also shall be sought. I am, say men, the case is cleere, Your cosen, sir, a kinsman neere. But if the world doe change and frowne, Our kinred is no longer knowne; Nor I remembred any more By them that honoured me before. O vanity! vile love of mucke, Foule poyson, wherefore hast thou stucke Thyselfe so deepe, to raise so high Things vanishing so suddenly?'
In a 'Manvall for true Catholicks, or a Handfvll, or rather a Heartfull of holy Meditations and Prayers, gathered out of certaine ancient Manuscripts, written 300 yeeres agoe, or more,' which is usually bound up with the 'Querela,' there is no little striking thought and word-painting, combined with a parsimony of epithet, and a naked and yet imaginative echo of the monkish Latin, singularly impressive. Passing the 'Orthodoxall Confessions of God the Father' and 'Sonne' and 'Holy Ghost,' though all have many memorable things--I would close our specimens with one complete poem from the 'Manvall.' It is entitled 'The Conclusion, with a devout and holy prayer;' the word 'prayer' reminding us that in his Prayers herein and in his 'Milke for Babes' (1618, and several later), Crashaw is lowly and devout, and simply a sinner holding the Christian's hope. The remark applies also to much of his celebration of 'Carraciolo,' the Italian convert and 'Second Moses' (1608).
'This is Christian faith unfained, Orthodoxall, true, unstained. As I teach, all understand, Yeelding unto neither hand. And in this my soule's defence, Reiect me not for mine offence: Thogh Death's slave, yet desperation I fly in death to seek salvation. I have no meane Thy love to gain, But this faith which I maintaine. This Thou seest, nor will I cease By this to beg for a release. Let this sacred salve be bound Vpon my sores, to make them sound. Though man be carried forth, and lying In his grave, and putrifying: Bound and hid from mortall eyes; Yet if Thou bid, he must arise. At Thy will the grave will open, At Thy will his bonds are broken. And forth he comes without delay, If Thou but once bid, Come away! In this sea of dread and doubt My poore barke is tost about; With storms and pirats far and wide, Death and woes on every side. Come, thou Steer's-man ever blest, Calme these winds that me molest; Chase these ruthlesse pyrats hence, And show me some safe residence. My tree is fruitles, dry, and dead, All the boughs are withered; Downe it must, and to the fire, If desert have his due hire. But spare it, Lord, another yeare. With manuring it [yet] may beare. If it then be dead and dry, Burne it; alas, what remedy! Mine old foe assaults me sore With fire and water, more and more. Poore I, of all my strength bereft, Onely unto Thee am left. That my foe may hence be chased, And I from Ruin's clawes released, Lord, vouchsafe me every day Strength to fast, and faith to pray: These two meanes Thyself hast taught To bring temptation's force to noght. Lord, free my soule from sin's infection By repentance's direction. Be Thy feare in me abiding, My soule to true salvation guiding. Grant me faith, Lord, hope, and love, Zeale of heaven and things above. Teach mee prize the world at nought; On Thy blisse be all my thought. All my hopes on Thee I found, In Whom all good things abound. Thou art all my dignitie: All I have I have from Thee. Thou art my comfort in distresse, Thou art my cure in heavinesse; Thou art my music in my sadnes, Thou art my medicine in my madnesse. Thou my freedom from my thral, Thou my raiser from my fall. In my labour Thou reliev'st me; Thou reform'st whatever grieves me. Al my wrongs Thy hand revengeth, And from hurt my soul defendeth. Thou my deepest doubts revealest, Thou my secret faults concealest. O do Thou stay my feet from treading In paths to hel and horror leading, Where eternal torment dwels, With fears and tears and lothsome smels; Where man's deepest shame is sounded, And the guilty still confounded; Where the scourge for ever beateth, And the worme that alwaies eateth; Where all those endless do remain, Lord, preserve us from this paine. In Sion lodge me, Lord, for pitty-- Sion, David's kingly citty, Built by Him that's onely good; Whose gates be of the Crosse's wood; Whose keys are Christ's undoubted word; Whose dwellers feare none but the Lord; Whose wals are stone, strong, quicke and bright; Whose Keeper is the Lord of Light: Here the light doth never cease, Endlesse Spring and endles peace; Here is musicke, heaven filling, Sweetnesse evermore distilling; Here is neither spot nor taint, No defect, nor no complaint; No man crooked, great nor small, But to Christ conformed all. Blessed towne, divinely graced, On a rocke so strongly placed, Thee I see, and thee I long for; Thee I seek, and thee I grone for. O what ioy thy dwellers tast, All in pleasure first and last! What full enioying blisse divine, What iewels on thy wals do shine! Ruby, iacinth, chalcedon, Knowne to them within alone. In this glorious company, In the streets of Sion, I With Iob, Moses, and Eliah, Will sing the heauenly Alleviah. Amen.
Surely this is a very noteworthy transfusion of old Latin pieties into vivid English. 'Visions' of Jerusalem the Golden transfigure even the austere words towards the close. One can picture Master Richard's eyes kindling over his Father's verses when he was gone.
So endeth what I have thought it needful to tell of the elder Crashaw. As hitherto almost nothing has been told of him, even our compressed little Memorial--keeping back many things and notices that have gathered in our note-books--may be welcome to some. I pass now to
II. A STUDY OF THE LIFE AND POETRY OF RICHARD CRASHAW.
The outward facts of our 'sweet Singer's' story are given with comparative fulness in our Memorial-Introduction (vol. i. pp. xxvii.-xxxviii.). In the present brief Essay we wish to look into some of these, so as to arrive at a true estimate of them and of the Poetry, now fully (and for the first time) collected.
I think I shall be able to say what has struck myself as worth saying about Crashaw, under these three things:
I. His change from Protestantism to Roman Catholicism, using the terms as historic words, not polemically.
II. His friends and associates, as celebrated in his Writings.
III. His characteristics and place as a Poet. These successively.
I. _His change from Protestantism to Roman Catholicism._ From our Memoir of his Father it will be apparent to all that _he_ was a Protestant of Protestants; and it is an inevitable assumption that his son from infancy would be indoctrinated with all vigilance and fervour in the paternal creed, which may be designated Puritan, as opposed to Laudian High-Churchism within the Church of England.[15] I think we shall not err either, in concluding that the younger Crashaw had a very impressionable and plastic nature; so that the strong and self-assertive character of his Father could not fail to mould his earliest thinking, opinions, beliefs, and emotion. Still it will not do to pronounce our Poet's change to have been a revolt and rebound from the narrowness of the paternal teaching and writing, seeing that his Father died in 1626, when he was only passing into his 13-14th year.[16] It is palpable that the elder Crashaw was spared the distress of the apostacy (as he should most trenchantly have named it) of his only son. Moreover, the very notable poems from the Tanner MSS. on the _Gunpowder Treason_ (vol. i. pp. 188-194) are pronounced and intense in their denunciations of (to quote from them) that 'vnmated malice,' that 'vnpeer'd despight' and 'very quintessence of villanie,' for 'singing' of which he feels he must have not 'inke' but 'the blood of Cerberus, or Alecto's viperous brood,' and demonstrate that he carried with him to, and kept in, Cambridge all his father's wrath, and more than even his father's vocabulary of vituperation, with too his own after-epithets, instinct with poetic feeling, as a thoughtful reading reveals. These poems belong to 1631-3. Even in the Latin Epigrams of 1634 there is (to say the least) a 'slighting' allusion to the Pope in the 'Umbra S. Petri,' being 'Nunc quoque, Papa, tuum sustinet illa decus' (see Epigram xix. p. 47). That volume, also, is dedicated in the most glowing words of affection and indebtedness to Dr. Benjamin Lany (vol. ii. pp. 7-15), afterwards, as we shall find onward, a distinguished bishop in the Church of England. And he was a man after the elder Crashaw's own heart, as we shall now have revealed in a little overlooked poem addressed to Crashaw senior, which is appended to the 'Manvall for True Catholicks' (as before). Here it is; and let the Reader ponder its anti-papal sentiment:
A CONCLUSION TO THE AUTHOR AND HIS BOOKE.
Tradition and antiquitie, the ground Whereon that erring Church doth so relye, Breakes out to light, from darknesse, to confound The novel doctrine of their heresie, Which plaine by these most sensible degrees Doth point the wayes it hath digrest to fall; Where each observing iudgement plainely sees, From good to bad, from bad to worst of all It is arriv'd: so that it can aspire, Obscure, deface, suppresse, doe what it may, To blinde this truth; to no step any higher By any policie it can essay. These holy Hymnes stuft with religious zeale And meditations of most pious use, Able their whole to wound, our wounded heale: Free from impiety, or least abuse, Blot out all merit in ourselves we have, And onely, solely, doe on Christ relye: Offer not prayers for those are in the grave, Nor unto saints, that heare not, doe not cry. Then in a word, since God hath thee preserv'd From the Inquisitors' most cruel rage, Though in their worth they else might have deserv'd To passe among the good things of this Age, Yet are in this respect of more regard, Since God would have them to these times appeare, So many having perisht; and be heard With more true zeale, that God hath kept so deare. By all which I conclude, from thine owne heart, Thou wicked servant, that might know and would not, He hath discharg'd himselfe in all and part, That would have cur'd your Babel, but hee could not.
B.L.
There is some obscurity in these Donne- or Ben-Jonson-like rugged lines, but none as to the opinions of their writer on Popery. Thus up to 1634 at least, or until his twenty-second or twenty-third year, Crashaw the younger was as thoroughly Protestant, in all probability, as his father could have desired. The '_change_' accordingly was a radical one when he left his mother-Church, and one laments that our light is so dim and our view so distant. Anthony a-Wood (as before) and the usual authorities state that our Crashaw became famous as a preacher: he became, says Willmott, 'a preacher of great energy and power,' _id est_, in England, and therefore while still belonging to the Church of England. I have an impression that somehow the son has been confounded with the father, whose renown as a preacher was lasting; just as it seems certain that son and father have been confounded by the continuous editors of Selden's 'Table-Talk,' wherein the illustrious Thinker recounts somewhat proudly that he had converted Crashaw from his opposition to stage-plays. We may as well expiscate this point here. The younger Crashaw, then, never expressed himself, so far as is known, against stage-plays: contrari-wise, in his fine Epigram on Ford's 'Love's Sacrifice' and 'Broken Heart' he is in sympathy with these 'stage-plays.' On the other hand, in one of his most impassioned sermons, his father had, with characteristic pungency, condemned 'Plaies and Players'--as given below.[17] To return: be this as it may in the matter of 'preaching,' the matter-of-fact is, that our Crashaw retained his Fellowship up to his ejection on the 11th of June 1644 (vol. i. pp. xxxiii.-iv.), or when he was in his 32d-33d year; or, as gentle Father Southwell gently put it, about his 'dear Lord's' age. We get a glimpse of his religious life while a Protestant, in the original 'Preface to the Reader' of 'Steps to the Temple,' &c. as follows: 'Reader, we stile his Sacred Poems, Steps to the Temple, and aptly; for in the Temple of God, under His wing, he led his life, in St. Marie's Church neere St. Peter's Colledge: there he lodged under Tertullian's roofe of angels; there he made his nest more gladly than David's swallow neere the house of God, where, like a primitive saint, he offered more prayers in the night than others usually offer in the day; there he penned these poems, STEPS for happy soules to climbe heaven by' (vol. i. p. xlvii.). Coinciding with this is the love he had for the writings of 'Sainte Teresa,' when (in his own words) 'the Author' of 'A Hymn to the Name and Honor of the admirable Sainte Teresa' was 'yet among the Protestants.' In his 'Apologie for the foregoing Hymn'--than which, for subtle, delicate, fin_est_ mysticism, in words that are not so much words as music, and yet definite words too, changing with the quick bright changes of a dove's neck, there is hardly anything truer--the Poet traces up his devotion to her to his 'reading' of her books; as thus:
'Thus haue I back again to thy bright name, Fair floud of holy fires! transfus'd the flame I took from reading thee.... ... O pardon, if I dare to say Thine own dear bookes are guilty.' (vol. i. p. 150.)
The words of the Preface (as above) remind us also that Crashaw took his part in the Fasts and Vigils and austerities of the Ferrars and the saintly, if ascetic, 'Little Gidding' group.[18] Going back on the 'Hymn,' such lines as these show how even then the Poet had drunk-in the very passion of Teresa: _e.g._
'Loue toucht her heart, and, lo, it beates High, and burnes with such braue heates, Such thirsts to dy, as dares drink vp _A thousand cold deathes in one cup_. Good reason: for she breathes all fire; Her white breast heaues with strong desire. . . . . . Sweet, not so fast! lo, thy fair Spouse, Whom thou seekst with so swift vowes, Calls thee back, and bidds thee come T'embrace a milder martyrdom. Blest powres forbid thy tender life Should bleed vpon a barbarous knife: Or some base hand have power to raze Thy brest's chast cabinet, and vncase A soul kept there so sweet: O no, Wise Heaun will neuer haue it so. Thou art Love's victime, and must dy A death more mystical and high: Into Loue's armes thou shalt let fall A still-suruiuing funerall. His is the dart must make the death Whose stroke shall tast thy hallow'd breath; A dart thrice dipt in that rich flame Which writes thy Spouse's radiant name Vpon the roof of Heau'n, where ay It shines; and with a soueraign ray Beates bright vpon the burning faces Of soules which in that Name's sweet graces Find everlasting smiles. . . O how oft shalt thou complain Of a sweet and subtle pain; Of intolerable ioyes; Of a death, in which who dyes Loues his death, and dyes again, And would for ever so be slain, And liues and dyes; and knowes not why To live, but that he thus may neuer leaue to dy.'
It is deeply significant to find such a Hymn as that written while 'yet among the Protestants.' Putting the two things together--(_a_) his recluse, shy, meditative life 'under Tertullian's roofe of angels,' and his prayers THERE in the night; (_b_) his passionately sympathetic reading, as of Teresa, and going forth of his most spiritual yearnings after the 'sweet and subtle pain,' and Love's death 'mystical and high'--we get at the secret of the 'change' now being considered. However led to it, Crashaw's reading lay among books that were as fuel to fire brought to a naturally mystical and supersensitive temperament; and however formed and nurtured, such self-evidently was his temperament. His innate mysticism drew him to such literature, and the literature fed what perchance demanded rather to be neutralised.[19] I feel satisfied one main element of the attraction of Roman Catholicism for him was the nutriment and nurture for his profoundest though most perilous spiritual experiences in its Writers. His great-brained, strong-thewed father would have dismissed such 'intolerable ioyes' as morbid sentimentalism; but the nervous, finely and highly-strung organisation of his son was as an Aeolian harp under their touch. To all this must be added certain local influences, and ultimately the crash of the Ejection. The history of the University during the period of Crashaw's residence makes it plain that there was then, as later, a revival of what may be technically called Ritualism--as an intended help-meet to Faith--and that by some of the most cultured and gracious scholars of the Colleges. I am not vindicating, much less judging such, any more than would I 'sit in judgment' on the Ritualist revival of our own day, _i.e._ of its adherents. For myself, I find it a diviner and grander thing to 'walk by faith' rather than by 'sight,' and not 'bodied' but 'disembodied truth' the more spiritual. But to not a few--and to such as Crashaw--the sensible, the visible, the actually looked-at--sanctified with the hoar of centuries--light up and etherealise. Contemporary records show that the chapel of Peterhouse--Crashaw's college--which was built in 1632, and consecrated by Francis White, Bishop of Ely, was a 'handsome' one, having a beautiful ceiling and a noble east window--its glass 'hid away in the troublesome times.' Among the benefactors to its building were (afterwards bishops) Cosin and Wren, and also Shelford, whose 'Five learned Discourses' were graced with a noticeable 'commendatory poem' by Crashaw (vol. ii. pp. 162-5). Before this chapel was built the society made use of the chancel of the adjacent church of Little St. Mary's, into which there was a door from Peterhouse College. The reader may at this point turn to our poet's heart-broken 'pleadings' for the 'restoration' of his College, now made 'to speak English.' On all which, and the like, dear old Fuller, in his History of the University, thus speaks, under a somewhat later date (1642), but _the_ very turning-period with Crashaw: 'Now began the University to be much beautified in buildings; every college, after casting its skin with the snake, or renewing its bill with the eagle, having their courts, or at least their fronts and gatehouse, repaired and adorned. But the greatest attention was in their chapels, most of them being graced with the accession of organs,' &c.
Contemporary records farther lead us to Peterhouse and Pembroke Colleges as specially 'visited' and 'spoiled' in the Commission from the Parliament in 1643 to remove crosses. We may read one 'report' out of many. 'Mr. Horscot: We went to Peterhouse, 1643, Dec. 21, with officers and soldiers, and [in] the presence [of] Mr. Wilson, of the president Mr. Francis, Mr. Maxy and other Fellows, Dec. 20 and 23, we pulled down two mighty great angells with wings, and divers other angells and the four Evangelists and Peter with his keies, over the Chappell Dore, and about a hundred cherubims and angells and divers superstitious letters in gold; and at the upper end of the chancel these words were written as followeth: "Hic locus est Domini Dei, nil aliud et Porta coeli." Witness, Will. Dowsing, Geo. Long.' Farther: 'These words were written at Keie's Coll. and not at Peterhouse, but about the walls were written in Latin, "We prays thee ever;" and on some of the images was written "Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus;" or other, "Gloria Dei et Gloria Patri," and "Non nobis Domine;" and six angells in the windowes.' So at Pembroke, 'We brake and pulled down 80 superstitious pictures;' and so at Little St. Mary's, 'We brake down 60 superstitious pictures, some Popes and crucifixes and God the Father sitting in a chayer and holding a glass in his hand.' Looking on the since famous names of Peterhouse and Pembroke (Spenser's college)--Cosin, Wren, Shelford, Tournaye, Andrewes--they at once suggest ritualistic, if not Roman Catholic, proclivities.
Thus from all sides came potent influences of personal friendship--of his friends and associates more onward--to give impulse and _momentum_ to Crashaw's mystical Roman-Catholic sympathies. The 'Ejection' of 1644 found Crashaw in the very heart of these influences, not swayed simply, but mastered by them. To one so secluded and unworldly, a crisis in which the pillars of the throne were shattered, and in which not the many for the one, but the one rather than the many, must be sacrificed, was a dazing bewilderment, and terror, and agony. All was chaos and weltering confusion; no resting-place in England for his dove-feet: dissonance, blasphemy as he weened, came to his shuddering heart: he saw the lifting-up of anchors never before lifted, and the Church drifting, drifting away aimlessly and helplessly (as he misjudged). Moses-like, he looked this way and that way, and saw no man--saw not The Man--and failed, I fear, to look UP, because of his very agony of looking down and in. And so, in his tremor and sorrow and weariness, he passed over to Roman Catholicism as the 'ideal' of his reading, and as the 'home' of the sainted ones whose words were as manna to his spirit. Not a strong, defiant, masterful soul, by any means--frail, timorous, shrinking, rather--he would 'fly away,' even if out to the wilderness, to be 'at rest.' The very 'inner life' of God was in his soft gentle heart, and that he carried with him through after-years, as Cowley bore brave witness by his magnanimous title of 'Saint.' Conscience too--ill-instructed possibly, yet true to its light, if true also to feelings that ought to have been wrestled with, not succumbed to--went with him: and what of God's grace is in a man keeps him, wherever ecclesiastically he may abide.
Such is our solution of the 'change' of Crashaw from Protestantism to Catholicism. It is sheer fanaticism to rave against the 'change,' and to burrow for ignoble motives. Gross ignorance of the facts of the period is betrayed by any one who harshly 'judges' that the humble 'ejected Fellow' made a worldly 'gain' by his 'change.' Nay verily, it was no 'gain,' in that paltry sense, for an Englishman then to become a Roman Catholic. It was to invite obloquy, misconstruction, 'evil-speaking.' In Crashaw's case he had wealthy uncles and aunts, and other relatives, who should have amply provided for him, and 'sheltered' him through the 'troublous times.' Prynne's 'Legenda Lignea, with an Answer to Mr. Birchley's Moderator (pleading for a Toleration of Popery) and a Character of some hopeful saints revolted to the Church of Rome' (1653), is brutal as it is inaccurate; but it must be adduced as an example of what 'Revolters' (so called) had to endure, albeit Crashaw was gone into the silences whither no clamour reaches, when the bitter book came forth. 'Master Richard Crashaw (son to the London divine, and sometime Fellow of St. Peterhouse in Cambridge) is another slip of the times that is transplanted to Rome. This peavish sillie seeker glided away from his principles in a poetical vein of fancy and impertinent curiosity, and finding that verses and measured flattery took and much pleased some female wits, Crashaw crept by degrees into favour and acquaintance with some court ladies, and with the gross commendations of their parts and beauties (burnished and varnished with some other agreeable adulations) he got first the estimation of an innocent, harmless convert; and a purse being made by some deluded, vain-glorious ladies and their friends, the poet was despatched on a pilgrimage to Rome, where, if he had found in the see Pope Urban the Eighth instead of Pope Innocent, he might possibly have received a greater quantity and a better number of benedictions; for Urban was as much a pretender to be prince and oecumenical patron of poets as head of the Church; but Innocent being more harsh and dry, the poor small poet Crashaw met with none of the generation and kindred of Mecaenas, nor any great blessing from his Holiness; which misfortune puts the pitiful wier-drawer to a humour of admiring his own raptures; and in this fancy (like Narcissus) he is fallen in love with his own shadow, conversing with himself in verse, and admiring the birth of his own brains; he is only laughed at, or at most but pitied, by his few patrons, who, conceiving him unworthy of any preferment in their Church, have given him leave to live (like a lean swine almost ready to starve) in a poor mendicant quality; and that favour is granted only because Crashaw can rail as satirically and bitterly at true religion in verse as others of his grain and complexion can in prose and loose discourses: this fickle shuttlecock, so tost with every changeable puff and blast, is rather to be laughed at and scorned for his ridiculous levity than imitated in his sinful and notorious apostacy and revolt' (cxxxviii.).
The short and crushing answer to all this Billingsgate is: The poems of Crashaw are now fully before the reader, and he will not find, from the first page to the last, one line answering to Prynne's jaundiced representations: 'flatteries,' 'adulations,' 'railings,' you look for in vain. The wistfulness of persuasion of the Verse-Letter to the Countess of Denbigh would have been trampled on as a blind man or a boor tramples on a bed of pansies, by the grim lawyer-Puritan. Then, the very lowliness and (alleged) mendicancy of his post in the Church of Rome might have suggested a grain of charity, seeing that worldly advancement could not be motive to an all-but friendless scholar. As to the 'birth of his own brains,' and 'conversing with himself in verse,' would that we had more such 'births' and 'conversings'! Other accusations are malignant gossip, where they are not nonsense. Far different is the spirit of Dr. John Bargrave; whose MS. has at last been worthily edited and published for the Camden Society.[20] His notice of Crashaw at Rome is as follows: 'When I went first of my four times to Rome, there were there four revolters to the Roman Church that had been Fellows of Peterhouse in Cambridge with myself. The name of one of them was Mr. R. Crashaw, who was one of the _Seguita_ (as their term is): that is, an attendant or of the followers of this Cardinal, for which he had a salary of crowns by the month (as the custom is), but no diet. Mr. Crashaw infinitely commended his Cardinal, but complained extremely of the wickedness of those of his retinue; of which he, having the Cardinal's ear, complained to him. Upon which the Italians fell so far out with him that the Cardinal, to secure his life, was fain to put him from his service, and procuring him some small employ at the Lady's of Loretto; whither he went on pilgrimage in summer time, and, overheating himself, died in four weeks after he came thither, and it was doubtful whether he was not poisoned' (p. 37). That brings before us a true, white-souled Man 'of God,' resolute to 'speak out,' whoever sinned in his sight; and it is blind sectarianism to deny that, from the noble and holy Loyola to our own Faber and Spencer and the living Newman, the Church of Rome has never been without dauntless preachers of the very righteousness of God, or unhesitant rebukers of the wickedness, immoralities, and frivolities of their co-religionists. The suspicion of 'poyson' I am unwilling to accept. Onward I shall give our recovered record of his death. Summarily, then, the 'change' of Crashaw from Protestantism to Roman Catholicism had its root and carries its solution in his 'mystical' dreamy temperament and yearnings, as these were over-encouraged instead of controlled; and as formative influences there were--(_a_) his reading in Teresa and kindred literature, until not 'hands,' but brain and heart, imagination and fancy, grew into the elements wherein they wrought--as one finds sprays of once-green moss and delicate-carven ferns changed by the dripping limestone into limestone: (_b_) the ritualistic revival being in the hands of those most loved and trusted, and from whom he fetched whatever of spiritual life and peace and joy and hope was in him--these too being of stronger will, and decisive in opinion and action--his vague 'feeling-after' rest was centred in the Rest of ideal Roman Catholicism: (_c_) the confusions and strifes of the transition-period of the Commonwealth terrified and wounded him; he mistook the crash of falling scaffolding, whose end was served, for the falling of the everlasting skies; saw not their serene shining beyond the passing clouds, lightning-charged for divine clarifying; and a 'quiet retreat,' which Imagination beckoned him to, won him to 'hide' there his weeping and dismay. Nothing sordid or expedient, or facing-both-ways, or unworthy, moved him to 'change.' Every one who has self-respect based on self-knowledge, and who thus has experienced the mystery of his deepest beliefs, will make all gentlest allowances, hold all tenderest sympathies with him, and feel the coarse abuse of Prynne and later as a personal wrong. Richard Crashaw was a true 'man of God,' and acted, I believe, in sensitive allegiance to his conscience as it spake to him. 'Change,' even fundamental change, in such a man is to be accepted without reserve as 'honest' and righteous and God-fearing. He dared not sign the 'Solemn League and Covenant,' however 'solemn' it might be to others; and so he went out.[21] I pass to--
II. _His friends and associates, as celebrated in his writings._ I use the word 'Writings' here rather than 'Poems,' because in his Epistles, _e.g._ to the 'Epigrammata' and those printed by us for the first time, as well as in his Poetry, names are found over which one pauses instinctively. Commencing with his school-days at the Charterhouse, there is Robert Brooke, 'Master' ('Preceptor') from 1628 to 1643.[22] Very little has come down to us concerning him, and the present head of the renowned School has been unable to add to Alexander Chalmers' testimony, 'A very celebrated Master.' All the more have I pleasure in inviting attention to the new 'Epistola' and related poems addressed to him, and which must be studied along with the previous poem, 'Ornatissimo viro praeceptori suo colendissimo, Magistro Brook' (vol. ii. pp. 319); and perhaps the humorous and genial serio-comic celebration of 'Priscianus' grew from some school-incident (vol. ii. pp. 308, 315) having in the latter year, like Crashaw, been 'ejected' from the Charterhouse for not taking the 'Solemn League and Covenant.' He had been usher from 1626 to 1628. An apartment in the building is still called from him Brooke Hall ('Chronicles,' pp. 129, 159).
The next prominent name is that of Benjamin Lany--sometimes Laney, as in Masson's Milton (i. 97)--afterwards successively Bishop of Peterborough and Lincoln and Ely. We have already noted his marked Protestantism in the verse-eulogy of the elder Crashaw, so that probably it was as his father's son, Lany, then Master of Pembroke, received our Worthy there. Lany was of the 'ejected' in 1644. The present Bishop of Ely, with all willingness to help us, found no MSS. or biographic materials in his custody. When may we hope each bishopric will find a qualified historian-biographer? A portrait of Lany is in the Master's Lodge at the Charterhouse ('Chronicles,' 1847, p. 140).
Crashaw's tutor at Pembroke was 'Master Tournay,' to whose praise and friendship he dedicates a Latin poem (vol. ii. pp. 371 et sqq.). Dr. Ward, Master of Sidney College, writes to Archbishop Usher thus of him: 'We have had some doings here of late about one of Pembroke Hall, who, preaching in St. Mary's, about the beginning of Lent, upon that text, James ii. 22, seemed to avouch the insufficiency of faith to justification, and to impugn the doctrine of our 11th Article, of Justification by faith only; for which he was convented by the Vice-Chancellor, who was willing to accept of an easy acknowledgment; but the same party preaching his Latin sermon, _pro Gradu_, the last week, upon Rom. iii. 28, he said he came not _palinodiam canere, sed eandem cantilenam canere_; which moved our Vice-Chancellor, Dr. Love, to call for his sermon, which he refused to deliver. Whereupon, upon Wednesday last, being Barnaby Day, the day appointed for the admission of the Bachelors of Divinity, which must answer _Die Comitiorum_, he was stayed by the major part of the suffrages of the Doctors of the faculty.... The truth is, there are some Heads among us that are great abettors of M. Tournay, the party above mentioned, who, no doubt, are backed by others' (June 14, 1643. Life of Parr, p. 470: Willmott, 1st series, pp. 302-3). In relation to Tournay's heresy on 'Justification,' it is profoundly interesting, biographically, to remember Crashaw's most striking Latin poems--so carelessly overlooked, if not impudently suppressed, by Turnbull--first published by Crashaw in the volume of 1648, viz. 'Fides, quae sola justificat, non est sine spe et dilectione,' and 'Baptismus non tollit futura peccata.' The student will do well to turn to these two poems in their places (vol. ii. pp. 209, 216).[23]
Robert Shelford, 'of Ringsfield in Suffolk, Priest,' was another '_suspect_:' as in Huntley's [ = Prynne] _Breviate_ (3d ed. 1637, p. 308) we read, 'Master Shelford hath of late affirmed in print, that the Pope was never yet defined to be the Antichrist by any Synods.' More vehemently writes Usher to Dr. Ward (Sept. 15, 1635): 'But while we strive here to maintain the purity of our ancient truth, how cometh it to pass that you at Cambridge do cast such stumbling-blocks in our way, by publishing unto the world such rotten stuff as Shelford hath vented in his Five Discourses; wherein he hath so carried himself _ut famosi Perni amanuensem possis agnoscere_. The Jesuits of England sent over the book hither to assure them that we are now coming home to them as fast as we can. I pray God this sin be not deeply laid to their charge, who give an occasion to our blind thus to stumble' (as before). It was to these 'Five Discourses' our Poet furnished a 'commendatory' poem--given by us unmutilated from the volume (vol. i. pp. 162-5). Shelford, like his friend, was of Peterhouse. Another college-friend was William Herrys (or Herries or Harris), who was of Essex. He died in October 1631. He was of Pembroke and Christ's. The poems and 'Epitaph' consecrated to his memory are in various ways remarkable. But beyond a few college-dates, I have failed to recover notices of him. He seems to have been to Crashaw what young King was to Milton and his fellow-students (vol. i. pp. 220-30; vol. ii. pp. 378 et sqq.).[24] So with James Stanninow (or Staninough), 'fellow of Queene's Colledge'--the poem on whose death was first printed by us (vol. i. pp. 290-92). He has a Latin poem prefixed to Isaacson's 'Chronology' (our vol. i. pp. 246-49).[25] So too with 'Master Chambers,' of the fine pathetic hitherto anonymous poem 'Vpon the death of a Gentleman' (vol. i. pp. 218-19). Neither have I been able to add one syllable to the name and heading: 'An Epitaph vpon Mr. Ashton, a conformable citizen.' Wren, Cosin, and others of Cambridge, not being named by Crashaw, do not come under these remarks. The new poems on Dr. Porter (vol. i. pp. 293-4), Dr. Mansell (vol. ii. p. 323), and others, explain themselves--with our notes. Of Cardinal Palotta, or Palotto, we get most satisfying glimpses in Dr. Bargrave's volume (already quoted). The Protestant Canon's testimony is: 'He is very papable [placable], and esteemed worthy by all, especially the princes that know his virtue and qualities, being a man of angelical life; and Rome would be glad to see him Pope, to pull down the pride of the Barberini. Innocent the Xth, now reigning, hath a great regard for him, though his kindred care not for him, because he speaketh his mind freely of them to the Pope' (p. 36).[26]
It only remains that I notice our Crashaw's friendship with (_a_) Abraham Cowley; (_b_) the Countess of Denbigh.
(_a_) ABRAHAM COWLEY. Of the alternate-poem on Hope, composed by Cowley and Crashaw (vol. i. pp. 175-181), and that 'Vpon two greene Apricockes sent to Cowley by Sir Crashaw' (ib. pp. 269-70), more in our next division. These remain as the ever-enduring 'memorial' of their friendship, while the thought-full, love-full 'Elegy,' devoted by the survivor to the memory of his Friend, can never pale of its glory (vol. i. pp. xxxvi.-viii.). All honour to Cowley that he kept the traduced 'Apostate' and 'Revolter' in his heart-of-hearts, and 'sought' him out in his lowly 'lodgings' in the gay, and yet (to him) sad Paris. It is my purpose one day worthily to reproduce the Works of this in form fantastic, but in substance most intellectual, of our Poets; and I shall have then, perhaps, something additional to communicate on this beautiful Friendship. They had appeared together as Poets in the 'Voces Votivae.' The various readings show that Cowley's portion of Hope was revised in Paris; and this, with the gift of the 'apricockes,' expresses that they had some pleasant intercourse.[27]
(_b_) COUNTESS OF DENBIGH. By the confiding goodness of the present Earl and Countess of Denbigh, I have, among my 'Sunny Memories,' most pleasant hours of a long summer day spent in examining the Library and family MSS. and portraits at Newnham Paddox, and a continued and sympathetic correspondence, supplemented with kindred helpfulness on the part of the good Father-priest of the house. It is one of the anomalies of our national historic Biography that the sister of Buckingham--Susan, daughter of Sir George Villiers, of Brokesby, first Countess of Denbigh--should have died and made no 'sign,' and left no memorial; for it is absolutely unknown when or where she did die. But as it is known that _she_ became a Roman Catholic,[28] while it is not known that Elizabeth, daughter and co-heir of Edward Bourchier, Earl of Bath, who became third wife (of four) of Basil, second Earl of Denbigh, so 'changed,' we must conclude that Turnbull and others are mistaken in regarding the latter as Crashaw's 'patron' and friend. The family-papers show that Susan Countess of Denbigh was a lady of intellect and force; equally do they show that Elizabeth Bourchier was (to say the least) un-literary. I have from Newnham Paddox a sheaf of rarely-vivid and valuable Letters of 'Susan'--with some of 'Elizabeth;' and if I can only succeed in discovering the date of the former's death, so as to determine whether she was living up to Crashaw's death in 1650, or thereby--as dowager-countess--I intend to prepare a short Monograph on her, wherein I shall print, for the first time, such a series of Letters as will compare with any ever given to the world; and I should greatly like to engrave her never-yet engraved magnificent face at Newnham Paddox. For the present, a digression may be allowed, in order to introduce, as examples of these recovered Letters, a short and creditable one from Buckingham to his mother, and one from Susan, Countess of Denbigh, to her son; others, that are long and fact-full, hereafter (as _supra_). These in order:
I. Buckingham to his Mother [undated]:
Dere Mother,--Give me but as many blessings and pardons as I shall make falts, and then you make happie
Your most obedient Sonne,
For my Mother. BUCKINGHAM.
II. Susan, Countess of Denbigh, to Lord Fielding:
My deere Sone,--The king dothe approve well of your going into Spane, and for my part I thinke it will be the best of your traviles by reson that the king doth discours moust of that plase. I am much afflicted for feare of Mr. Mason, but I hope our Lord well send him well home againe. I pray do not torment me with your going into the danger of the plauge any more. So with my blessing I take my leave.
Your loveing Mother,
For my deare Sonne theise. SU. DENBIGH.
The Verse-Letters to the Countess of Denbigh (vol. i. pp. 295-303) will be read with renewed interest in the light of the all-but certain fact that it was Susan, sister of Buckingham--every way a memorable woman--who was 'persuaded' by Crashaw to 'join' Roman Catholicism, as did her mother.[29] Reverting to the names which I have endeavoured to commemorate, where hitherto scarcely anything has been known, it will be perceived that the circle of Crashaw's friendships was a narrow one, and touched mainly the two things--his University career, and his great 'change' religiously or rather ecclesiastically. Of the Poets of his period, except Cowley and Ford, no trace remains as known to or influential over him. When Crashaw entered Cambridge, Giles Fletcher had been dead ten years; Phineas Fletcher and Herrick had left about the same number of years; Herbert, for four or five; and Milton was just going. His most choice friends were among the mighty dead. Supreme names later lay outside of his access. I wish he had met--as he might have done--Milton. I pass next to
III. _His characteristics and place as a Poet._ It is something 'new under the sun' that it should be our privilege well-nigh to double the quantity of the extant Poetry of such a Singer as Richard Crashaw, by printing, for the first time, the treasure-trove of the Sancroft-Tanner MSS.; and by translating (also for the first time) the whole of his Latin poetry. Every element of a true poetic faculty that belongs to his own published Poems is found in the new, while there are new traits alike of character and genius; and our Translations must be as the 'raising' of the lid of a gem-filled casket, shut to the many for these (fully) two hundred years. The admirer of Crashaw hitherto has thus his horizon widened, and I have a kind of feeling that perchance it were wiser to leave the completed Poetry to make its own impression on those who come to it. Nevertheless I must, however briefly, fulfil my promise of an estimate of our Worthy. Four things appear to me to call for examination, in order to give the essentials of Crashaw as a Poet, and to gather his main characteristics: (_a_) Imaginative-sensuousness; (_b_) Subtlety of emotion; (_c_) Epigrams; (_d_) Translations and (briefly) Latin and Greek Poetry. I would say a little on each.
(_a_) _Imaginative-sensuousness._ Like 'charity' for 'love,' the word 'sensuous' has deteriorated in our day. It is, I fear, more than in sound and root confused with 'sensual,' in its base application. I use it as Milton did, in the well-known passage when he defined Poetry to be 'simple, _sensuous_, and passionate;' and I qualify 'sensuousness' with 'imaginative,' that I may express our Poet's peculiar gift of looking at everything with a full, open, penetrative eye, yet through his imagination; his imagination not being as spectacles (coloured) astride the nose, but as a light of white glory all over his intellect and entire faculties. Only Wordsworth and Shelley, and recently Rossetti and Jean Ingelow, are comparable with him in this. You can scarcely err in opening on any page in your out-look for it. The very first poem, 'The Weeper,' is lustrous with it. For example, what a grand reach of 'imaginative' comprehensiveness have we so early as in the second stanza, where from the swimming eyes of his 'Magdalene' he was, as it were, swept upward to the broad transfigured sky in its wild ever-varying beauty of the glittering silver rain!
'Heauns thy fair eyes be; Heauens of ever-falling starres. 'Tis seed-time still with thee; And starres thou sow'st whose haruest dares Promise the Earth to counter-shine Whateuer makes heaun's forehead fine.'
How grandly vague is that 'counter-shine _whatever_,' as it leads upwards to the 'forehead'--superb, awful, God-crowned--of the 'heauns'! Of the same in kind, but unutterably sweet and dainty also in its exquisiteness, is stanza vii.:
'The deaw no more will weep _dew_ The primrose's pale cheek to deck: The deaw no more will sleep Nuzzel'd in the lily's neck; Much rather would it be thy tear, And leaue them both to tremble there.'
Wordsworth's vision of the 'flashing daffodils' is not finer than this. A merely realistic Poet (as John Clare or Bloomfield) would never have used the glorious singular, 'thy tear,' with its marvellous suggestiveness of the multitudinous dew regarding itself as outweighed in everything by one 'tear' of such eyes. Every stanza gives a text for commentary; and the rapid, crowding questions and replies of the Tears culminate in the splendid homage to the Saviour in the conclusion, touched with a gentle scorn:
'We goe not to seek The darlings of Aurora's bed, The rose's modest cheek, Nor the violet's humble head, Though the feild's eyes too Weepers be, Because they want such teares as we. Much lesse mean to trace The fortune of inferior gemmes, Preferr'd to some proud face, Or pertch't vpon fear'd diadems: _Crown'd heads are toyes. We goe to meet_ A worthy object, our _Lord's feet_.'
'Feet' at highest; mark the humbleness, and the fitness too. Even more truly than of Donne (in Arthur Wilson's Elegy) may it be said of Crashaw, here and elsewhere, thou 'Couldst give both life and sense unto a flower,'--faint prelude of Wordsworth's 'meanest flower.'
Dr. Macdonald (in 'Antiphon') is perplexingly unsympathetic, or, if I may dare to say it, wooden, in his criticism on 'The Weeper;' for while he characterises it generally as 'radiant of delicate fancy,' he goes on: 'but surely such tones are not worthy of flitting moth-like about the holy sorrow of a repentant woman! Fantastically beautiful, they but play with her grief. Sorrow herself would put her shoes off her feet in approaching the weeping Magdalene. They make much of her indeed, but they show her little reverence. There is in them, notwithstanding their fervour of amorous words, a coldness, like that which dwells in the ghostly beauty of icicles shining in the moon' (p. 239). Fundamentally blundering is all this: for the Critic ought to have marked how the Poet's 'shoes' are put off his feet in approaching the weeping Magdalene; but that _she_ is approached as far-back in the Past or in a Present wherein her tears have been 'wiped away,' so that the poem is dedicate not so much to The Weeper as to her Tears, as things of beauty and pricelessness. Mary, 'blessed among women,' is remembered all through; and just as with her Divine Son we must 'sorrow' in the vision of His sorrows, we yet have the remembrance that they are all done, 'finished;' and thus we can expatiate on them not with grief so much as joy. The prolongation of 'The Weeper' is no 'moth-like flitting about the holy sorrow of a repentant woman,' but the never-to-be-satisfied rapture over the evidence of a 'godly sorrow' that has worked to repentance, and in its reward given loveliness and consecration to the tears shed. The moon 'shining on icicles' is the antithesis of the truth. Thus is it throughout, as in the backgrounds of the great Portrait-painters as distinguished from Land-scapists and Sea-scapists and Sky-scapists--Crashaw inevitably works out his thoughts through something he has looked at as transfigured by his imagination, so that you find his most mystical thinking and feeling framed (so to say) with images drawn from Nature. That he did look not at but into Nature, let 'On a foule Morning, being then to take a Journey,' and 'To the Morning; Satisfaction for Sleepe,' bear witness. In these there are penetrative 'looks' that Wordsworth never has surpassed, and a richness almost Shakesperean. Milton must have studied them keenly. There is this characteristic also in the 'sensuousness' of Crashaw, that while the Painter glorifies the ignoble and the coarse (as Hobbima's Asses and red-cloaked Old Women) in introducing it into a scene of Wood, or Way-side, or Sea-shore, his outward images and symbolism are worthy in themselves, and stainless as worthy (passing exceptions only establishing the rule). His epithets are never superfluous, and are, even to surprising nicety, true. Thus he calls Egypt '_white_ Egypt' (vol. i. p. 81); and occurring as this does 'In the glorious Epiphanie of ovr Lord God,' we are reminded again how the youthful Milton must have had this extraordinary composition in his recollection when he composed his immortal Ode.[30] Similarly we have '_hir'd_ mist' (vol. i. p. 84); '_pretious_ losse' (ib.); '_fair-ey'd_ fallacy of Day' (ib. p. 85); '_black_ but faithfull perspectiue of Thee' (ib. p. 86); '_abased_ liddes' (ib. p. 88); '_gratious_ robbery' (ib. p. 156); 'thirsts of loue' (ib.); '_timerous_ light of starres' (ib. p. 172); '_rebellious_ eye of Sorrow' (ib. p. 112); and so in hundreds of parallels. Take this from 'To the Name above every Name' (ib. p. 60):
'O come away ... O, see the weary liddes of wakefull Hope-- Love's eastern windowes--all wide ope With curtains drawn, To catch the day-break of Thy dawn. O, dawn at last, long-lookt-for Day, Take thine own wings, and come away.'
Comparing Cowley's and Crashaw's 'Hope,' Coleridge thus pronounces on them: 'Crashaw seems in his poems to have given the first ebullience of his imagination, unshapen into form, or much of what we now term sweetness. In the poem Hope, by way of question and answer, his superiority to Cowley is self-evident;' and he continues, 'In that on the Name of Jesus, equally so; but his lines on St. Teresa are the finest.' 'Where he does combine richness of thought and diction, nothing can excel, as in the lines you so much admire,
Since 'tis not to be had at home . . . . . She'l to the Moores and martyrdom.'[31]
And then as never-to-be-forgotten 'glory' of the Hymn to Teresa, he adds: 'these verses were ever present to my mind whilst writing the second part of the Christabel; if indeed, by some subtle process of the mind, they did not suggest the first thought of the whole poem' (Letters and Conversations, 1836, i. 196). Coleridge makes another critical remark which it may be worth while to adduce and perhaps qualify. 'Poetry as regards small Poets may be said to be, in a certain sense, conventional in its accidents and in its illustrations. Thus [even] Crashaw uses an image "as sugar melts in tea away;" which although _proper then_ and _true now_, was in bad taste at that time equally with the present. In Shakespeare, in Chaucer, there was nothing of this' (as before). The great Critic forgot that 'sugar' and 'tea' were not vulgarised by familiarity when Crashaw wrote, that the wonder and romance of their gift from the East still lay around them, and that their use was select, not common. Thus later I explain Milton's homeliness of allusion, as in the word 'breakfast,' and 'fell to,' and the like; words and places and things that have long been not prosaic simply, but demeaned and for ever unpoetised. I am not at all careful to defend the 'sugar' and 'tea' metaphor; but it, I think, belongs also to his imaginative-sensuousness, whereby orient awfulness almost, magnified and dignified it to him.
Moreover the canon in 'Antiphon' is sound: 'When we come, in the writings of one who has revealed master-dom, upon any passage that seems commonplace, or any figure that suggests nothing true, the part of wisdom is to brood over that point; for the probability is that the barrenness lies in us, two factors being necessary for the result of sight--the thing to be seen, and the eye to see it. No doubt the expression may be inadequate; but if we can compensate the deficiency by adding more vision, so much the better for us' (p. 243).
I thank Dr. George Macdonald[32] (in 'Antiphon') for his quaint opening words on our Crashaw, and forgive him, for their sake, his blind reading of 'The Weeper.' 'I come now to one of the loveliest of our angel-birds, Richard Crashaw. Indeed, he was like a bird in more senses than one; for he belongs to that class of men who seem hardly ever to get foot-hold of this world, but are ever floating in the upper air of it' (p. 238). True, and yet not wholly; or rather, if our Poet ascends to 'the upper air,' and sings there with all the divineness of the skylark, like the skylark his eyes fail not to over-watch the nest among the grain beneath, nor his wings to be folded over it at the shut of eve. Infinitely more, then, is to be found in Crashaw than Pope (in his Letter to his friend Henry Cromwell) found: 'I take this poet to have writ like a gentleman; that is, at leisure hours, and more to keep out of idleness than to establish a reputation: so that nothing regular or just can be expected of him. All that regards design, form, fable (which is the soul of poetry), all that concerns exactness, or consent of parts (which is the body), will probably be wanting; only pretty conceptions, fine metaphors, glittering expressions, and something of a neat cast of verse (which are properly the dress, gems, or loose ornaments of poetry), may be found in these verses.' Nay verily, the form is often exquisite; but 'neat' and 'pretty conceptions' applied to such verse is as 'pretty' applied to Niagara--so full, strong, deep, thought-laden is it. I have no wish to charge plagiarism on Pope from Crashaw, as Peregrine Phillips did (see onward); but neither is the contemptuous as ignorant answer by a metaphor of Hayley to be received. The two minds were essentially different: Pope was talented, and used his talents to the utmost; Crashaw had absolute as unique genius.[33]
(_b_) _Subtlety of emotion._ Dr. Donne, in a memorable passage, with daring originality, sings of Mrs. Drury rapturously:
'Her pure and eloquent soul Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought, That one might almost say her body thought.'
I have much the same conception of Crashaw's thinking. It was so emotional as almost always to tremble into feeling. Bare intellect, 'pure' (= naked) thought, you rarely come on in his Poems. The thought issues forth from (in old-fashioned phrase) the heart, and its subtlety is something unearthly even to awfulness. Let the reader give hours to the study of the composition entitled 'In the glorious Epiphanie of ovr Lord God, a Hymn svng as by the three Kings,' and 'In the holy Nativity of ovr Lord God.' Their depth combined with elevation, their grandeur softening into loveliness, their power with pathos, their awe bursting into rapture, their graciousness and lyrical music, their variety and yet unity, will grow in their study. As always, there is a solid substratum of original thought in them; and the thinking, as so often in Crashaw, is surcharged with emotion. If the thought may be likened to fire, the praise, the rapture, the yearning may be likened to flame leaping up from it. Granted that, as in fire and flame, there are coruscations and jets of smoke, yet is the smoke that 'smoak' of which Chudleigh in his Elegy for Donne sings:
'Incense of love's and fancie's _holy smoak_;'
or, rather, that 'smoke' which filled the House to the vision of Isaiah (vi. 4). The hymn 'To the admirable Sainte Teresa,' and the 'Apologie' for it, and related 'Flaming Heart,' and 'In the glorious Assvmption of our Blessed Lady,' are of the same type. Take this from the 'Flaming Heart' (vol. i. p. 155):
'Leaue her ... the flaming heart: Leaue her that, and thou shalt leaue her Not one loose shaft, but Loue's whole quiver. _For in Loue's feild was neuer found A nobler weapon than a wovnd._ Loue's passiues are his actiu'st part, The wounded is the wounding heart. . . . . . Liue here, great heart; and loue and dy and kill, And bleed and wound; and yeild and conquer still.'
His homage to the Virgin is put into words that pass the bounds which we Protestants set to the 'blessed among women' in her great renown, and even while a Protestant Crashaw fell into what we must regard as the strange as inexplicable forgetfulness that it is The _Man_, not The Child, who is our ever-living High-Priest 'within the veil,' and that not in His mother's bosom, but on the Throne of sculptured light, is His place. Still, you recognise that the homage to the Virgin-mother is to the Divine Son through her, and through her in fine if also mistaken humility. 'Mary' is the Muse of Crashaw; the Lord Jesus his 'Lord' and hers. I would have the reader spend willing time, in slowly, meditatively reading the whole of our Poet's sacred Verse, to note how the thinking thus thrills into feeling, and feeling into rapture--the rapture of adoration. It is miraculous how he finds words wherewith to utter his most subtle and vanishing emotion. Sometimes there is a daintiness and antique richness of wording that you can scarcely equal out of the highest of our Poets, or only in them. Some of his images from Nature are scarcely found anywhere else. For example, take this very difficult one of ice, in the Verse-Letter to the Countess of Denbigh (vol. i. p. 298, ll. 21-26), 'persuading' her no longer to be the victim of her doubts:
'So, when the Year takes cold, we see Poor waters _their own prisoners be; Fetter'd and lock'd-up fast they lie In a cold self-captivity_. Th' astonish'd Nymphs their Floud's strange fate deplore, To find themselves their own severer shoar.'
Young is striking in his use of the ice-metaphor:
'in Passion's flame Hearts melt; but _melt like ice, soon harder froze_.'
(Night-Thoughts, N. II. l. 522-3.)
But how strangely original is the earlier Poet in so cunningly working it into the very matter of his persuasion! Our quotation from Young recalls that in the 'Night-Thoughts' there are evident reminiscences of Crashaw: _e.g._
'Midnight veil'd his face: Not such as this, not such as Nature makes; A midnight Nature shudder'd to behold; A midnight new; a dread eclipse, without Opposing spheres, from her Creator's frown.'
(Night IV. ll. 246-250.)
So in 'Gilt was Hell's gloom' (N. VII. l. 1041), and in this portrait of Satan:
'Like meteors in a stormy sky, how roll His baleful eyes!' (N. IX. ll. 280-1.) and
'the fiery gulf, That flaming bound of wrath omnipotent;' (Ib. ll. 473-4)
and
'Banners streaming as the comet's blaze;' (Ib. l. 323)
and
'Which makes a hell of hell,' (Ib. l. 340)
we have the impress and inspiration of our Poet.
How infinitely soft and tender and Shakesperean is the 'Epitaph vpon a yovng Married Covple dead and bvryed together' (with its now restored lines), thus!--
'Peace, good Reader, doe not weep; Peace, the louers are asleep. They, sweet turtles, folded ly In the last knott that Loue could ty. And though they ly as they were dead, Their pillow stone, their sheetes of lead (Pillow hard, and sheetes not warm), Loue made the bed; they'l take no harm: Let them sleep; let them sleep on, Till this stormy night be gone, And the aeternall morrow dawn; Then ...' (vol. i. pp. 230-1.)
The hush, the tranquil stillness of a church-aisle, within which 'sleep' old recumbent figures, comes over one in reading these most pathetically beautiful words. Of the whole poem, Dodd in his 'Epigrammatists' (as onward) remarks, 'after reading this Epitaph, all others on the same subject must suffer by comparison. Yet there is much to be admired in the following by Bishop Hall, on Sir Edward and Lady Lewkenor. It is translated from the Latin by the Bishop's descendant and editor, the Rev. Peter Hall (Bp. Hall's Works, 1837-9, xii. 331):
'In bonds of love united, man and wife, Long, yet too short, they spent a happy life; United still, too soon, however late, Both man and wife receiv'd the stroke of fate: And now in glory clad, enraptur'd pair, The same bright cup, the same sweet draught they share. Thus, first and last, a married couple see, In life, in death, in immortality.'
There is much beauty also in an anonymous epitaph in the 'Festoon' 143, 'On a Man and his Wife:'
'Here sleep, whom neither life nor love, Nor friendship's strictest tie, Could in such close embrace as thou, Their faithful grave, ally; Preserve them, each dissolv'd in each, For bands of love divine, For union only more complete, Thou faithful grave, than thine.' (p. 253.)
His 'Wishes to his (supposed) Mistresse' has things in it vivid and subtle as anything in Shelley at his best; and I affirm this deliberately. His little snatch on 'Easter Day' with some peculiarities, culminates in a grandeur Milton might bow before. The version of 'Dies Irae' is wonderfully severe and solemn and intense. Roscommon undoubtedly knew it. And so we might go on endlessly. His melody--with exceptional discords--is as the music of a Master, not mere versification. Once read receptively, and the words haunt almost awfully, and, I must again use the word, unearthlily. Summarily--as in our claim for Vaughan, as against the preposterous traditional assertions of his indebtedness to Herbert poetically, while really it was for spiritual benefits he was obligated--we cannot for an instant rank George Herbert as a Poet with Crashaw. Their piety is alike, or the 'Priest' of Bemerton is more definite, and clear of the 'fine mist' of mysticism of the recluse of 'Little St. Mary's;' but only very rarely have you in 'The Temple' that light of genius which shines as a very Shekinah-glory in the 'Steps to the Temple.' These 'Steps' have been spoken of as 'Steps' designed to lead into Herbert's 'Temple,' whereas they were 'Steps' to the 'Temple' or Church of the Living God. Crashaw 'sang' sweetly and generously of Herbert (vol. i. pp. 139-140); but the two Poets are profoundly distinct and independent. Clement Barksdale, probably, must bear the blame of foolishly subordinating Crashaw to Herbert, in his Lines in 'Nympha Libethris' (1651):
'HERBERT AND CRASHAW.
When unto Herbert's Temple I ascend By Crashaw's Steps, I do resolve to mend My lighter verse, and my low notes to raise, And in high accent sing my Maker's praise. Meanwhile these sacred poems in my sight I place, that I may learn to write.'
(_c_) _Epigrams._ The title-page of the Epigr. Sacra of 1670 marks out for us their main dates; that is to say, as it designates him 'Collegii Petrensis Socius,' which he was not until 1637, the only portion that belongs to that period must be the additions made in the 1670 edition (see vol. ii. pp. 3-4). Dr. Macdonald (in 'Antiphon') observes: 'His Divine Epigrams are not the most beautiful, but they are to me the most valuable, of his verses, inasmuch as they make us feel afresh the truth which he sets forth anew. In them some of the facts of our Lord's life and teaching look out upon us as from clear windows of the Past. As epigrams, too, they are excellent--pointed as a lance' (p. 240). He limits himself to the 'English' Epigrams, and quotes after above, Nos. LIV. (2) and XI.; and continues with No. XIV., and next LIV. (1); on which he says: 'I value the following as a lovely parable. Mary is not contented; to see the place is little comfort. The church itself, with all its memories of the Lord, the Gospel-story, and all theory about Him, is but His tomb until we find Himself;' and he closes with one which he thinks is 'perhaps his best,' viz. No. I.[34] We too may give it:
'_Two went up into the Temple to pray._ Two went to pray! O, rather say, One went to brag, th' other to pray. One stands up close, and treads on high, Where th' other dares not send his eye. One neerer to God's altar trod; The other to the altar's God.' (vol. ii. p. 35.)
The admiring critic on this proceeds: 'This appears to me perfect. Here is the true relation between the forms and the end of religion. The priesthood, the altar and all its ceremonies, must vanish from between the sinner and his God. When the priest forgets his mediation of a servant, his duty of a door-keeper to the temple of truth, and takes upon him the office of an intercessor, he stands between man and God, and is a satan, an adversary. Artistically considered, the poem could hardly be improved' (p. 241). 'Artistically,' nevertheless, it is a wonder Dr. Macdonald did not detect Turnbull's mis-reading of 'lend' for 'send' (l. 4). Bellew in his Poet's Corner reads 'bend,' which is equally poor for 'tendit.' There follows No. XLII., 'containing a similar lesson;' and finally No. XLV. p. 196, whereof he says: 'The following is a world-wide intercession for them that know not what they do. Of those that reject the truth, who can be said ever to have truly seen it? A man must be good to see truth. It is a thought suggested by our Lord's words, not an irreverent opposition to the truth of them' (p. 242).
Now that, besides the (relatively) few Epigrams which were translated by Crashaw himself, the whole are translated (for the first time), and now too that, exclusive of longer Latin poems, a goodly addition has been made by us to them, the reader will find it rewarding to turn and return on this remarkable section of Crashaw's poetry. Conceits there are, grotesque as gargoyles of a cathedral, oddities of symbolism, even passing into unconscious playing with holy words and things never to be played with; but each has a jewel of a distinct thought or sentiment, and often the wording is felicitous, albeit, as in all his Latin verse, not invariably without technical faults of quantity and even syntax. I had marked very many for specific criticism; but I must refrain. Our translation is perhaps a better commentary. To my co-workers and myself it has been a labour of love. I must close our notice of Crashaw as an Epigrammatist with some parallels from 'The Epigrammatists' of the Rev. Henry Philip Dodd, M.A. (1870). Under No. CXVII., 'On Pontius Pilate washing his hands,' he has this: 'In Elsum's Epigrams on Paintings, 1700, is one on a picture by Andrea Sacchi of Pilate washing his hands, translated from Michael Silos, De Romana Pictura et Sculptura' (Ep. 17):
'O cursed Pilate, villain dyed in grain, A little water cannot purge thy stain; No, Tanais can't do't, nor yet the main. Dost thou condemn a Deity to death, Him whose mere love gave and preserv'd thy breath?'
Similarly, under No. LI. 'On the Blessed Virgin's Bashfulness,' he has this: 'Some lines "To the Blessed Virgin at her Purification," by the old epigrammatist Bancroft, are almost as beautiful in sentiment as this exquisite piece (Book ii. 86):
Why, favourite of Heaven, most fair, Dost thou bring fowls for sacrifice? Will not the armful thou dost bear, That lovely Lamb of thine, suffice?'
Of the exceptionally celebrated, not exceptionally superior Epigram on 'The Water turned Wine,' which somehow has been given by a perverse continued blunder to Dryden, Aaron Hill's masterly translation may be read along with those given by us in the place (vol. ii. pp. 96-7):
'When Christ at Cana's feast by pow'r divine Inspir'd cold water with the warmth of wine; See! cried they, while in red'ning tide it gush'd, The bashful stream hath seen its God, and _blush'd_.'
Dryden's 'The conscious water saw its God, and blush'd,' is a mere remembrance of Crashaw.[35]
(_d_) _Translations and (briefly) Latin and Greek Poetry._ It may seem semi-paradoxical to affirm it, but in our opinion the genius of Crashaw shines with its fullest splendour in his Translations, longer and shorter. Even were there not his wonderful 'Suspicion of Herod' and 'Musick's Duell,' this might be said; for in his 'Dies Irae,' and 'Hymne out of Sainte Thomas,' and others lesser, there are felicities that only a genuine Maker could have produced. His 'Dies Irae' was the earliest version in our language. Roscommon and Scott alike wrote after and 'after' it. But it is on the two truly great Poems named we found our estimate. Turning to 'Musick's Duell,' as we ask the reader to do now (vol. i. 197-203), we have only to read critically the Latin of Strada, from whence it is drawn, to discern the creative gift of our Poet. Here it is:
Jam Sol a medio pronus deflexerat orbe Mitius, e radiis vibrans crinalibus ignem. Cum Fidicen, propter Tiberina fluenta, sonanti Lenibat plectra curas, aestumque levabat, Ilice defensus nigra scenaque virenti. Audiit hunc hospes silvae Philomela propinquae Musa loci, nemoris siren, innoxia siren; Et prope succedens stetit abdita frondibus, alte Accipiens sonitum, secumque remurmurat, et quos Ille modos variat digitis, haec gutture reddit. Sensit se Fidicen Philomela imitante referri, Et placuit ludum volucri dare; plenius ergo Explorat citharam, tentamentumque futurae Praebeat ut pugnae, percussit protinus omnes Impulsu pernice fides, nec segnius illa. Mille per excurrens variae discrimina vocis, Venturi specimen praefert argutula cantus. Tunc Fidicen per fila movens trepidantia dextram, Nunc contemnenti similis diverberat ungue, Depectitque pari chordas, et simplice ductu: Nunc carptim replicat, digitisque micantibus urget Fila minutatim, celerique repercutit ictu. Mox silet. Illa modis totidem respondet, et artem Arte refert. Nunc seu rudis aut incerta canendi Projicit in longum, nulloque plicatile flexu Carmen init, simili serie, jugique tenore, Praebet iter liquidum labenti e pectore voce; Nunc caesim variat, modulisque canora minutis. Delibrat vocem, tremuloque reciprocat ore. Miratur Fidicen parvis e faucibus ire Tam varium, tam dulce melos; majoraque tentans Alternat mira arte fides; dum torquet acutas Inciditque, graves operoso verbere pulsat, Permiscetque simul certantia rauca sonoris, Ceu resides in bella viros clangore lacessat. Hoc etiam Philomela canit: dumque ore liquenti Vibrat acuta sonum, modulisque interplicat acquis; Ex inopinato gravis intonat, et leve murmur Turbinat introrsus, alternantique sonore Clarat, et infuscat ceu martia classica pulset. Scilicet erubuit Fidicen, ... Non imitabilibus plectrum concentibus urget. Namque manu per fila volat, simul hos, simul illos Explorat numeros, chordaque laborat in omni, Et strepit, et tinnit, crescitque superbius, et se Multiplicat religens, plenoque choreumate plaudit.[36]
It will be noted by the student that such word-painting as in these lines belongs to Crashaw, not Strada:
'and streightway she _Carves out her dainty voyce as readily_. . . . . . Through the sleeke passage of her open throat _A clear unwrinckled song_; . . . . . closes the sweet quarrell, rowsing all, _Hoarce, shrill at once; as when the trumpets call Hot Mars to th' harvest of Death's field, and woo Men's hearts into their hands_:' . . . . . staggers in a warbling doubt _Of dallying sweetnesse_, hovers o'er her skill, _And folds in wav'd notes with a trembling bill_ . . . . . a tide Of streaming sweetnesse, _which in state doth ride On the wav'd backe of every swelling straine, Rising and falling in a pompous traine_. . . . . . Thus high, thus low, _as if her silver throat Would reach the brazen voyce of War's hoarce bird_.
... his hands sprightly as fire, he flings And with _a quavering coynesse tasts the strings_. The sweet-lip't sisters, musically frighted, Singing their feares, are fearefully delighted, _Trembling as when Appolo's golden haires Are fan'd and frizled, in the wanton ayres Of his own breath: which marryed to his lyre_ Doth tune the spheares. . . . . . with nectar drop, _Softer than that which pants in Hebe's cup_. . . . . . _The lute's light genius now does proudly rise, Heav'd on the surges of swolne rapsodyes,_ . . . . . _Creeps on the soft touch of a tender tone_.'
In the words of Willmott (as before), 'We shall seek in vain in the Latin text for the vigour, the fancy, and the grandeur of these lines. These remain with Crashaw, of whose obligations to Strada we may say, as Hayley [stupidly, if picturesquely] remarked of Pope's debt to Crashaw, that if he borrowed anything from him in this article, it was only as the sun borrows from the earth, when, drawing from thence a mere vapour, he makes it the delight of every eye, by giving it all the tender and gorgeous colouring of heaven' (vol. i. p. 323). The richness and fulness of our Poet as a Translator becomes the more clear when we place beside his interpretation of Strada the 'translations' of others, as given in the places (vol. i. pp. 203-6). A third (anonymous) version we discovered among the Lansdowne MSS. 3910, pt. lxvi., from which we take a specimen:
'Now the declininge sunn 'gan downward bende From higher heauene, and from his locks did sende A milder flame; when neere to Tyber's flowe A Lutaniste allayde his carefull woe, With sondinge charmes, and in a greeny seate Of shady oake, toke shelter from the heate.
A nitingale ore-hard hym that did use To soiourne in y^e neighbour groues, the Muse That files the place, the syren of the wood: Poore harmeles Syren, steling neere she stood Close lurkinge in the leaues attentiuely: Recordinge that vnwonted mellodye, She condt it to herselfe, and every straine His fingers playde, her throat return'd againe.'
And so to the end (MS. 3910, pp. 114-17). We have reserved until now incomparably the second, but only a far-off second, to Crashaw's, from John Ford's 'Lover's Melancholy' (1629); which probably was our Poet's guide to Strada. Here is the substance of the fine reminiscent version, from act i. scene 1:
_Menaphon._ A sound of music touched mine ears, or rather, Indeed, entranced my soul. As I stole nearer, Invited by the melody, I saw This youth, this fair-faced youth, upon his lute, With strains of strange variety and harmony, Proclaiming, as it seemed, so bold a challenge To the clear choristers of the wood, the birds, That as they flocked about him all stood silent, Wondering at what they heard. I wondered too.
_Amethus._ And do so I: good, on.
_Men._ A nightingale, Nature's best-skilled musician, undertakes The challenge, and for every several strain The well-shaped youth could touch, she sung her own: He could not run division with more art Vpon his quaking instrument than she The nightingale did with her various notes Reply to: for a voice and for a sound, Amethus, 'tis much easier to believe That such they were, than hope to hear again.
_Ameth._ How did the rivals part?
_Men._ You term them rightly. For they were rivals, and their mistress, Harmony. Some time thus spent, the young man grew at last Into a pretty anger, that a bird, Whom art had never taught cliffs, moods, or notes, Should vie with him for mastery, whose study Had busied many hours to perfect practice. To end the controversy, in a rapture, Vpon his instrument he plays so swiftly So many voluntaries, and so quick, That there was curiosity and cunning, Concord in discord, lines of differing method Meeting in one full centre of delight.
_Ameth._ Now for the bird.
_Men._ The bird, ordained to be Music's first master, strove to imitate These several sounds; which when her warbling throat Failed in, for grief down dropped she on his lute, And brake her heart. It was the quaintest sadness, To see the conqueror upon her hearse To weep.[37]
Comment is needless on such pale, empty literality, as compared with the vitality and _elan_ of Crashaw, in all but Ford's; while even Ford's is surpassed in every way by the 'Musick's Duell.'
The 'Suspicion of Herod,' by Marino (c. i.), is a grand poem in the original. Milton knew it, and was taken by it. Our Poet had glorious materials whereon to work, accordingly, when he turned Translator of this all-too-little known Singer of Italy. But Crashaw's soul was more spacious, his imagination more imperial, his vocabulary wealthier, than even Marino's. The greatness and grandeur and force of the Italian roused the Englishman to emulation. Willmott (as before) has placed the original Italian beside Crashaw's interpretation, and the advance in the Translator on his original is almost startling. We prefer adducing Crashaw, and then giving a close rendering of the original: _e.g._
'He saw Heav'n blossome with a new-borne light, _On which, as on a glorious stranger, gaz'd The golden eyes of Night_.' (st. xvii.)
literally in Marino:
'_He sees also shining from heaven, With beauteous ray, the wondrous star_, Which, brilliant and beautiful, goes Pointing the way straight towards Bethlehem.'
Again:
'He saw how in that blest Day-bearing Night, The Heav'n-rebuked shades made hast away; _How bright a dawne of angels with new light Amaz'd the midnight world, and made a Day Of which the Morning knew not_.' (st. xv.)
literally in Marino:
'He sees the quiet shades and the dark Horrors of the happy, holy Night Smitten and routed by heavenly voices, And vanquished by angelic splendours.'
Once more: when Alecto, the most terrible of the infernal sisters, ascends to Earth at the command of Satan:
'Heav'n saw her rise, and saw Hell in the sight: The fields' faire eyes saw her, and saw no more, But shut their flowry lids for ever;' (st. xlviii.)
for
'Parvero i fiori intorno e la verdura Sentir forza di peste, ira di verno;'
literally:
'soon as Hell had vomited out This monster from the dark abyss, _The flowers all around and the verdure appeared To feel the strength of the plague, the fury of winter_.'
This naked simplicity of wording is very fine: yet do Crashaw's adornments bring new charm to Marino. The soliloquy of Satan, though close as the skin to the body, has a ruddiness (so-to-say) from Crashaw. Nothing in Milton is grander than st. xxv. to xxx.; and in all there are touches from the cunning hand of Crashaw: _e.g._
'_And for the never-fading fields of light;_' (st. xxvii.)
for Marino's
'Che piu puo farmi omai chi la celeste _Reggia mi tolse, e i regni i miei lucenti_?'
literally:
'What more can He now do to me, Who took _From me the heavenly palace and my bright realms_?'
Again:
'_Bow our bright heads before a king of clay;_' (st. xxviii.)
for Marino's
'Volle alle forme sue semplici e prime, Natura sovralzar corporea e bassa, E de' membri del ciel capo sublime Far di limo terrestre eterna massa;'
literally:
'He turns to his simple primitive forms, To raise Nature above the corporeal and low, And to make an unworthy mass of earthly clay The sublime head of the heavenly members.'
Compare also st. x. in Crashaw with the original as literally rendered:
'Disdainefull wretch, how hath one bold sinne cost Thee all the beauties of thy once bright eyes! How hath _one black eclipse cancell'd and crost The glories that did gild thee in thy rise! Proud morning of a perverse day_, how lost Art thou unto thy selfe, thou too selfe-wise Narcissus! foolish Phaeton, who for all Thy _high-aym'd hopes, gaind'st but a flaming fall_.'
Literally in Marino:
'O wretched Angel, once fairer than light, How thou hast lost thy primeval splendour! Thou shalt have from the eternal Requiter Deserved punishment for the unjust crime: Proud admirer of thy honours, Rebellious usurper of another's seat! Transformed, and fallen into Phlegethon, Proud Narcissus, impious Phaethon!'
Milton takes from Crashaw, not Marino, in his portrait of the Destroyer:
'From Death's sad shades to the life-breathing ayre This mortall enemy to mankind's good Lifts his _malignant eyes, wasted with care, To become beautifull in humane blood_.' (st. xi.)
Literally in Marino:
'He from the shades of death to the living air, Envious in truth of our human state, Lifted aloft his eyes by where The hollow vent-hole opened straight down.'
Well-nigh innumerable single lines and words are inevitably marked: _e.g._
'the rebellious eye Of sorrow.' (st. xlix.)
So the eyes of Satan:
'the sullen dens of Death and Night Startle the dull ayre with a dismal red;' (st. vii.)
for Marino's
'Negli occhi ove mestizia alberga e morte, Luce fiammeggia torbida e vermiglia;'
literally:
'In the eyes where sadness dwells and death A turbid vermilion-coloured light shines.'
Again: the sun is seen by the Tempter to
Make proud the ruby portalls of the East;' (st. xvi.)
for 'la Reggia Oriental.' Crashaw has the same vivid fancy in the Hymn for Epiphany:
'Aurora shall set ope Her ruby casements.'
Finally, to show that even where our Translator keeps closest to the original, he yet gives the creative touches of which I have already spoken, read his st. v. beside this literal translation:
'Under the abysses, at the very core of the world, In the central point of the universe, Within the bowers of the darkest deep, There stands the fiendly perverse Spirit: With sharp thongs an impure group Binds him with a hundred snakes athwart: With such bonds girds him for ever, The great champion who conquered HIM in Paradise.'
Thus we might go over the entire poem, and everywhere we should gather proofs that he was himself all he conceived in his splendid portraiture of the true Poet's genius:
'no rapture makes it live Drest in the glorious madnesse of a Muse, Whose feet can walke the Milky Way, Her starry throne, and hold up an exalted arm To lift me from my lazy urn and climbe Upon the stooped shoulders of old Time, And trace eternity.' (vol. i. p. 238.)[38]
Fully to estimate Crashaw's own grander imaginative faculty the Reader must study here the now-first-printed and very Miltonic poems on Apocalypse xii. 7 (Vol. II. pp. 231-3) and 'Christe, veni' (_ib._ pp. 223-5). It is profoundly to be regretted that our Poet should have limited himself to Book I. of the 'Strage degli Innocenti,' viz. 'Sospetto d'Herode.' Book VII. especially, 'Della Gerusalemme Distruta,' would have demanded all his powers. The entire poem was 'done in English,' and it is '_done_' (by T.R. 1675).
With reference to our own Translations of Crashaw, if in some instances we have enlarged on our original, and adventured to fill-in what in the Latin the Poet is fettered in uttering, may we apologise by pleading his own example as a Translator, though with unequal steps and far off? I would specify the very remarkable 'Bulla,' in which, indeed, I find Crashaw's highest of pure poetic faculty within the region of Fancy in its delicatest and subtlest symbolisms; also the scarcely less remarkable address 'To the Reader' ('Lectori'); and his 'Fides &c. &c.' and his classical legends of 'Arion,' and his University 'Laments' and 'Appeals' for Peterhouse. Throughout, my co-workers and myself have aimed to give the _thought_ of Crashaw; and, unless I egregiously mistake, we have together earned some gratitude from admirers of our Worthy.
I leave to other Scholars to deal critically with the Latin and Greek of these Poems and Epigrams now first translated. Read unsympathetically, I fear that very often his quantities and versification will be regarded as barbarous; but we have done something, it is believed, to neutralise Turnbull's most discreditable misprints herein, as in the English Poems. In the places (vol. ii. pp. 5-6, 244, and 332) we have recorded some of his more flagrant blunders; but besides we have silently corrected as many more of the original and early editions.
That Crashaw was not an accurate scholar the Greek Epigrams (as well as some of the Latin ones) furnish sufficient proof. Of the many obvious errors in quantity and construction, I have only corrected such as may have been mere oversights, some of them perhaps caused by his MS. having been misread; in other cases I have followed the original editions, and corrected the numerous errors made by Turnbull from his not being able to read the Greek ligatures &c. It may be well to indicate a few of the typical corrections that I felt obliged to make, and note other lapses which I did not feel justified in altering.
In XI. last line, {aperrhipton} for {aporrhipton}; CXXI. last line, {een} for {ee}; CXXV. line 5. {kein'} for {kein}; CLXXX. line 1 has {plane} as if the penult were long instead of short, and {alemi} an unused form, so that the line offends both quantity and usage--it might be amended thus, {Heis men ego, he mou te plane periegen, alomai}; CLXXXII. line 1, {epeballen} for {epiballen}; CLXXXIII. line 2, {sykomore} should be {sykomore}, but altered for scansion; line 3, {ekkremnes} should perhaps be {ekkremnas}; line 4, unscanable; and in CXXV. line 4, {dasiois} should be {dasesin}. {ouranos}, the penult of which is short, he uses as either long or short.
I must add, that the accentuation was as often wrong as right. I have carefully corrected it throughout. And this seems to me to be the only allowable way of reproducing Crashaw. An Editor cannot be held responsible for his Author writing imperfect Greek or Latin, any more than for his mistakes either in opinion or in matters-of-fact or taste.
Anderson's and Chalmers' Poets, and Peregrine Phillip's Selections, and Turnbull's edition in Russell Smith's 'Old Authors' and that in Gilfillan's Poets (a selection only), are our predecessors in furnishing Crashaw's Poetry. We confess to a feeling of just pride (shall we say?) in being the first worthily and adequately to present as remarkable Poetry, in its own region, as is anywhere to be found. RICHARD CRASHAW has assuredly not yet gathered all his fame.[39]
ALEXANDER B. GROSART.
Latin Poems.
PART FIRST. SACRED.
I.
EPIGRAMMATA SACRA.
(1634-1670.)
NOTE.
The earliest appearance of CRASHAW as a poet was in the University Collections of Latin Verse on the (then) usual conventional occasions of royal births and deaths, and the like. These pieces will be found in their places in the present volume. The place of honour herein we assign to his own published volume of 1634, of which the following is the title-page, within a neat woodcut border:
EPIGRAM-
MATUM
SACRORUM
LIBER.
University Printer's ornament, with legend, 'Hinc. Lvcem. Et. Pocula. Sacra.' and 'Alma Mater.'
Cantabrigiae, Ex Academiae celeberrimae typographeo. 1634.
This is a small duodecimo. Collation: Title-page--Epistle-dedicatory to LANY, with the poems, 'Salve, alme custos Pierii gregis,' &c.--Venerabili viro Magistro Tournay, Tutori suo summe observando--Ornatissimo viro Praeceptori suo colendissimo, Magistro Brook--Lectori (verse and prose), seven leaves: Epigrammata Sacra, pp. 79.
A second edition of this volume appeared in 1670. Its title-page is as follows:
RICHARDI CRASHAWI
POEMATA
et
EPIGRAMMATA,
Quae scripsit Latina & Graeca, Dum _Aulae Pemb._ Alumnus fuit, Et Collegii _Petrensis_ Socius.
Editio Secunda, Auctior & emendatior.
{Heineken eumathies pinytophronos, hen ho Melichros Eskesen, Mouson ammiga kai Chariton.} {Anthol.}
[Printer's ornament, as before.]
Cantabrigiae, Ex Officina _Joan. Hayes_, Celeberrimae Academiae Typographi. 1670.
This is an 8vo. Collation: Title-page--and to Brook, as before; then these additional Latin poems: In Picturam Reverendissimi Episcopi D. Andrews--Votiva Domus Petrensis pro Domo Dei--In caeterorum Operum difficili Parturitione Gemitus--Epitaphium in Gulielmum Herrisium--In Eundem--Natalis Principis Mariae--In Serenissimae Reginae partum hyemalem--Natalis Ducis Eboracensis--In faciem Augustiss. Regis a morbillis integram--Ad Carolum Primum, Rex Redux--Ad Principem nondum natum, Regina gravida. Bastard-title, 'Epigrammata Sacra, quae scripsit Graeca et Latina'--Lectori (as before), nine leaves: Epigrammata Sacra, pp. 67.
The additions to the second edition--besides the Latin poems enumerated--were in the Epigrams these: No. 1, Pharisaeus et Publicanus, Greek version--No. 11, Obolum Viduae, ib.--No. 53, Ecce locus ubi jacuit Dominus, ib.--No. 120, In descensum Spiritus sancti, ib.--No. 124, In S. Columbam ad Christi caput sedentem, ib.--No. 141, Ad D. Lucam medicum, ib.--No. 148, In stabulum ubi natus est Dominus, ib.--No. 161, Hic lapis fiat panis, ib.--No. 177, In die Ascensionis Dominicae, ib.--No. 178, Caecus implorat Christum, Latin and Greek--No. 179, Quis ex vobis, &c. ib.--No. 180, Herodi D. Jacobum obtruncati, ib.--No. 181, Caeci receptis, &c. ib.--and No. 182, Zaccheus in sycomoro.
A third edition was issued in 1674. It is identical with that of 1670, save in the date on title-page, printer's ornament, and this line at bottom: 'Prostant venales apud _Joann. Creed_.' Probably consisted of 'remainders' of 1670 edition.
As the edition of 1634 was published during the author's residence in the University, and so under his own eye, I have made it the basis of our text, though with a vigilant eye on the later corrections; but have given from the edition of 1670 the Greek versions of certain of the Epigrams, and those added (as above). The Epistle-dedicatory to Lany, and related introductory poems of 1634, alone, I prefix to the Epigrammata Sacra, assigning the other poems more fittingly to the Secular Poems (as annotated in the places). The Editor of the second edition, 'auctior et emendatior,' has not been transmitted. For more on the editions of the Epigrammata Sacra, see our Essay and Notes and Illustrations. As explained in our Prefatory Note, the translations of the Latin Poemata et Epigrammata, as of the others, follow the originals successively. A. denotes the translator to be THOMAS ASHE, M.A., Ipswich; B., CLEMENT BARKSDALE (from 'Epigrammata Sacra selecta, cum Anglica Versione. Sacred Epigrams Englished. London: Printed for John Barksdale, Bookseller in Cirencester. 1682.' 12mo); CL., Rev. J.H. CLARK, M.A., West Dereham, Norfolk; CR., CRASHAW himself; G., myself; W., Rev. W. ARIS WILLMOTT (from his 'Lives of the Sacred Poets,' s.n. Crashaw); and R. WI., Rev. RICHARD WILTON, M.A., Londesborough Rectory, Market Weighton. In the present and succeeding division those Epigrams translated by Crashaw himself are given under the related Latin--all from the original text of 1646, as before. They consist of Nos. 1, 2, 8, 9, 11, 14, 15, 20, 21, 26, 29, 36, 40, 42, 43, 47, 49, 51, 54 (two), 56, 57, 63, 64, 68, 85, 91, 93, 101, 104, 106, 108, 115, 117, 140, 157, 160, 164, 169, 184, and 185 in the present, and of Nos. 21, 22, 28, 42, 46, and 55 in next section.
It only remains that I add here, instead of noticing in their places, the following more flagrant errors of Turnbull in the 'Epigrammata' and related 'Poemata Latina et Graeca.' Similar lists will be found in the introductory notes to the several divisions of this volume.
In the Epistle to Lany, line 18, avidi _for_ avide; line 29, amore _for_ amare; in the Ode, st. ii. line 1, ipsi _for_ ipse. In the address 'Lectori,' line 7, abi _for_ alis; line 29, putre _for_ putri; line 48, mens _for_ meus; line 53, fingit _for_ finget; line 70, graves _for_ gravis; line 97, tota dropped out; line 120, negat _for_ neget; in succeeding prose, line 29, Acygmanos _for_ acygnianos.
The misprints in the Epigrammata are so numerous, that it is deemed expedient to tabulate them according to our numbering. On the errors in the Greek, see our Preface to the present Volume.
No.
1, line 4, ille _for_ hic.
2, heading, Victorem _for_ vectorem.
3, l. 1, ori _for_ oris.
6, l. 2, meae _for_ mea.
7, l. 4, tanto _for_ tanti.
8, l. 1, vulnere _for_ vulnera.
10, l. 1, tumidus _for_ timidus.
12, heading, Luc. x. 30 _for_ x. 39; and so often.
19, l. 4, decas _for_ decus.
30, l. 3, Te ne _for_ Tene.
31, heading, credebunt _for_ credebant.
44, l. 1, tumere _for_ tenuere.
45, l. 2, mala _for_ male.
48, l. 1, Christe _for_ Christi.
60, l. 4, fecere _for_ fuere.
65, l. 7, adnixus _for_ ad nixus.
67, l. 1, Infantes _for_ infantis.
69, heading, meditur _for_ medetur.
78, l. 2, pati _for_ peti.
101, l. 4, aqua _for_ aquas.
108, l. 8, oculos _for_ oculus.
111, l. 3, natalis _for_ natales.
114, l. 2, utere _for_ uteri.
115, l. 4, queas _for_ queat.
120, heading, Domini _for_ Dominicam.
" l. 6, Phoebe _for_ Phoebo.
122, heading, traduit _for_ traderet.
123, l. 2, nescis _for_ nescio.
125, l. 1, volueris _for_ volucris.
126, heading, Divi _for_ Divo.
132, heading, Christo _for_ Christi.
135, heading left out.
140, l. 2, illa _for_ ille.
149, l. 2, quae _for_ qua.
153, l. 3, colubres _for_ colubros.
155, heading, Domini _for_ Dominicae.
158, l. 3, par _for_ per.
161, l. 8, fieris _for_ fieres.
" l. 12, solis _for_ solio.
164, l. 1, Daemone _for_ Daemona.
169, heading, lavante _for_ lavanti.
" l. 2, virginea _for_ virgineae.
170, l. 5, decies _for_ denis.
172, l. 1, vidis _for_ vides.
176, l. 16, dominum _for_ dominam.
" l. 73, ista _for_ iste.
177, l. 20, metu _for_ nutu.
182, l. 2, fide _for_ fida.
The whole of these, with others belonging to Crashaw himself and his first editors, are carefully corrected in our edition. G.
REVERENDO ADMODUM VIRO
BENJAMINO LANY,[40]
SS. THEOLOGIAE PROFESSORI, AULAE PEMBROCHIANAE CUSTODI DIGNISSIMO, EX SUORUM MINIMIS MINIMUS,
R. C[RASHAW]
CUSTODIAM COELESTEM
P.
Suus est et florum fructus; quibus fruimur, si non utilius, delicatius certe. Neque etiam rarum est quod ad spem Veris, de se per flores suos quasi pollicentis, adultioris anni, ipsiusque adeo Autumni exigamus fidem. Ignoscas igitur, vir colendissime, properanti sub ora Apollinis sui, primaeque adolescentiae lascivia exultanti Musae. Tenerae aetatis flores adfert, non fructus serae: quos quidem exigere ad seram illam et sobriam maturitatem, quam in fructibus expectamus merito, durum fuerit; forsan et ipsa hac praecoci importunitate sua placituros magis: tibi praesertim quem paternus animus, quod fieri solet, intentum tenet omni suae spei diluculo, quo tibi de tuorum indole promittas aliquid. Ex more etiam eorum, qui in praemium laboris sui pretiumque patientiae festini, ex iis quae severunt ipsi et excoluerunt, quicquid est flosculi prominulum, prima quasi verecundia auras et apertum Jovem experientis arripiunt avide, saporemque illi non tam ex ipsius indole et ingenio quam ex animi sui affectu, foventis in eo curas suas et spes, affingunt. Patere igitur, reverende custos, hanc tibi ex istiusmodi floribus corollam necti; convivalem vero: nec aliter passuram sidus illud oris tui auspicatissimum, nisi, qua est etiam amoenitate, remissiore radio cum se reclinat, et in tantum de se demit. Neque sane hoc scriptionis genere, modo partes suas satis praestiterit, quid esse potuit otio theologico accommodatius, quo nimirum res ipsa theologica poetica amoenitate delinita majestatem suam venustate commendat. Hoc demum quicquid est, amare tamen poteris, et voles, scio: non ut magnum quid, non ut egregium, non ut te dignum denique, sed ut tuum: tuum summo jure, utpote quod e tua gleba, per tuum radium, in manum denique tuam evocatum fuerit. Quod restat hujus libelli fatis, exorandus es igitur, vir spectatissime, ut quem sinu tum facili privatum excepisti, eum jam ore magis publico alloquentem te non asperneris. Stes illi in limine, non auspicium modo suum, sed et argumentum. Enimvero Epigramma sacrum tuus ille vultus vel est, vel quid sit docet; ubi nimirum amabili diluitur severum, et sanctum suavi demulcetur. Pronum me vides in negatam mihi provinciam; laudum tuarum, intelligo: quas mihi cum modestia tua abstulerit, reliquum mihi est necessario ut sim brevis; imo vero longus nimium; utpote cui argumentum istud abscissum fuerit, in quo unice poteram, et sine taedio, prolixus esse. Vale, virorum ornatissime, neque dedigneris quod colere audeam Genii tui serenitatem supplex tam tenuis, et, quoniam numen quoque hoc de se non negat, amare etiam. Interim vero da veniam Musae in tantum sibi non temperanti; quin in hanc saltem laudis tuae partem, quae tibi ex rebus sacris apud nos ornatis meritissima est, istiusmodi carmine involare ausa sit, qualicunque:
Salve, alme custos Pierii gregis, Per quem erudito exhalat in otio; Seu frigus udi captet antri, Sive Jovem nitidosque soles.
Non ipse custos pulchrior invias Egit sub umbras Aemonios greges; Non ipse Apollo notus illis Lege suae meliore cannae.
Tu, si sereno des oculo frui, Sunt rura nobis, sunt juga, sunt aquae, Sunt plectra dulcium sororum (Non alio mihi nota Phoebo).
Te dante, castos composuit sinus; Te dante, mores sumpsit; et in suo Videnda vultu, pulveremque Relligio cineremque nescit.
Stat cincta digna fronde decens caput: Suosque per te fassa palam Deos, Comisque, Diva, vestibusque Ingenium dedit ordinemque.
Jamque ecce nobis amplior es modo Majorque cerni. Quale jubar tremit Sub os! verecundusque quanta Mole sui Genius laborat!
Jam qui serenas it tibi per genas, Majore coelo sidus habet suum; Majorque circum cuspidatae Ora comis tua flos diei.
Stat causa. Nempe hanc ipse Deus, Deus, Hanc ara, per te pulchra, diem tibi Tuam refundit, obvioque It radio tibi se colenti.
Ecce, ecce! sacro in limine, dum pio Multumque prono poplite amas humum, Altaria annuunt ab alto; Et refluis tibi plaudit alis
Pulchro incalescens officio, puer Quicunque crispo sidere crinium, Vultuque non fatente terram, Currit ibi roseus satelles.
Et jure. Nam cum fana tot inviis Moerent ruinis, ipsaque, ceu preces Manusque non decora supplex Tendat, opem rogat, heu negatam!
Tibi ipsa voti est ora sui rea. Et solvet. O quam semper apud Deum Litabis illum, cujus arae Ipse preces prius audiisti!
[TRANSLATION. Prose G.; verse CL.]
_To the very reverend man_ BENJAMIN LANY, _Doctor of Divinity, most worthy Master of Pembroke College [Cambridge], the least of the least of those that are his, R[ichard] C[rashaw] implores the divine protection._[41]
Even flowers have their own peculiar fruit, which we enjoy, if not so profitably, yet in a manner more refined. Nor is it unusual that, in accordance with the hope of Spring, making promises for herself as it were by her flowers, we demand credit for the maturer year, and even for Autumn itself. Forgive, then, most Reverend Sir, the Muse hastening into the presence of her Apollo, and exulting in the wantonness of earliest youth. She offers the flowers of a tender age, not the fruits of a late one, which flowers indeed it were unreasonable to demand in accordance with that late and sober maturity which we rightly look for in fruits--flowers which are more likely to be pleasing from the very fact of their precocious importunity,--to thee above all, whom a fatherly mind, as it is wont to happen, holds watching for every dawning of its hope, by which you may give yourself assurance of anything respecting the genius of your sons; after the manner also of those who, in haste for the reward of their labour and the price of their patience, from what they have themselves sown and tended, snatch greedily whatever part may project a little of a floweret, which, as with early bashfulness, is making trial of the airs and the open sky, and attach an odour to it, not so much from its own nature and character as from the inclination of their own mind, which fosters in it their own anxieties and hopes. Suffer then, Reverend Master, this little garland, made of flowers of such a sort, to be bound on thee; a festal one assuredly, and not able to endure that most auspicious star of thy countenance in any other way than--for it is even of such a graciousness--when it draws back with milder ray, and so far subtracts from itself. Nor assuredly than this kind of writing, provided it have sufficiently discharged its proper functions, could anything be more suitable to theological leisure; for in it without doubt the very substance of theology being overlaid with poetic grace, sets off its grandeur by loveliness. Finally, whatever this may be, you will nevertheless, I know, be able and willing to be lovingly disposed towards it; not as anything great or uncommon; not, in short, as anything worthy of you, but as your own--your own by highest right as having been called forth from your soil, by your light, and, in fine, into your hand. As for what fortune awaits this little book, deign to be persuaded, most worshipful Sir, not to scorn when addressing you now in a more public style him whom you have welcomed in private with so ready an affection. May you stand on its threshold, not only as its good omen but also as its subject! In very truth that countenance of yours is a Sacred Epigram, or teaches what it should be, where forsooth severity is tempered with love, and sanctity is mellowed by sweetness. You see me inclined towards a sphere denied to me--that of sounding your praises, I mean; which since your modesty has taken from me, it remains of necessity that I should be brief: yes indeed, I am too diffuse, seeing that the very subject is cut off from me in which alone I was, and even without irksomeness, able to be prolix. Farewell, most cultured of men, and do not disdain me, so insignificant a suppliant, for daring to honour your tranquil genius, and, since divinity even does not forbid this respecting itself, also to love it. But in the mean while give pardon to the Muse, to such a degree unrestrained as to have dared for this part at least of your praise, which is most due to you on account of sacred things that have been honoured amongst us, to fly towards you with a strain of such kind as this, whatever it may be:
Kind Guardian of the Muses' flock, Through whom it breathes in learn'd repose, Whether it choose the dripping rock, Or where the open sunshine glows.
Not fairer he through trackless shade Who led Aemonia's flocks of old; Not even Apollo, when he play'd, With defter touch could charm the fold.
If thou the eye serene dost grant, Green fields are ours, and streams and hills, And, since no Phoebus else we want, The Muses with their dulcet quills.
Religion too with modest grace Through thee assumes a gentler mien; Through thee again can show her face, No more in dust and ashes seen.
Her brows crown'd meetly, and, through thee, Her God in sight of all confess'd, She gives in her divinity Meaning and law to garb and vest.
Lo, while we gaze, an ample state Adorns thee; what a lustrous sheen Plays on thy lips! with what a weight Thy reverent Genius toils within!
For him on whom thy calm glance flows His star sheds down a fuller ray; The light that o'er thine aspect glows Is brighter than the shafts of Day.
And there is cause. The Lord of heaven, Whose altar thou hast made so fair, Pours back the light that thou hast given, With glory meets His worshipper.
Lo, on the threshold of thy God While thou dost stoop on bended knee, The altar from on high doth nod, Its plausive wings are bent to thee.
And, glowing with his duty's worth, Each starry-tressed chorister With look that savours not of earth Tends like a rosy cherub there.
And rightly. For, when ruin-wreck'd, With prayers and outstretch'd hands the fane Bemoan'd itself in all neglect, And sought elsewhere for help in vain,--
To thee by its own vows 'tis bound, And now repays thee. At the shrine Whose cry so well thy ears hath found Long, long may prayer and praise be thine!
LECTORI.
Salve. Jamque vale. Quid enim quis pergeret ultra? Qua jocus et lusus non vocat, ire voles? Scilicet hic, Lector, cur noster habebere, non est; Deliciis folio non faciente tuis. Nam nec Acidalios halat mihi pagina rores; Nostra Cupidineae nec favet aura faci. Frustra hinc ille suis quicquam promiserit alis: Frustra hinc illa novo speret abire sinu. Ille e materna melius sibi talia myrto; Illa jugis melius poscat ab Idaliis. Quaerat ibi suus in quo cespite surgat Adonis, Quae melior teneris patria sit violis. Illinc totius Florae, verisque, suique Consilio, ille alas impleat, illa sinus. Me mea, casta tamen, si sit rudis, herba coronet: Me mea, si rudis est, sit rudis, herba juvat. Nulla meo Circaea tument tibi pocula versu: Dulcia, et in furias officiosa tuas. Nulla latet Lethe, quam fraus tibi florea libat, Quam rosa sub falsis dat malefida genis. Nulla verecundum mentitur mella venenum: Captat ab insidiis linea nulla suis. Et spleni, et jecori foliis bene parcitur istis. Ah, male cum rebus staret utrumque meis! Rara est quae ridet, nulla est quae pagina prurit, Nulla salax, si quid norit habere salis. Non nudae Veneres, nec, si jocus, udus habetur: Non nimium Bacchus noster Apollo fuit. Nil cui quis putri sit detorquendus ocello; Est nihil obliquo quod velit ore legi. Haec coram atque oculis legeret Lucretia justis; Iret et illaesis hinc pudor ipse genis. Nam neque candidior voti venit aura pudici De matutina virgine thura ferens: Cum vestis nive vincta sinus, nive tempora fulgens, Dans nive flammeolis frigida jura comis, Religiosa pedum sensim vestigia librans, Ante aras tandem constitit, et tremuit. Nec gravis ipsa suo sub numine castior halat Quae pia non puras summovet ara manus. Tam Venus in nostro non est nimis aurea versu: Tam non sunt pueri tela timenda dei. Saepe puer dubias circum me moverat alas, Jecit et incertas nostra sub ora faces; Saepe vel ipse sua calamum mihi blandus ab ala, Vel matris cygno de meliore dedit; Saepe Dionaeae pactus mihi serta coronae; Saepe: Meus vates tu, mihi dixit, eris. I procul, i cum matre tua, puer improbe, dixi: Non tibi cum numeris res erit ulla meis. Tu Veronensi cum passere pulchrior ibis: Bilbilicisve queas comptius esse modis. Ille tuos finget quocunque sub agmine crines: Undique nequitiis par erit ille tuis. Ille nimis, dixi, patet in tua proelia campus: Heu, nimis est vates et nimis ille tuus! Gleba illa, ah, tua quam tamen urit adultera messis! Esset Idumaeo germine quanta parens! Quantus ibi et quantae premeret puer ubera matris! Nec coelos vultu dissimulante suos. Ejus in isto oculi satis essent sidera versu; Sidereo matris quam bene tuta sinu! Matris ut hic similes in collum mitteret ulnas, Inque sinus niveos pergeret, ore pari; Utque genis pueri haec aequis daret oscula labris, Et bene cognatis iret in ora rosis; Quae Mariae tam larga meat, quam disceret illic Uvida sub pretio gemma tumere suo! Staret ibi ante suum lacrymatrix Diva Magistrum: Seu levis aura volet, seu gravis unda cadat; Luminis haec soboles, et proles pyxidis illa, Pulchrius unda cadat, suavius aura volet. Quicquid in his sordet demum, luceret in illis. Improbe, nec satis est hunc tamen esse tuum? Improbe, cede, puer: quid enim mea carmina mulces? Carmina de jaculis muta futura tuis. Cede, puer, qua te petulantis fraena puellae; Turpia quae revocant pensa procacis herae; Qua miseri male pulchra nitent mendacia limi; Qua cerussatae, furta decora, genae; Qua mirere rosas, alieni sidera veris; Quas nivis haud propriae bruma redempta domat. Cede, puer, dixi et dico; cede, improba mater: Altera Cypris habet nos; habet alter Amor. Scilicet hic Amor est; hic est quoque mater Amoris. Sed Mater virgo; sed neque caecus Amor. O Puer! o Domine! o magnae reverentia Matris, Alme tui stupor et relligio gremii! O Amor, innocuae cui sunt pia jura pharetrae, Nec nisi de casto corde sagitta calens! Me, Puer, o certa, quem figis, fige sagitta; O tua de me sit facta pharetra levis! Quodque illinc sitit et bibit, et bibit et sitit usque; Usque meum sitiat pectus, et usque bibat. Fige, Puer, corda haec. Seu spinis exiguus quis, Seu clavi aut hastae cuspide magnus ades; Seu major cruce cum tota; seu maximus ipso Te corda haec figis denique; fige, Puer. O metam hanc tuus aeternum inclamaverit arcus: Stridat in hanc teli densior aura tui. O tibi si jaculum ferat ala ferocior ullum, Hanc habeat triti vulneris ire viam. Quique tuae populus cunque est, quae turba, pharetrae; Hic bene vulnificas nidus habebit aves. O mihi sis bello semper tam saevus in isto! Pectus in hoc nunquam mitior hostis eas. Quippe ego quam jaceam pugna bene sparsus in illa! Quam bene sic lacero pectore sanus ero! Haec mea vota. Mei sunt haec quoque vota libelli. Haec tua sint, Lector, si meus esse voles. Si meus esse voles, meus ut sis, lumina, Lector, Casta, sed o nimium non tibi sicca, precor. Nam tibi fac madidis meus ille occurrerit alis, Sanguine, seu lacryma diffluat ille sua: Stipite totus hians, clavisque reclusus, et hasta: Fons tuus in fluvios desidiosus erit? Si tibi sanguineo meus hic tener iverit amne, Tune tuas illi, dure, negabis aquas? Ah durus! quicunque meos, nisi siccus, amores Nolit, et hic lacrymae rem neget esse suae. Saepe hic Magdalinas vel aquas vel amaverit undas; Credo nec Assyrias mens tua malit opes. Scilicet ille tuos ignis recalescet ad ignes; Forsan et illa tuis unda natabit aquis. Hic eris ad cunas, et odoros funere manes: Hinc ignes nasci testis, et inde meos. Hic mecum, et cum matre sua, mea gaudia quaeres: Maturus Procerum seu stupor esse velit; Sive per antra sui lateat, tunc templa, sepulchri: Tertia lux reducem, lenta sed illa, dabit. Sint fidae precor, ah, dices, facilesque tenebrae; Lux mea dum noctis, res nova! poscit opem. Denique charta meo quicquid mea dicat amori, Illi quo metuat cunque, fleatve, modo, Laeta parum, dices, haec, sed neque dulcia non sunt: Certe et amor, dices, hujus amandus erat.
Si nimium hic promitti tibi videtur, Lector bone, pro eo cui satisfaciendo libellus iste futurus fuerit; scias me in istis non ad haec modo spectare quae hic habes, sed ea etiam quae olim, haec interim fovendo, habere poteris. Nolui enim, si hactenus deesse amicis meis non potui, flagitantibus a me, etiam cum dispendii sui periculo, paterer eos experiri te in tantum favorem tuum, nolui, inquam, fastidio tuo indulgere. Satis hic habes quod vel releges ad ferulam suam, neque enim maturiores sibi annos ex his aliqua vendicant, vel ut pignus plurium adultiorumque in sinu tuo reponas. Elige tibi ex his utrumvis. Me interim quod attinet, finis meus non fefellit. Maximum meae ambitionis scopum jamdudum attigi: tunc nimirum cum quale-cunque hoc meum pene infantis Musae murmur ad aures istas non ingratum sonuit, quibus neque doctiores mihi de publico timere habeo, nec sperare clementiores; adeo ut de tuo jam plausu, dicam ingenue et breviter, neque securus sim ultra neque solicitus. Prius tui, quisquis es, Lector, apud me reverentia prohibet; de cujus judicio omnia possum magna sperare: posterius illorum reverentia non sinit, de quorum perspicacitate maxima omnia non possum mihi non persuadere. Quanquam o quam velim tanti me esse in quo patria mea morem istum suum deponere velit, genio suo tam non dignum; istum scilicet quo, suis omnibus fastiditis, ea exosculatur unice, quibus trajecisse Alpes et de transmarino esse, in pretium cessit! Sed relictis hisce, nimis improbae spei votis, convertam me ad magistros acygnianos; quos scio de novissimis meis verbis, quanquam neminem nominarim, iratos me reliquisse: bilem vero componant; et mihi se hoc debere, ambitioso juveni verbum tam magnum ignoscant--debere, inquam, fateantur: quod nimirum in tam nobili argumento, in quo neque ad foetida de suis sanctis figmenta, neque ad putidas de nostris calumnias opus habeant confugere, de tenui hoc meo dederim illorum magnitudini unde emineat. Emineat vero; serius dico, sciantque me semper se habituros esse sub ea, quam mihi eorum lux major affuderit, umbra, placidissime acquiescentem.
[TRANSLATION. Verse and Prose, G.]
TO THE READER.
'Greeting,' Reader; and now 'farewell'! Wherefore shouldst thou on my page dwell, Where neither jest nor sport inviteth, That the jocund youth delighteth? Therefore, Reader, pass thee by To thine own idle jollity: The notes that trill from my poor lute Such as thee shall never suit; Nor here are Acidalian dews That Venus' roses sweet suffuse; Nor breath sets Cupid's torch a-blaze That lovers on my lines may gaze. Vainly shall mother and shall son Look here for lewd emotion. Cupid, seek thy mother's kirtle, Or hide thee 'neath her fragrant myrtle. And, Venus, thy Idalian hills Will better yield thee sport that thrills: Thither, therefore, goddess, turn; O'er thy lost Adonis burn; Or devise, if grief thee frets, Other shrines for thy violets: There, with Flora and the Spring The green earth enamelling, Thou mayst fill thy bosom's whiteness, He his wings in all their brightness, With all flow'rs that wait on thee When thou holdest revelry. Me my own poor flow'r will crown; Poor 'tis true, yet all my own-- Poor but pure. So let it be, Those unto others, this to me. No Circe-cup foams in my verse, To make fierce lustings still more fierce; No draft of Lethe here doth flow, Flow'ry above, deathly below; No false cheeks, with falser bloom-- A rose up-bursting from a tomb; No barb hid 'neath treach'rous plume; No poison spread as honey'd bait; No line where danger lies in wait: Here's nor spleen nor melancholy, That for me were unmeet wholly; Rarely do I raise a smile, Ne'er merge my wit in wanton wile; Never quicken Passion's pulse, Nor show nude Beauty to convulse, Until beneath the hoof o' th' flesh The strong man bound is in Lust's mesh. If jest I pass, do not repine To learn it reeks not of the wine; For my Apollo is celestial, And from Bacchus shrinks as bestial. Nothing that's foul my page contains; Nothing the modest eye arraigns; Nothing to cause averted face-- Lucretia every line might trace With calm, serene, unfearing eye, Nor blush stain cheek of Modesty. For not more pure the maiden's vow[42] Whisper'd in tremulous words and low, As, girt in snowy robe, her breast Heaves like a wave in sweet unrest, And the white veil shows whiter brow In pureness of unfallen snow, With flame-gleam from meek-dropped hair Dishevell'd by the am'rous air: Soft strains with her soft voice blending, The marriage-rites to heaven ascending: Yea, not the altar's self exhaleth More chastely, as its God it haileth, That keeps far off unholy hands While there the priest with bow'd head stands. My verse is not the Queen of Love's, Nor knows the cooing of her doves: Her beauty me not overpowers, Though bright as skies when no cloud low'rs; Vainly at me her tricksy boy His arrows shoots. The sweet annoy I never felt; though oft and oft He hover'd o'er me, and with soft, Sly, 'luring glances his torch wav'd, And look'd to find me swift enslav'd; Offer'd a quill from his own wing, E'en from his mother's swan--to sing; Ay, often Venus' love-wreaths weaving, On my brow the symbol leaving: He would laugh, and Poet style me, And with flatteries beguile me: 'Begone, begone, O wanton boy! Thy mother too, though Queen of Joy.' Thus did I speak. Naught of my song Shall thy tyranny prolong: Get thee, with thy torch and arrow, Unto the Veronian sparrow; _Catullus_ Or the Bilbilician win _Martial_ To embalm thy pleasant sin: Be thy assaults however vile, He on thee will smile, and smile: He, thy love-locks curious twining, Shall ne'er come short of thy inclining: He thine own poet is, and will Give thee full license to instill By jest and quip and jollity Whate'er it listeth thee to try. Alas, that genius so august Should pander to adult'rous lust! Alas, that he, poet so true, Should poet be, Cupid, to you! O, what harvest of rich thought Judean seed from him had brought, If, up-climbing holy mountains, He had drunk from hallow'd fountains! Mother and son, I see them now, As round her neck his arms he'd throw, Nestling with his azure eyes, Her bosom's splendour for his skies; Kissing, and kiss'd in sweet reply, As soft winds o'er violets die: While she all her love discloses, Murm'ring on his lips' twin roses: His lips like hers, and hers like his, Glued i' the rapture of their bliss. Visions like these would Martial give With dainty touch and fugitive. The heav'nly Weeper there would bow Before her Lord, and pay her vow: Now is uttered gentle sigh, And now great tears gleam in her eye: That, offspring of the stainless Light; This, of the Pyx's mystic rite: In his verse, tears, sighs should fall Delicate and musical: In fine, whate'er in mine were mean Should radiant grow as sunlight's sheen. Go, then, go, insatiate boy, Nor me longer seek t' annoy: I've said it, nor shall e'er unsay: Go to thy mother, and there play. Why wilt thou whisper flattery, And praise my Muse's witchery-- Verses that reck not of thy smarts-- And smite me with thy fire-tipp'd darts? Go, get thee gone! Thy haunt must be Where there's wanton revelry, And the young minx with toss o' curls Opes her lips to show her pearls; Opes her lips, with some gross jest A foolish lover to arrest. Thither go, where falsely-fair Beauty is bought and sold; and where, Flaunting with painted cheek, and eye A-flame to ev'ry devilry, Base women seek base men, and tingle Their hot veins as they commingle, Baring their charms, 'neath alien roses Ministering such sweets as Hell composes. Hence, therefore, Cupid! Venus, hence! I yield not to your violence: I've said it, nor shall you allure My heart to own your sway impure. Another Cypris holds me now, Another Love receives my vow: For Love is here and Mother kind, But she a Virgin; He not blind. O Child! O Lord! great Mother blest! O wonder of thy holy breast! O Love, whose quiver's sacred pow'rs Ne'er send forth arrow that devours, Unless a shaft pierce the pure heart, That Thou mayst heal the blessed smart. Me whom Thou piercest, holy Child, Pierce, pierce me sure with arrows mild. Let Thy quiver grow more light As Thou dost me yearning smite: What my soul pants for, and still drinks And drinks, and thirsts, and never thinks To get enough, O give, still give. Thus would I die; thus would I live. Transfix this heart, Child: howsoe'er Thou comest,--crown'd with thorns and bare, Or great with the awful heraldry Of nail and spear for Faith to see; Or greater still, on the holy rood Wet with the terror of Thy Blood; Or great'st of all, Thyself alone In meek might of Thy Passion,-- Still pierce this heart; O pierce it, Child: _Thus_ would I drink in rapture wild. O that Thy bow might wound me still! O that of wounds I had my fill! Or, if some swifter wing there be, That it would fly to me--to me! Behold, my Saviour, this poor breast, And take it as Thine arrows' nest: I seek not to be spar'd one blow: Thus would I have Thee still my foe; Still yearn that wounded I may be; For wounds like these are ecstasy. These are my wishes: and my Books, May they be his who on them looks! Seek'st, Reader, to be mine? Then, last, I ask thy eyes that they be chaste; Chaste, but not tearless; my dear Love To meet and know, as from above He comes, and still the Crucified, Proclaiming how for man He died By thorn, and nail, and spear, and cry, And bitterest words of agony: Say, should He meet thee thus in blood, Couldst thou e'en grudge of tears a flood? Ah, hard thy heart as e'er was stone, That all unmov'd can hear Him groan, Nor by a throb of feeling show Thou hast a sense of His great woe; While here He treasured human tears Hushing sad Mary in her fears, As to His feet in shame she crept, And with white drops them all bewept: More than Assyrian gold to thee Such tears, if thou their worth couldst see. His love with thine again will glow, His tears afresh with thine will flow. Here, Reader, glancing through my Book, Thou shalt upon His cradle look: To His sweet obsequies now turn, And mark how still my love shall burn. Here, with His Mother and with me, My ceaseless sacred joys shalt see: Whether Earth's Princes speechless stand As sudden darkness wraps the land; Or He lies hidden in the Cave, A temple now, and not a grave; But the third morning shall restore Him: Ah, much too slow those days pass o'er Him! Be true, ye shadows of the tomb; Enfold Him in a kindly gloom: Thus wilt thou pray; while my dear Light (O strange!) demands the help of Night. In fine, whate'er my Book shall say To my dear Love--however pray, However fear, however weep, And with sweet tears its pages steep-- My words thy willing words will move. 'O, not enough these things I love; But they are sweet all things above; And certainly the love of Him Deserves all other loves to dim.'
If it seem to you, good Reader, that I have promised overmuch on behalf of him to whom this tractate shall be pleasing, know that I do not look merely on those things which you possess here, but also on those which, by cherishing such as you now have, you may hereafter obtain; for I have been unwilling, if hitherto I have not been a-wanting to my friends earnestly entreating me that I should allow them, even at the risk of their own peril, to encroach on your good-will, however great--I have been unwilling, I say, to give myself up to your fastidious criticism. You have enough here either to hand over to the rod which it deserves (for none of these things ask or claim for themselves maturer years), or to lay it up in your bosom as a pledge of more and of advanced attempts. Choose for yourself an alternative. As for myself, my aim has not deceived me. I have already attained the utmost pinnacle of my ambition, at the time when this somewhat indifferent murmur of my almost-infantine Muse sounded not unmusically in those ears, than which from the world at large I have none more learned to fear, none more indulgent to hope for; so that, as regards your applause, I will speak candidly and at once: I am neither over-confident nor over-solicitous of it. Firstly, my respect for you, Reader, whoever you are, and of whose decision I can hope everything, restrains; and next, my respect for those of whose penetration I am unable not to persuade myself to hope the greatest things. Yet still, how I do wish that I were of service whenever my Country desires to cast aside its own particular custom, so unworthy its own worth--that custom particularly by which, all her own things being despised, she only prizes those things to which having crossed the Alps and lived over the sea has given a value! But these wishes of too rash hope being put aside, let me turn to the acygnian gentlemen, whom I know--although I shall name none personally--to have angrily abandoned me on account of some of my recent sayings. Still, let them compose their temper, and let them confess--may they pardon such a great saying from a forward young man!--I say, let them confess that they owe me this: that, in truth, in so grand an argument, in which they have not recourse to the stale untruths concerning their own services, nor to the nauseous calumnies concerning ours. With regard to this slight statement of mine, I have yielded to the importance of those from whence it springs. And let it spring, forsooth! I speak seriously--and let them know that they will always find me most tranquilly reposing under that shadow which their greater light has cast around me!
EPIGRAMMATA SACRA.
I.
_Pharisaeus et Publicanus._ Luc. xviii. 14-19.
En duo templum adeunt, diversis mentibus ambo. Ille procul trepido lumine signat humum: It gravis hic, et in alta ferox penetralia tendit. Plus habet hic templi; plus habet ille Dei.
{Andres, idou, heteroisi noois, dyo hiron eselthon. Telothen orrhodei keinos ho phrikaleos; All' ho men hos sobaros neou mychon engys hikanei; Pleion ho men neou, pleion ho d' eiche Theou.}
_Two went up into the Temple to pray._
Two went to pray! O, rather say, One went to brag, th' other to pray. One stands up close, and treads on high, Where th' other dares not send his eye. One neerer to God's altar trod; The other to the altar's God. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
Two men unto the Temple went to pray. That, with a downcast look, stood far away; This, near the altar, himself highly bore: This of the Temple, that of God hath more. B.
II.
_In asinum Christi vectorem._ Matt. xxi. 7.
Ille[43] suum didicit quondam objurgare magistrum: Et quid ni discas tu celebrare tuum? Mirum non minus est, te jam potuisse tacere, Illum quam fuerat tum potuisse loqui.
_Upon the asse that bore our Saviour._
Hath only Anger an omnipotence In eloquence? Within the lips of Love and Joy doth dwell No miracle? Why else had Balaam's asse a tongue to chide His master's pride, And thou, heaven-burthen'd beast, hast ne're a word To praise thy Lord? That he should find a tongue and vocal thunder Was a great wonder; But O, methinkes, 'tis a farre greater one That thou find'st none. CR.
MORE CLOSELY.
The ass of old had power to chide its wilful lord; And hast not thou the power to speak one praiseful word? Not less a marvel, sure, this silence is in thee Than that the ass of old to speak had liberty. G.
III.
_Dominus apud suos vilis._ Luc. iv. 28-29.
En consanguinei! patriis en exul in oris Christus! et haud alibi tam peregrinus erat. Qui socio demum pendebat sanguine latro, O consanguineus quam fuit ille magis!
_The Lord 'despised and rejected' by His own people._
See, O my kinsmen, what strange thing is this! Christ in's own country a great stranger is. The thief which bled upon the Cross with Thee Was more ally'd in consanguinity.[44] B.
IV.
_Ad Bethesdae piscinam positus._ Joan. v. 1-16.
Quis novus hic refugis incumbit Tantalus undis, Quem fallit toties tam fugitiva salus? Unde hoc naufragium felix medicaeque procellae, Vitaque tempestas quam pretiosa dedit?
_The cripple at the Pool of Bethesda._
What Tantalus is this, who health still craves So oft, yet vainly, from the refluent waves? And whence this happy wreck, this healing strife, This storm that drifts its victim into life? CL.
ANOTHER VERSION.
What new Tantalus is here, Couch'd by this swift-ebbing wave, Whom the healing flood comes near, Then retiring fails to save?
O, what happy shipwreck this, And a cure by conflict wrought! Strange that woe should thus win bliss, From disaster life be brought! G.
V.
_Christus ad Thomam._ Joan. xx. 26-29.
Saeva fides, voluisse meos tractare dolores! Crudeles digiti, sic didicisse Deum! Vulnera ne dubites, vis tangere nostra: sed, eheu, Vulnera, dum dubitas, tu graviora facis.
_Christ to Thomas._
Harsh faith, and wouldst thou probe these signs of woe? O cruel fingers, would ye prove God so? Touch them, lest thou shouldst doubt? Then have thy will; But, ah, thy doubting makes them deeper still. CL.
ANOTHER RENDERING.
O cruel faith, afresh my pangs to move! O ruthless fingers, thus their Lord to prove! See, touch the wounds; doubt not; but with such doubt Thou makest all those wounds afresh gush out. A.
VI.
_Quisquis perdiderit animam suam mea causa inveniet eam._ Matt. xvi. 25.
I, vita, i, perdam: mihi mors tua, Christe, reperta est: Mors tua vita mea est; mors tibi vita mea. Aut ego te abscondam Christi, mea vita, sepulchro: Non adeo procul est tertius ille dies.
_Whosoever will lose his life for My sake shall find it._
Away, my life! Lord Christ, I have Thy death: My life's Thy death, and Thy death gives me breath. But come, my life, I'll hide thee in His tomb: The third day hence is not so long to come. A.
VII.
_Primo mane venit ad sepulchrum Magdalena._ Joan. xx. 1.
Tu matutinos praevertis, sancta, rubores, Magdala; sed jam tum Sol tuus ortus erat.[45] Jamque vetus merito vanos sol non agit ortus, Et tanti radios non putat esse suos. Quippe aliquo, reor, ille novus jam nictat in astro, Et se nocturna parvus habet facula. Quam velit o tantae vel nuntius esse diei, Atque novus Soli Lucifer ire novo!
_[Mary] Magdalene early, when it was yet dark, cometh unto the sepulchre._
Thou holy Magdalene, Ere rosy morn was seen, Awokest; but e'en then Thy Sun was in thy ken.
Now the great olden sun, Rising as wont upon The earth, is wildered With new beams round him shed.
Lo, as a star he seems, Or torch with nigh-quench'd beams; Keeping himself still small Before the Lord of All.
How well might'st thou, O Sun, Submit to be outshone, And, as a morning-star, Herald One grander far! G.
VIII.
_Quinque panes ad quinque hominum millia._ Joan. vi. 9.
En mensae faciles, redivivaque vulnera coenae, Quaeque indefessa provocat ora dape! Aucta Ceres stupet arcana se crescere messe. Denique quid restat? Pascitur ipse cibus.
_On the miracle of multiplyed loaves._
See here an easie feast that knows no wound, That under Hunger's teeth will needs be found; A subtle harvest of unbounded bread: What would ye more? Here Food itselfe is fed. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
Eas'ly-furnish'd table! And feast increas'd by eating: Still the mouth entreating.
The bread itself, unable To tell whence it flows, Finds it most surely grows.
Finds itself guest--no fable! Whence is the mystic dower? From Him Who is all power. G.
IX.
_Aethiops lotus._ Act. viii. 38.
Ille niger sacris exit, quam lautus! ab undis: Nec frustra Aethiopem nempe lavare fuit. Mentem quam niveam piceae cutis umbra fovebit? Tam volet et nigros sancta Columba lares.
_On the baptized Ethiopian._
Let it no longer be a forlorne hope To wash an Ethiope: He's washt; his gloomy skin a peacefull shade For his white soule is made: And now, I doubt not, the Eternall Dove A black-fac'd house will love. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
How fair this Ethiop comes from th' holy fount! To wash a Black we may not vain account. How bright a soul is in a cloudy skin! The Dove now loves a black house to dwell in. B.
X.
_Publicanus procul stans percutiebat pectus suum._ Luc. xviii. 13.
Ecce hic peccator timidus petit advena templum: Quodque audet solum, pectora moesta ferit. Fide miser; pulsaque fores has fortiter: illo Invenies templo tu propiore Deum.
_The publican standing afar off smote on his breast._
Lo, a sinner, timid stranger, Stranger to the Lord our God, Seeks, in consciousness of danger, Where to leave sin's awful load. He to the Temple now is come, Bow'd in dread beside the door; His pallid lips, behold, are dumb; He smites his bosom, dares no more. Ah, distress'd one, smite thee there In _that_ temple, God is near. G.
XI.
_[In] obolum viduae._ Marc. xii. 44.
Gutta brevis nummi, vitae patrona senilis, E digitis stillat non dubitantis anus; Istis multa vagi spumant de gurgite census: Isti abjecerunt scilicet; illa dedit.
{Kermatioio bracheia rhanis, biotoio t' aphaures Herkos, apostazei cheiros apo tromeras. Tois de anaskirta polys aphros anaideos olbou. hoi men aperrhipton; keina dedoke monon.}
_The widow's mites._
Two mites, two drops--yet all her house and land-- Falle from a steady heart though trembling hand: The others' wanton wealth foams high and brave. The other cast away; she only gave. CR.
XII.
_Maria vero assidens ad pedes ejus audiebat eum._ Luc. x. 39.
Aspice, namque novum est, ut ab hospite pendeat hospes! Hinc ori parat, hoc sumit ab ore cibos. Tune epulis adeo es, soror, officiosa juvandis, Et sinis has, inquit, Martha, perire dapes?
_Mary, which also sat at Jesus' feet, and heard His word._
Behold, a new thing here--host hanging on her Guest! Preparing for His mouth, His mouth's words are her feast! O Martha sister, spare thy labour and thy cost: Tending the food that perisheth, diviner food is lost. G.
XIII.
_In Spiritus Sancti descensum._ Act. ii.
Ferte sinus, o, ferte: cadit vindemia coeli, Sanctaque ab aethereis volvitur uva jugis. Felices nimium, queis tam bona musta bibuntur; In quorum gremium lucida pergit hiems! En caput, en ut nectareo micat et micat astro; Gaudet et in roseis viva corona comis. Illis, o Superi, quis sic neget ebrius esse? Illis, ne titubent, dant sua vina faces.
_The descent of the Holy Spirit._
Bear, O bosoms, bear ye what Heaven's vintage showers, Sacred clusters pouring from ethereal bowers. Too happy, surely, ye who drink of wine so good; It comes into your bosoms a sparkling, cooling flood. Behold, with nectar'd star each head is shining, shining; Around your purpl'd locks a crown of life entwining. O Spirit of all flesh, to drink who'd be denied, Since Thou, lest they should falter, mak'st wine a torch to guide? G.
XIV.
_Congestis omnibus peregre profectus est._ Luc. xv. 13.
Dic mihi, quo tantos properas, puer auree, nummos? Quorsum festinae conglomerantur opes? Cur tibi tota vagos ructans patrimonia census? Non poterunt siliquae nempe minoris emi?
ON THE PRODIGALL.
_The younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country._
Tell me, bright boy, tell me, my golden lad, Whither away so frolick? why so glad? What all thy wealth in counsile? all thy state? Are husks so deare? troth, 'tis a mighty rate. CR.
XV.
_Non solum vinciri, sed et mori paratus sum._ Act. xxi. 13.
Non modo vinc'la, sed et mortem tibi, Christe, subibo, Paulus ait, docti callidus arte doli. Diceret hoc aliter: Tibi non modo velle ligari, Christe, sed et solvi[46] nempe paratus ero.
_I am ready not to be bound only, but to dye._
Come death, come bonds, nor do you shrink, my eares, At those hard words man's cowardize calls feares. Save those of feare, no other bands feare I; Nor other death than this--the feare to die. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
Not bonds for Thee, Lord, but death too I'll brave, Says Paul, adept in double-meanings grave. The words meant more: his wish was to be bound For Christ; but loosed too, and with Him found. G.
XVI.
_In Herodem_ {skolekobroton}. Act. xii. 23.
Ille Deus, Deus! haec populi vox unica: tantum, Vile genus, vermes credere velle negant. At cito se miseri, cito nunc errasse fatentur; Carnes degustant, ambrosiamque putant.
_On Herod worshipped as a god, eaten of worms._
A god! a god! one-mouth'd the people cry; Only the worms, vile tribe, his claim deny. Yet they, too, soon confess themselves astray, For in his flesh they find ambrosia. CL.
XVII.
_Videns ventum magnum timuit, et cum coepisset demergi, clamavit, &c._ Matt. xiv.
Petre, cades, o, si dubitas: o, fide: nec ipsum, Petre, negat fidis aequor habere fidem. Pondere pressa suo subsidunt caetera: solum, Petre, tuae mergit te levitatis onus.[47]
_When he saw the wind boisterous he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, &c._
Peter! doubt, and thou sinkest! O, believe; The sea will not thy faith, Peter, deceive. Things by their weight subside into the wave; Thy lightness, Peter, threats a wat'ry grave. G.
XVIII.
_Obtulit eis pecunias._ Act. viii. 18.
Quorsum hos hic nummos profers? quorsum, impie Simon? Non ille hic Judas, sed tibi Petrus adest. Vis emisse Deum? potius, precor, hoc age, Simon, Si potes, ipse prius daemona vende tuum.
_He offered them money._
Money! what wouldst thou, impious? Look and see, 'Tis Peter, not Iscariot, speaks to thee. Wouldst thou buy God? Nay, Simon, change thy tone, And try to sell that demon of thine own. CL.
XIX.
_Umbra S. Petri medetur aegrotis._ Act. v. 15.
Conveniunt alacres, sic, sic juvat ire sub umbras, Atque umbras fieri, creditis? umbra vetat. O Petri umbra potens, quae non miracula praestat? Nunc quoque, Papa, tuum sustinet illa decus.
_The shadow of St. Peter heals the sick._
Beneath that shadow they delight to crowd; To turn to shades by that shade not allow'd. From Peter's shadow what may we not hope, Now all thy glory it sustains, O Pope! G.
XX.
_Tetigit linguam ejus, &c. ... et loquebatur ... et praecepit illis ne cui dicerent: illi vero eo magis praedicabant._ Marc. vii. 33, 36.
Christe, jubes muta ora loqui; muta ora loquuntur: Sana tacere jubes ora; nec illa tacent. Si digito tunc usus eras, muta ora resolvens; Nonne opus est tota nunc tibi, Christe, manu?
_The dumbe healed, and the people enjoyned silence._
Christ bids the dumbe tongue speake; it speakes: the sound Hee charges to be quiet; it runs round. If in the first He us'd His finger's touch, His hand's whole strength here could not be too much. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
Christ, the mute lips Thou bidst to speak; and lo, Straightway words flow: Thou mute wouldst have the speaking lips; but they Thee disobey. If, then, a single finger Thou didst use Mute tongues to loose, Thy whole hand now we need; for old and young Have ceaseless tongue. G.
XXI.
_Sacerdos quidam descendens eadem via vidit, et praeteriit._ Luc. x. 32.
Spectasne, ah, placidisque oculis mea vulnera tractas? O dolor! o nostris vulnera vulneribus! Pax oris quam torva tui est! quam triste serenum! Tranquillus miserum qui videt, ipse facit.
_And a certaine priest comming that way looked on him, and passed by._
Why dost thou wound my wounds, O thou that passest by, Handling and turning them with an unwounded eye? The calm that cools thine eye does shipwrack mine; for O, Unmov'd to see one wretched is to make him so. CR.
ANOTHER RENDERING.
Dost look upon my wounds, serene-faced Priest? Thy placid eyes give wounds more deep and sore. O, thy calm stare avert! pass on, at least: They who see woe unmov'd cause it, and more. G.
ANOTHER VERSION.
Canst look, and by with look so tranquil pass, Nor heed my wounds? O, wounds on wounds, alas! O peace, too grim! on it set little store: Who looks unmov'd on misery makes it more. A.
XXII.
_Leprosi ingrati._ Luc. xvii.
Dum linquunt Christum, ah morbus! sanantur euntes: Ipse etiam morbus sic medicina fuit. At sani Christum, mens ah male-sana! relinquunt: Ipsa etiam morbus sic medicina fuit.
_The ungrateful lepers._
Whilst leaving Christ--ah, fell disease!-- They're healed as they go: Their malady their medicine is, Because He will'd it so. But healed now--ah, mind diseas'd!-- They from the Lord depart: Their healing their disease is now, Bred in an ingrate heart. G.
XXIII.
_Ne soliciti estote tu crastinum._ Matt. vi. 34.
I, miser, inque tuas rape non tua tempora curas: Et nondum natis perge perire malis. Mi querulis satis una dies, satis angitur horis: Una dies lacrymis mi satis uda suis. Non mihi venturos vacat expectare dolores: Nolo ego, nolo hodie crastinus esse miser.
_Be ye not fretted about to-morrow._
Go, wretched mortal, antedate the day, Fill thee with care; Work thyself mis'ries, in a perverse way, Before they're there. Enough for me the day's cares in the day, The passing hour; Enough the tears that daily, yea or nay, In sorrow low'r. I have no leisure thus to antedate The coming woe, Nor to-day darken with to-morrow's fate; And so I go. G.
ANOTHER VERSION.
Wretch, to thy woes add not to-morrow morn; And haste not thou to groan with ills unborn. Each day's laments, each hour's griefs, me suffice; Each morn, noon, eve, with rueful weeping eyes. No leisure is to look for griefs to be: Stir not to-day to-morrow's pains in me. A.
XXIV.
_A telonio Matthaeus._ Matt. ix. 9.
Ah satis, ah nimis est: noli ultra ferre magistrum, Et lucro domino turpia colla dare. Jam fuge; jam, Matthaee, feri fuge regna tyranni: Inque bonam, felix i fugitive,[48] crucem.
_Matthew called from the receipt of custom._
Enough, too much; no more a master's yoke Endure, nor bow to lordly Lucre's stroke: His service from thy slavish neck is broke.
Flee, Matthew, flee the cruel tyrant's sway, And hie thee, like a happy runaway, To the sweet cross that waits for thee to-day. R. WI.
XXV.
_Viduae filius e feretro matri redditur._ Luc. vii. 15.
En redeunt, lacrymasque breves nova gaudia pensant; Bisque illa est, uno in pignore, facta parens. Felix quae magis es nati per funera mater: Amisisse, iterum cui peperisse fuit.
_The dead son re-delivered to his mother._
Sweet restoration! by new joys outweigh'd, Brief sorrow is exil'd, And the lorn widow is a mother made Twice in her only child.
O happy mother! then a mother most When all her hopes seem'd vain: Happy, who wept beside a dear son lost, And found him born again. CL.
XXVI.
_Bonum intrare in coelos cum uno oculo, &c._ Matt. xviii. 9.
Uno oculo? ah centum potius mihi, millia centum: Nam quis ibi, in coelo, quis satis Argus erit? Aut si oculus mihi tantum unus conceditur, unus Iste oculus fiam totus et omnis ego.
_It is better to go into heaven with one eye, &c._
One eye? a thousand rather, and a thousand more, To fix those full-fac't glories. O, he's poore Of eyes that has but Argus' store! Yet, if thou'lt fill one poore eye with Thy Heaven and Thee, O grant, sweet Goodnesse, that one eye may be All and every whit of me. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
With one eye! Ah! but rather to me give A hundred or a hundred-thousand, Lord. All Argus' eyes were no superlative To view the glories Thy three heavens afford.
Or, O my God, if unto those who die, It be Thy will only to give one eye, Grant my whole body that one eye to be, That thus I may forever gaze on Thee. G.
XXVII.
_Hydropicus sanatur._ Luc. xiv. 2-4.
Ipse suum pelagus, morboque immersus aquoso Qui fuit, ut laetus nunc micat atque levis: Quippe in vina iterum Christus, puto, transtulit undas; Et nunc iste suis ebrius est ab aquis.
Himself is his own sea; Dropsy his malady In sad severity.
But Christ the Lord he sees, Who touching him him frees; Now joyous and at ease.
Again, as I opine, The Lord transmutes to wine By miracle divine;
And now, still more and more, His own wine-water store Pours mirth at ev'ry pore. G.
XXVIII.
_Non erat iis in diversorio locus._ Luc. ii. 7.
Illi non locus est? Illum ergo pellitis? Illum? Ille Deus, quem sic pellitis; ille Deus. O furor! humani miracula saeva furoris! Illi non locus est, quo sine nec locus est.
_There was no room for them in the inn._
No place for Him! So Him you drive away; You drive away your God, your God. O, stay! O height of human madness! wonders rare! No place for Him! without Whom no place were. G.
XXIX.
_In lacrymas Lazari spretas a Divite._ Luc. xvi.
Felix, o, lacrymis, o Lazare, ditior istis, Quam qui purpureas it gravis inter opes: Illum cum rutili nova purpura vestiet ignis, Ille tuas lacrymas quam volet esse suas.
_Upon Lazarus his teares._
Rich Lazarus, richer in those gems, thy teares, Than Dives in the roabes he weares: He scornes them now; but, O, they'l suit full well With th' purple he must weare in Hell! CR.
ANOTHER RENDERING.
O happy Lazarus! richer in thy tears Than he who midst his riches purple wears. Hell's purple flames red-glowing shall be his: Ah, then how shall he count thy tears a bliss!
XXX.
_Indignatur Caiphas Christo se confitenti._ Matt. xxvi. 65.
Tu Christum, Christum quod non negat esse lacessis: Ipsius hoc crimen, quod fuit ipse, fuit. Tene Sacerdotem credam? Novus ille Sacerdos Per quem impune Deo non licet esse Deum.
_Caiphas angry that Christ confesses He is the Christ._
Wroth that The Christ confesseth Christ He is! His fault that He is but Himself, I wis. Thee shall I reckon priest? Strange priest is he Who leaves not God His own Divinity! G.
XXXI.
_Cum tot signa edidisset, non credebant in eum._ Joan. xii. 37.
Non tibi, Christe, fidem tua tot miracula praestant; O verbi, o dextrae dulcia regna tuae! Non praestant? neque te post tot miracula credunt? Mirac'lum qui non credidit, ipse fuit.[49]
_But though He had done so many miracles before them, yet they believed not on Him._
For all Thy signs they still refuse Thee, Lord; Those signs, blest symbols of Thy reign and word. Such signs, and not believe? Sure, who did thus Made unbelief itself miraculous. CL.
XXXII.
_Ad S. Andream piscatorem._ Marc. i. 16.
Quippe potes pulchre captare et fallere pisces; Centum illic discis lubricus ire dolis. Heus, bone piscator! tendit sua retia Christus: Artem inverte, et jam tu quoque disce capi.
_To S. Andrew, fisherman._
How cleverly the fishes he beguiles! He learns to use a hundred cunning wiles. Ho, thou good Fisher: Christ casts out His net; Now haste thou to be caught; for thee 'tis set. G.
XXXIII.
_Ego sum vox, &c._ Joan. i. 23.
Vox ego sum, dicis: tu vox es, sancte Joannes? Si vox es, genitor cur tibi mutus erat? Ista tui fuerant quam mira silentia patris! Vocem non habuit tunc quoque cum genuit.
_I am the voice._
'I am the voice,' thou sayest. Thou holy John, If voice thou art, why was thy father dumb? O silence strange! which as I muse upon, I see thy voice from God, not man, did come. G.
XXXIV.
_Vincula sponte decidunt._ Act. xii. 7.
Qui ferro Petrum cumulas, durissime custos, A ferro disces mollior esse tuo. Ecce fluit, nodisque suis evolvitur ultro: I, fatue, et vinc'lis vincula pone tuis.
_The chains spontaneously fall off._
Who loadest him with chains, thou jailer stern, To be more kind e'en from those chains shalt learn. Lo, they dissolve, and their own knots untie. Go, fool, and chains with chains to fetter try. G.
XXXV.
IN DIEM OMNIUM SANCTORUM.
_Ne laedite terrain, neque mare, neque arbores, quousque obsignaverimus servos Dei nostri in frontibus suis._ Rev. vii. 3.
Nusquam immitis agat ventus sua murmura, nusquam Sylva tremat, crispis sollicitata comis. Aequa Thetis placide allabens ferat oscula Terrae; Terra suos Thetidi pandat amica sinus: Undique pax effusa piis volet aurea pennis, Frons bona dum signo est quaeque notata suo. Ah, quid in hoc opus est signis aliunde petendis? Frons bona sat lacrymis quaeque notata suis.
_On All-Saints' Day._
Let wind with murmurs harsh nowhere be heard; Nowhere wood tremble, its curl'd tresses stirr'd. Calm-flowing Sea greet Earth with kisses bland, Earth unto Sea its bosom kind expand. Let holy Peace on golden pinions steal, Till each blest brow is mark'd with its own seal. Ah, why elsewhere for this, need signs be sought? To each blest brow tears seal enough have brought. R. WI.
XXXVI.
_In die Conjurationis sulphureae._
Quam bene dispositis annus dat currere festis! Post omnes Sanctos omne scelus sequitur.
_Upon the Powder-day._
How fit our well-rank'd Feasts do follow! All-mischiefe comes after All-Hallow.[50] CR.
XXXVII.
_Deus sub utero Virginis._ Luc. i. 31.
Ecce tuus, Natura, pater; pater hic tuus hic est: Ille, uterus matris quem tenet, ille pater. Pellibus exiguis arctatur Filius ingens, Quem tu non totum, crede, nec ipsa capis. Quanta uteri, Regina, tui reverentia tecum est, Dum jacet hic coelo sub breviore Deus! Conscia divino gliscunt praecordia motu, Nec vehit aethereos sanctior aura polos. Quam bene sub tecto tibi concipiuntur eodem Vota, et, vota cui concipienda, Deus! Quod nubes alia, et tanti super atria coeli Quaerunt, invenient hoc tua vota domi. O felix anima haec, quae tam sua gaudia tangit! Sub conclave suo cui suus ignis adest. Corpus amet, licet, illa suum, neque sidera malit: Quod vinc'lum est aliis, hoc habet illa domum. Sola jaces, neque sola; toro quocunque recumbis, Illo estis positi tuque tuusque toro. Immo ubi casta tuo posita es cum conjuge conjunx; Quod mirum magis est, es tuus ipsa torus.
_God in the Virgin's womb._
Thy Father, Nature, here thy Father see: Whom womb of mother holds, thy Father He. Scant teguments the mighty Son enchain, Whom thou thyself not wholly dost contain. What reverence, Queen, to thine own womb is given, While God lies here beneath a lesser heaven! With sacred motion swells her conscious breast; Nor are the poles upborne by airs more blest. 'Neath the same roof are well conceiv'd by thee Vows, and the God to whom vows offer'd be. What other prayers o'er clouds and sky's vast bound Seek, by thy prayers this will at home be found. Blest soul, so nigh to thy supreme desire, To which 'neath its own shrine dwells its own fire. She may her body love, nor heaven prefer: What chains down others is a home to her. Lone, yet not lone, where'er thou dost recline; On that same couch are laid both thou and thine. Nay, when with thy chaste spouse, chaste wife thou'rt laid-- More strange, thyself thine own blest couch art made. R. WI.
XXXVIII.
_Ad Judaeos mactatores Stephani._ Act. vii. 59.
Frustra illum increpitant, frustra vaga saxa: nec illi Grandinis, heu, saevae! dura procella nocet. Ista potest tolerare, potest nescire; sed illi, Quae sunt in vestro pectore, saxa nocent.
_To the Jews, murderers of St. Stephen._
Vainly ye cast stones, Jews; they give no shock: Shower as the hail-storm, it is all in vain. These he shall bear, and heed not: 'tis the rock Of your obdurate hearts that gives him pain. G.
XXXIX.
_D. Joannes in exilio._ Rev. i. 9.
Exul, amor Christi est: Christum tamen invenit exul: Et solitos illic invenit ille sinus. Ah, longo, aeterno ah terras indicite nobis Exilio, Christi si sinus exilium est.
_St. John in exile._
Love to Christ an exile is, Yet the exile findeth Christ; All the dear familiar bliss, And the bosom-joys unpric'd. Ah, Lord, exile long to us, Never-ending e'en be sent, If we find Christ's bosom thus As our place of banishment. G.
XL.
_Ad infantes martyres._ Matt. ii. 16.
Fundite ridentes animas, effundite coelo; Discet ibi vestra, o quam bene! lingua loqui. Nec vos lac vestrum et maternos quaerite fontes: Quae vos expectat lactea tota via est.
_To the infant martyrs._
Go, smiling soules, your new-built cages breake, In Heav'n you'l learne to sing ere here to speake: Nor let the milky fonts that bath your thirst Bee your delay; The place that calls you hence is, at the worst, Milke all the way. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
Depart, ye smiling souls, to Heaven depart: Your tongues may there learn best the speaking art. Stay not to suck, sweet children, do not stay: Cry not; for you shall go the milky way. B.
XLI.
_Quaerit Jesum suum beata Virgo._ Luc. ii. 45.
Ah, redeas miserae, redeas, puer alme, parenti; Ah, neque te coelis tam cito redde tuis. Coelum nostra tuum fuerint, o, brachia, si te Nostra suum poterunt brachia ferre Deum.
_The blessed Virgin seeks Jesus._
Ah, to Thy mother, ah, return, my fair, beloved Son; Return not to Thy native skies, my heaven-descended One. Thy mother's arms Thy heaven would be, enfolding Thee around; If thus within these innocent arms the great God might be found.[51] G.
XLII.
_Non sum dignus ut sub tecta mea venias._ Matt. viii. 8.
In tua tecta Deus veniet: tuus haud sinit illud Et pudor atque humili in pectore celsa fides. Illum ergo accipies, quoniam non accipis: ergo In te jam veniet, non tua tecta Deus.[52]
_I am not worthy that Thou shouldst come under my roofe._
Thy God was making hast into thy roofe; Thy humble faith and feare keepes him aloofe. Hee'll be thy guest, because He may not be; Hee'll come--into thy house? No, into thee. CR.
XLIII.
_Christus accusatus nihil respondet._ Matt. xxvii. 12.
Nil ait: o sanctae pretiosa silentia linguae! Ponderis o quanti res nihil illud erat! Ille olim verbum qui dixit, et omnia fecit, Verbum non dicens omnia nunc reficit.
_And He answered them nothing._
O mighty Nothing! unto thee, Nothing, wee owe all things that bee. God spake once when Hee all things made, Hee sav'd all when Hee Nothing said. The world was made of Nothing then; 'Tis made by Nothing now againe. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
'Nothing He said.' O precious silence of that sacred tongue! O what vast interests on that Nothing hung! He who once spoke the word, and all things made, Now re-makes all, when not a word is said. G.
XLIV.
_Nunc dimittis._ Luc. ii. 29.
Spesne meas tandem ergo mei tenuere lacerti? Ergo bibunt oculos lumina nostra tuos? Ergo bibant: possintque novam sperare juventam: O possint senii non meminisse sui! Immo mihi potius mitem mors induat umbram, Esse sub his oculis si tamen umbra potest. Ah, satis est. Ego te vidi, puer auree, vidi: Nil post te, nisi te, Christe, videre volo.[53]
_Now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace._
And is my hope grasp'd in these arms of mine At last, and do these eyes drink light from Thine? There let them drink with a new youth in store, And feel the dimming touch of age no more. Nay rather, if Thine eyes can give it room, Let Death's soft shadow gently o'er them come. Thee have I seen, O Child: enough for me: I care not to behold aught else but Thee. CL.
XLV.
_Verbum inter spinas._ Luc. viii. 7.
Saepe Dei verbum sentes cadit inter, et atrum Miscet spina procax, ah, male juncta! latus. Credo quidem: nam sic spinas, ah, scilicet inter Ipse Deus verbum tu quoque, Christe, cadis.
_The Word among thorns._
Often and often 'good words' fall Where thorns and briars rankly crawl; Their spines lay hold, and choke, and pierce-- Like to wild beast in hunger fierce. I know it: for like flash of sword I read 'twas so with Thee THE WORD: God, e'en my God, Thou wast in truth; But fell'st 'mong thorns, which show'd no ruth. G.
XLVI.
_Sabbatum Judaicum et Christianum._ Luc. xiv. 5.
Res eadem vario quantum distinguitur usu: Nostra hominem servant sabbata, vestra bovem. Observent igitur, pacto quid justius isto? Sabbata nostra homines, sabbata vestra boves.
_The Judaic and Christian Sabbath._
How diff'rent grows a thing through diff'rent use! _Our_ Sabbaths serve men, _yours_ give oxen truce, Be this agreed--arrangement fitter none-- _Our_ Sabbath men keep, _yours_ oxen alone. G.
XLVII.
_Ad verbum Dei sanatur caecus._ Marc. x. 52.
Christe, loquutus eras, o sacra licentia verbi: Jamque novus caeci fluxit in ora dies. Jam credo, Nemo[54] est, sicut Tu, Christe, loquutus: Auribus? immo oculis, Christe, loquutus eras.
_The blind cured by the word of our Saviour._
Thou spak'st the word--Thy word's a law; Thou spak'st, and straight the blind man saw. To speak and make the blind to see, Was never man, Lord, spake like Thee. To speak thus was to speak, say I, Not to his eare, but to his eye. CR.
XLVIII.
_Onus meum leve est._ Matt. xi. 30.
Esse levis quicunque voles, onus accipe Christi: Ala tuis humeris, non onus, illud erit. Christi onus an quaeris quam sit grave? scilicet audi, Tam grave, ut ad summos te premat usque polos.
_My burden is light._
Askest how thou may'st lightly loaded be? Christ's _burden_ take from me: A wing to lift, no load to press thee down, Thou it wilt feel and own. Dost ask how heavy may Christ's _burden_ be? Then list, O man, to me: So _heavy_, that whoe'er 'neath it enrolls, It lifts to the highest poles. G.
XLIX.
_Miraculum quinque panum._ Joan. vi. 1-13.
Ecce, vagi venit unda cibi; venit indole sacra Fortis, et in dentes fertilis innumeros. Quando erat invictae tam sancta licentia coenae? Illa famem populi poscit, et illa fidem.
_On the miracle of loaves._
Now, Lord, or never, they'l beleeve on Thee; Thou to their teeth hast prov'd Thy deity. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
See, loaves in heaps, blest growth, spread far and wide, For mouths innumerable multiplied. Feast holy, free, invincible like this, Claims the crowd's hunger, and their faith, I wis. R. WI.
L.
_Nunc scimus te habere daemonium._ Joan. viii. 52.
Aut Deus, aut saltem daemon tibi notior esset, Gens mala, quae dicis daemona habere Deum. Ignorasse Deum poteras, o caeca; sed oro, Et patrem poteras tam male nosse tuum?
_Now we know Thee to have a devil._
God or the devil by you ought better to be known, Ye wicked ones, who charge your God a devil to own. Ign'rant of God, indeed, ye well might be; but O, The devil, your own father, how could ye fail to know? G.
LI.
_In beatae Virginis verecundiam._
In gremio, quaeris, cur sic sua lumina Virgo Ponat? ubi melius poneret illa, precor? O ubi, quam coelo, melius sua lumina ponat? Despicit, at coelum sic tamen illa videt.
_On the blessed Virgin's bashfulness._
That on her lap she casts her humble eye, 'Tis the sweet pride of her humility. The faire starre is well fixt, for where, O, where, Could she have fixt it on a fairer spheare? 'Tis Heav'n, 'tis Heav'n she sees, Heaven's God there lyes; She can see Heaven, and ne're lift up her eyes. This new guest to her eyes new lawes hath given: 'Twas once looke up, 'tis now looke downe to Heaven. CR.
LII.
_In vulnera Dei pendentis._
O frontis, lateris, manuumque pedumque cruores; O quae purpureo flumina fonte patent: In nostram, ut quondam, pes non valet ire salutem, Sed natat; in fluviis, ah, natat ille suis. Fixa manus; dat, fixa: pios bona dextera rores Donat, et in donum solvitur ipsa suum. O latus, o torrens; quis enim torrentior exit Nilus, ubi pronis praecipitatur aquis? Mille et mille simul cadit et cadit undique guttis Frons: viden' ut saevus purpuret ora pudor? Spinae hoc irriguae florent crudeliter imbre, Inque novas sperant protinus ire rosas. Quisque capillus it exiguo tener alveus amne, Hoc quasi de rubro rivulus oceano. O nimium vivae pretiosis amnibus undae: Fons vitae nunquam verior ille fuit.
_On the wounds of our crucified Lord._
O bleeding wounds of brow, feet, hands, and side; Rivers which from a purple fount spread wide. No more to save us now that foot can go, But swims in streams which from its own wounds flow. Transfix'd His hand yet gives--gives dewdrops holy, And into its own gift is melted wholly. O side, O torrent; for with torrent strong What flooded Nile more swift is driven along? Drops from His brow in thousands fall and fall; See to His face a cruel blush they call. By this sad shower the thorns unkindly nurst Soon into new-blown roses hope to burst. Each hair becomes a slender streamlet's bed, As if a rivulet from this ocean red. O waves too much alive with precious streams, Nowhere a fount of life more truly gleams.[55] R. WI.
LIII.
_Quare cum Publicanis manducat Magister vester?_ Matt. ix. 11.
Ergo istis socium se peccatoribus addit? Ergo istis sacrum non negat ille latus? Tu, Pharisaee, rogas, Jesus cur fecerit istud? Nae dicam: Jesus, non Pharisaeus, erat.
_Wherefore eateth your Master with Publicans?_
Wherefore associates He with sinners vile? Why hides He not His holy self the while? Askest thou, Pharisee, how this can be? Because 'tis Jesus, not a Pharisee. G.
LIV.
_Ecce locus ubi jacuit Dominus._
Ipsum, ipsum, precor, o potius mini, candide, monstra: Ipsi, ipsi o lacrymis oro sit ire meis. Si monstrare locum satis est, et dicere nobis, En, Maria, hic tuus en hic jacuit Dominus; Ipsa ulnas monstrare meas, et dicere possum, En, Maria, hic tuus en hic jacuit Dominus.
{Phaidime, moi auton mallon moi deiknythi auton. Autos mou, deomai, autos eche dakrya. Ei de topon moi deiknynai halis esti, kai eipein, Hode teos, Mariam, enide, keito anax; Ankoinas mou deiknynai dynamai ge kai eipein, Hode teos, Mariam, enide, keito anax.}
_Come, see the place where the Lord lay._
Show me Himselfe, Himselfe, bright Sir, O show Which way my poore tears to Himselfe may goe. Were it enough to show the place, and say, Looke, Mary, here, see where thy Lord once lay; Then could I show these armes of mine, and say, Looke, Mary, here, see where thy Lord once lay.
_Vpon the sepulchre of our Lord._
Here, where our Lord once laid His head, Now the grave lies buried. CR.
LV.
_Leprosi ingrati._ Luc. xvii. 11-19.
Lex jubet ex hominum coetu procul ire leprosos: At mundi a Christo cur abiere procul? Non abit, at sedes tantum mutavit in illis; Et lepra, quae fuerat corpore, mente sedet. Sic igitur digna vice res variatur; et a se Quam procul ante homines, nunc habuere Deum.
_The unthankful lepers. (Where are the nine?)_
The Lord commands the lepers far off from men to stay: But cleansed by the Lord, why went the Nine away? The leprosy remaineth, chang'd only in its seat: Expelled from the body, to the soul it makes retreat. Now by fit retribution a change is brought about: Before shut out from men, from God they're now shut out. G.
LVI.
_In cicatrices quas Christus habet in se adhuc superstites._ Joan. xx.
Quicquid spina procax, vel stylo clavus acuto, Quicquid purpurea scripserat hasta nota, Vivit adhuc tecum; sed jam tua vulnera non sunt: Non, sed vulneribus sunt medicina meis.
_On the still-surviving markes of our Saviour's wounds._
Whatever story of their crueltie, Or naile, or thorne, or speare have writ in Thee, Are in another sence Still legible; Sweet is the difference: Once I did spell Every red letter A wound of Thine; Now, what is better, Balsome for mine. CR.
ANOTHER RENDERING.
Each bloody, cruel character, Thorn, nail, and spear had written, When here, as man's great Arbiter, On Calvary Thou wert smitten, Thou wearest still above, O Lord: But now no longer wounds they are; According to Thy Holy Word, They med'cine for my wounds declare. G.
LVII.
_Aeger implorat umbram D. Petri._ Act. v. 15.
Petre, tua lateam paulisper, Petre, sub umbra: Sic mea me quaerent fata, nec invenient. Umbra dabit tua posse meum me cernere solem; Et mea lux umbrae sic erit umbra tuae.
_The sick implore St. Peter's shadow._
Under thy shadow may I lurke awhile, Death's busie search I'le easily beguile: Thy shadow, Peter, must show me the sun; My light's thy shadowe's shadow, or 'tis done. CR.
ANOTHER RENDERING.
O Peter, Peter, let thy shadow fall Where I in wretchedness a-weary crawl: Here vainly shall my fates upon me call. Thy shadow me shall guide unto my sun-- Whoe'er sought Him in truth, and was undone?-- And so my light, thy shadow, shall be one. G.
LVIII.
_Quid turbati estis? Videte manus meas et pedes, quia ego ipse sum._ Luc. xxiv. 39.
En me et signa mei, quondam mea vulnera: certe, Vos nisi credetis, vulnera sunt et adhuc. O nunc ergo fidem sanent mea vulnera vestram: O mea nunc sanet vulnera vestra fides.
_Why are ye troubled?... Behold My hands and My feet, that it is I myself._
'Tis I; behold My proofs, My wounds of old; Wounds which still bleed, if you will not believe. O, now to heal your faith My wounds behold, And healing from your faith My wounds receive.
LIX.
_In vincula Petro sponte delapsa, et apertas fores._ Act. xii. 7, 10.
Ferri non meminit ferrum: se vincula Petro Dissimulant: nescit carcer habere fores. Quam bene liber erit, carcer quem liberat! ipsa Vincula quem solvunt, quam bene tutus erit!
_The chains spontaneously fell from Peter, and the (prison)-doors opened._
Iron forgets 'tis iron; the chains dissemble too; Nor has the prison doors for Peter now. Free truly is that pris'ner who by the prison's freed; Whom chains themselves unbind free is indeed.
LX.
_Deferebantur a corpore ejus sudaria, &c._ Act. xix. 12.
Imperiosa premunt morbos, et ferrea fati Jura ligant, Pauli lintea tacta manu. Unde haec felicis laus est et gloria lini? Haec, reor, e Lachesis pensa fuere colo.
_From his body there were brought unto the sick handkerchiefs, &c._
They quell disease, and sway Fate's iron bands, These lordly linen cloths touched by Paul's hands. Whence rose the glory of their happy fame? From the Fates' distaff, sure, these kerchiefs came. R. WI.
LXI.
_Christus vitis ad vinitorem Patrem._ Joan. xv. 1-6.
En serpit tua, purpureo tua palmite vitis Serpit, et, ah, spretis it per humum foliis. Tu viti succurre tuae, mi Vinitor ingens: Da fulcrum; fulcrum da mihi: quale? crucem.
_Christ the Vine to the Vinedresser-Father._
Lo, Thy vine trails, trails with a purple shoot, Scatt'ring its leaves before it beareth fruit. Succour Thy vine, great Vinedresser, from loss: Support, support me, Lord: how? With Thy cross. G.
LXII.
_Pene persuades mihi ut fiam Christianus._ Act. xxvi. 28.
Pene? quid hoc pene est? Vicinia saeva salutis! O quam tu malus es proximitate boni! Ah, portu qui teste perit, bis naufragus ille est; Hunc non tam pelagus, quam sua terra premit. Quae nobis spes vix absunt, crudelius absunt: Pene sui felix, emphasis est miseri.
_Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian._
_Almost?_ What word is this we hear? O doubly lost, with heaven so near! To perish in the neighbourhood Of vast but unavailing good! He shipwreck undergoes twice o'er Who perishes in sight of shore, And less by ocean is o'ercome Than by that hopeless glimpse of home. The hopes that almost seem our own Leave all the keener sting when gone; And just to miss felicity Is but emphatic misery. CL.
LXIII.
_Lux venit in mundum, sed dilexerunt homines magis tenebras quam lucem._ Joan. iii. 19.
Luce sua venit ecce Deus, mundoque refulget; Pergit adhuc tenebras mundus amare suas. At Stygiis igitur mundus damnabitur umbris: Pergit adhuc tenebras mundus amare suas?
_But men loved darkness rather than light._
The world's Light shines: shine as it will, The world will love its darknesse still. I doubt though, when the world's in hell, It will not love its darknesse halfe so well. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
Behold the day of Christ! God comes with light; Yet the world loves the darkness of the night. Therefore the world to Stygian darkness will Be damn'd: and doth the world love darkness still? B.
ANOTHER RENDERING.
Lo, God comes girt with light, and all the world o'ershines: The world abides in night, nor watcheth for the signs. To Stygian darkness hurl'd on the great Day of Doom, Shalt thou, night-loving world, still love thy lightless gloom? G.
LXIV.
_Dives implorat guttam._ Luc. xvi. 24.
O mihi si digito tremat et tremat unica summo Gutta! o si flammas mulceat una meas! Currat opum quocunque volet levis unda mearum; Una mihi haec detur gemmula, Dives ero.
_Dives asking a drop._
A drop, one drop! how sweetly one faire drop Would tremble on my pearle-tipt finger's top! My wealth is gone: O, goe it where it will, Spare this one iewell, I'le be Dives still. CR.
LXV.
_Quomodo potest homo gigni qui est senex?_ Joan. iii. 4.
Dic, Phoenix unde in nitidos novus emicat annos, Plaudit et elusos aurea penna rogos? Quis colubrum dolus insinuat per secula retro, Et jubet emeritum luxuriare latus? Cur rostro pereunte suam praedata senectam Torva ales, rapido plus legit ore diem? Immo, sed ad nixus praestat Lucina secundos? Natales seros unde senex habeat. Ignoras, Pharisaee? sat est: jam credere disces: Dimidium fidei, qui bene nescit, habet.
_How can a man be born when he is old?_
See how new Phoenix into bright life springs, And fans the unhurting flames with golden wings. O'er snake what subtle change creeps as months flow, Bidding its faded frame with beauty glow. Why, on itself with worn beak having prey'd, Is raven old more youthful swift array'd? O'er second birth-throes bears Lucina sway, Whence an old man may have late natal day? Pharisee, know'st not? Well, now faith thou'lt learn: Wisely to know not, half faith's crown doth earn. R. WI.
LXVI.
_Arbor Christi jussu arescens._ Marc. xi. 13.
Ille jubet: procul ite mei, mea gloria, rami: Nulla vocet nostras amplius aura comas. Ite, nec o pigeat; nam vos neque fulminis ira, Nec trucis ala Noti verberat: ille jubet. O vox, o Zephyro vel sic quoque dulcior omni; Non possum Autumno nobiliore frui.
_The tree dried up by the word of Christ._
He speaks: hence, leaves; my glory hence, away; Thou Zephyr 'mid my leaves no longer play; Begone: nor grieve: 'tis not the lightning's wrath, Nor wing of the storm-wind that smites: HE saith. O voice, than Zephyr sweeter far to me; More noble autumn-fruit could never be. G.
LXVII.
_Zacharias minus credens._ Luc. i. 12.
Infantis fore te patrem, res mira videtur; Infans interea factus es ipse pater. Et dum promissi signum, nimis anxie, quaeris, Jam nisi per signum quaerere nulla potes.
_Zacharias incredulous._
To have a child thou deem'st so strange a thing, That thou art made a child for wondering. Whilst for a sign too eagerly thou dost call, Except by sign thou can'st not ask at all. CL.
LXVIII.
_In aquam baptismi Dominici._ Matt. iii. 13-16.
Felix o, sacros cui sic licet ire per artus; Felix, dum lavat hunc, ipsa lavatur aqua. Gutta quidem sacros quaecunque perambulat artus, Dum manet hic, gemma est; dum cadit hinc, lacryma.
_On the water of our Lord's baptisme._
Each blest drop on each blest limme Is washt itselfe in washing Him: 'Tis a gemme while it stayes here; While it falls hence 'tis a teare. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
Happy the water washt His sacred side; In washing Christ itself is purify'd. Each drop that trickled down His body, there Staying a gem, thence falling was a tear. B.
LXIX.
_Mulieri incurvatae medetur Dominus, indignante Archisynagogo._ Luc. xiii. 11.
In proprios replicata sinus quae repserat, et jam Daemonis, infelix, nil nisi nodus erat, Solvitur ad digitum Domini: sed strictior illo Unicus est nodus; cor, Pharisaee, tuum.
_The bowed-down woman healed by the Lord, the Synagogue-ruler is displeased._
Creeping and doubled erewhile in her woe, Lo, now she stands erect: Christ willed it so. Daemonic knots are loos'd beneath His hands; But thy heart, Pharisee, still rigid stands. G.
LXX.
_Neque ausus fuit quisquam ex illo die eum amplius interrogare._ Matt. xxii. 46.
Christe, malas fraudes, Pharisaica retia, fallis: Et miseros sacro discutis ore dolos. Ergo tacent tandem, atque invita silentia servant: Tam bene non aliter te potuere loqui.[56]
_Neither durst any man from that day forth ask Him any more questions._
Nets, frauds of Pharisees, the Lord beguiles; His sacred lips disperse the wretched wiles. So they were silent--enforc'd so to be: Such silence, Lord, their best address to Thee. G.
LXXI.
_S. Joannes matri suae._ Matt. xx. 20.
O mihi cur dextram, mater, cur, oro, sinistram Poscis, ab officio mater iniqua tuo? Nolo manum Christi dextram mihi, nolo sinistram: Tam procul a sacro non libet esse sinu.
_St. John and his mother._
Mother, why ask you right or left for me? The benefit would be an injury. Nor right nor left for me convenient are: From His sweet bosome either is too far. B.
LXXII.
_Si filius Dei es, dejice te._ Matt. iv. 6.
Ni se dejiciat Christus de vertice Templi, Non credes quod sit Filius ille Dei? At mox te humano de pectore dejicit: heus tu, Non credes quod sit Filius ille Dei?
_If Thou be the Son of God, cast Thyself down._
Cast Thyself from the pinacle whereon I set Thee, or I think Thee not God's Son. No; but He'l cast thee from the hearts of men, Satan. Wilt not believe He's God's Son then? B.
LXXIII.
_Dominus flens ad Judaeos._ Luc. xix. 41.
Discite, vos miseri, venientes discite flammas; Nec facite o lacrymas sic periisse meas. Nec periisse tamen poterunt: mihi credite, vestras Vel reprimet flammas haec aqua, vel faciet.
_The Lord weeping over the Jews._
Think on the coming flames I would prevent; Let not My tears for you in vain be spent. And yet they can't be spent in vain; for sure This water flames will quench, or else procure. B.
LXXIV.
_Nec velut hic Publicanus._ Luc. xviii. 11.
Istum? vile caput! quantum mihi gratulor, inquis, Istum quod novi tam mihi dissimilem! Vilis at iste abiit sacris acceptior aris: I nunc, et jactes hunc tibi dissimilem.
_Nor even as this publican._
Him, 'vile wretch!' Ah, myself how much I pride That I am utterly unlike to him! The 'vile wretch' leaves God's altar justified: Now go and boast thou art unlike to him. G.
LXXV.
_In Saulum fulgore nimio excaecatum._ Act. ix. 3.
Quae lucis tenebrae? quae nox est ista dici? Nox nova, quam nimii luminis umbra facit. An Saulus fuerit caecus, vix dicere possum; Hoc scio, quod captus lumine Saulus erat.[57]
_On Saul blinded with too much light._
What darken'd noon is here? what mid-day night? It is the shadow cast by too much light. Saul may be blind or not; all I can say, Ta'en within Heaven's light earth's light fades away. R. WI.
LXXVI.
_Beati oculi qui vident._ Luc. x. 23.
Cum Christus nostris ibat mitissimus oris, Atque novum caecos jussit habere diem, Felices, oculos qui tunc habuere, vocantur? Felices, et qui non habuere, voco.
_Blessed are the eyes which see._
When Christ with us on Earth did sympathize, And to the poor blind men restor'd their eyes, Happy they who had eyes. Not they alone; I call them also happy who had none. B.
ANOTHER VERSION.
When Christ on earth moved on His pitying way, And bade the blind look up and find new day, Was eyesight then such bliss to every one? Yet I will deem them happy who had none. G.
LXXVII.
_Filius e feretro matri redditur._ Luc. vii. 15.
Ergone tam subita potuit vice flebilis horror In natalitia candidus ire toga? Quos vidi, matris gemitus hos esse dolentis Credideram; gemitus parturientis erant.
_Her son is delivered to his mother from the bier._
With such quick change could tear-bedew'd Dismay Give birthday smiles, and walk in white array? Heard I bereaved mother's wailings wild? No; the blest cries of one who bears a child! R. WI.
LXXVIII.
_In seculi sapientes._ Matt. xi. 25.
Ergone delicias facit, et sibi plaudit ab alto Stultitia, ut velit hac ambitione peti? Difficilisne adeo facta est, et seria tandem? Ergo et in hanc etiam quis sapuisse potest? Tantum erat, ut possit tibi doctior esse ruina? Tanti igitur cerebri res, periisse, fuit? Nil opus ingenio; nihil hac opus arte furoris: Simplicius poteris scilicet esse miser.
_On the wise of this world._
With such complacent joys is Folly fraught, That with this trouble she must needs be sought? So difficult and grave is she turn'd now, Can any one for her be wise enow? Must Ruin to be deeper taught aspire? To perish, does it so much brain require? Genius and skill in madness who would see? Forsooth, more simply you may wretched be! R. WI.
LXXIX.
_In Judaeos Christum praecipitare conantes._ Luc. iv. 29.
Dicite, quae tanta est sceleris fiducia vestri, Quod nequiit daemon, id voluisse scelus? Quod nequiit daemon scelus, id voluisse patrare: Hoc tentare ipsum daemona, credo, fuit.
_The Jews seeking to cast Christ headlong from a precipice._
What daring leads you on, ungodly crew, To that which ev'n the Devil durst not do? Ye dare what he dares not? If truth be told, Ye tempt the Devil's self to be more bold. G.
LXXX.
_In draconem praecipitem._ Rev. xii. 9.
I, frustra truculente; tuas procul aurea rident Astra minas, coelo jam bene tuta suo. Tune igitur coelum super ire atque astra parabas? Ascensu tanto non opus ad barathrum.
_The casting-down of the dragon._
Go, Dragon! the fair stars smile at thy threat, Secure, serene, in native skies a-glow. Thy throne o'er sky and stars thou fain would'st set; Thou need'st not vault so high to plunge so low. G.
LXXXI.
_Beatae Virgini credenti._ Luc. ii. 19.
Miraris, quid enim faceres? sed et haec quoque credis: Haec uteri credis dulcia monstra tui. En fidei, Regina, tuae dignissima merces: Fida Dei fueras filia; mater eris.
_The blessed Virgin believing._
Thou wondered'st! how else could'st thou so guarded? Yet thou believ'dst the mighty coming birth; Queen! thy faith's working is full well rewarded; God's daughter, thou God's mother art on earth. G.
LXXXII.
_Licetne Caesari censum dare?_ Marc. xii. 14.
Post tot Scribarum, Christe, in te proelia, tandem Ipse venit Caesar; Caesar in arma venit. Pugnant terribiles non Caesaris ense, sed ense Caesare: quin Caesar vinceris ipse tamen. Hoc quoque tu conscribe tuis, Auguste, triumphis. Sic vinci dignus quis nisi Caesar erat?
_Is it lawful to give tribute to Caesar?_
After so many battles with the Scribes, O Lord, Caesar himself comes; Caesar with his sword. They fight not arm'd with Caesar's sword indeed; But Caesar as their sword with craft they plead. Conquer'd thyself, O Caesar, make it known-- Who save thee, worthy so to be o'erthrown. G.
LXXXIII.
_In tibicines et turbam tumultuantem circa defunctam._ Matt. ix. 23.
Vani, quid strepitis? nam quamvis dormiat illa,[58] Non tamen e somno est sic revocanda suo. Expectat solos Christi sopor iste susurros: Dormit enim; sed non omnibus illa tamen.
_The minstrels and crowd making a noise about the dead._
Vain mourning this; why make ye such loud noise? She sleeps indeed, but so will not awake. Her sleep waits for the whisper of His voice Who a great promise to her father spake. G.
LXXXIV.
_Piscatores vocati._ Matt. iv. 19.
Ludite jam, pisces, secura per aequora: pisces Nos quoque, sed varia sub ratione, sumus. Non potuisse capi, vobis spes una salutis: Una salus nobis est, potuisse capi.
_The fishermen called._
Play, fishes, in your waters, safely play: We become fishes too, another way. Not to be taken, to you safety brought: But we are then most safe when we are caught. B.
ANOTHER RENDERING.
Careless, aneath the waves, ye fishes, play: We too are fishes, in a different way; Ye die, we live, being caught; and that for aye. G.
ANOTHER.
Sport, fishes, now, within the secure sea: Lo, fishes too, in different kind, are we. In shunning nets your hope of safety lay; Our safety is to be the netter's prey. A.
LXXXV.
_Date Caesari._ Marc. xii. 17.
Cuncta Deo debentur: habet tamen et sua Caesar; Nec minus inde Deo est, si sua Caesar habet. Non minus inde Deo est, solio si caetera dantur Caesareo, Caesar cum datur ipse Deo.
_Give to Caesar ... and to God...._
All we have is God's, and yet Caesar challenges a debt; Nor hath God a thinner share, Whatever Caesar's payments are. All is God's; and yet 'tis true All we have is Caesar's too. All is Caesar's; and what ods, So long as Caesar's selfe is God's? CR.
ANOTHER RENDERING.
All things belong to God, yet Caesar has his all; Not due the less to God that they to Caesar fall. Not less they're God's because they're giv'n to Caesar's throne; For Caesar's throne itself belongs to God alone. G.
LXXXVI.
_Dominus asino vehitur._ Matt. xxi. 7.
Ille igitur vilem te, te dignatur asellum, O non vectura non bene digne tua! Heu, quibus haud pugnat Christi patientia monstris! Hoc quod sic fertur, hoc quoque ferre fuit.
_The Lord borne on the ass._
Does He, base ass, thus deign to honour thee, Unworthy thus to bear th' incarnate God? Alas, Thy patience strangely tried I see, Thee carried thus who bear'st sin's awful load! B.
ANOTHER RENDERING.
A common ass does the Lord dignify? O, how unworthy such a burden high! With the Lord's patience, ah, what can compare? So to be borne, this also was to bear. R. WI.
LXXXVII.
_Videbunt Filium hominis venientem in nube._ Luc. xxi. 27.
Immo, veni: aerios, o Christe, accingere currus, Inque triumphali nube coruscus ades. Nubem quaeris? erunt nostra, ah! suspiria nubes: Aut sol in nubem se dabit ipse tuam.
_They shall see the Son of Man coming in a cloud._
Come, yoke Thy chariots of the air, O Lord; Triumphal honours let bright clouds afford. Dost seek a cloud? Our sighs a cloud will be, Or the sun melt into a cloud for Thee. G.
LXXXVIII.
_Nisi digitum immisero, &c._ Joan. xx. 25.
Impius ergo iterum clavos? iterum impius hastam? Et totum digitus triste revolvet opus? Tune igitur Christum, Thoma, quo vivere credas, In Christum faceres, ah truculente! mori?
CHRIST TO THOMAS.
_Except I shall put my finger, &c._
Thy impious finger, would it, then, re-borrow The nails, the spear, each circumstance of sorrow? That on a living Christ thou mayst rely, Cruel, wouldst thou thy Christ re-crucify? G.
LXXXIX.
_Ad Judaeos mactatores S. Stephani._ Act. vi. 9-12.
Quid datis, ah miseri! saxis nolentibus iras? Quid nimis in tragicum praecipitatis opus? In mortem Stephani se dant invita: sed illi Occiso faciunt sponte sua tumulum.
_To the Jews stoning St. Stephen._
Wretches, do ye put rage into cold stones? Why rush so eagerly to work so vile? Your stones unwilling add to Stephen's moans, But gladly heap a tomb for him the while. G.
XC.
_Sancto Joanni dilecto discipulo._
Tu fruere, augustoque sinu caput abde, quod o tum Nollet in aeterna se posuisse rosa. Tu fruere; et sacro dum te sic pectore portat, O sat erit tergo me potuisse vehi.
_To St. John the beloved disciple._
Upon His breast thy happy head reposes, Nor would that pillow change for Heaven's own roses: While thus His bosom bears up happy thee, To press His shoulders were enough for me. G.
XCI.
_In lactentes martyres._ Matt. ii. 16, 17.
Vulnera natorum qui vidit et ubera matrum, Per pueros fluviis, ah! simul ire suis: Sic pueros quisquis vidit, dubitavit an illos Lilia coelorum diceret, anne rosas.
_Upon the infant martyrs._
To see both blended in one flood, The mothers' milk, the childrens' blood, Makes me doubt if Heaven will gather Roses hence, or lillies rather. CR.
ANOTHER RENDERING.
Who saw the infants' blood and milk of mother Flowing, alas, in a commingl'd tide, Doubtingly ask'd, and gaz'd from one to other, Whether Heav'n's rose or lily they espy'd. G.
XCII.
_Deus nobiscum._ Matt. i. 23.
Nobiscum Deus est? vestrum hoc est, hei mihi! vestrum: Vobiscum Deus est, o asini atque boves. Nobiscum non est; nam nos domus aurea sumit: Nobiscum Deus est, et jacet in stabulo? Hoc igitur nostrum ut fiat, dulcissime Jesu, Nos dandi stabulis, vel tibi danda domus.
_God with us._
Is God with us? Woe's me, God is with you, ye beasts, I see. God is with you, ye beasts; God comes not to our golden feasts. That God may be with us, We must provide a lowly house. God comes to the humble manger, While to the great house a stranger. G.
XCIII.
_Christus circumcisus ad Patrem._
Has en primitias nostrae, Pater, accipe mortis; Vitam ex quo sumpsi, vivere dedidici. Ira, Pater, tua de pluvia gustaverit ista: Olim ibit fluviis hoc latus omne suis. Tunc sitiat licet et sitiat, bibet et bibet usque: Tunc poterit toto fonte superba frui. Nunc hastae interea possit praeludere culter: Indolis in poenas spes erit ista meae.[59]
XCIV.
_In Epiphaniam Domini._ Matt. ii. 2.
Non solita contenta dies face lucis Eoae, Ecce micat radiis caesariata novis. Persa sagax, propera: discurre per ardua regum Tecta, per auratas marmoreasque domus: Quaere o, quae intepuit Reginae purpura partu; Principe vagitu quae domus insonuit. Audin' Persa sagax? Qui tanta negotia coelo Fecit, Bethlemiis vagiit in stabulis.
_The Epiphany of our Lord._
Scorning her wonted herald, lo, the Day Now decks her forehead with a brighter ray. Sage Persian, haste; ask where high roofs unfold Their royal wealth of marble and of gold; In what rich couch an Empress-mother lies; What halls have heard a new-born Prince's cries. Wouldst know, sage Persian? He for whom Heaven keeps Such festival, in Bethlehem's manger weeps. CL.
XCV.
_Ecce quaerebamus te, &c._ Luc. ii. 49.
Te quaero misera, et quaero: tu nunc quoque tractas Res Patris; Pater est unica cura tibi. Quippe quod ad poenas tantum et tot nomina mortis, Ad luctum et lacrymas, hei mihi! mater ego.
_Lo, we have sought Thee, &c._
I seek Thee mourning, and I seek again: Thou still Thy Father's business dost attend; And me, alas, sad mother of all pain, Of grief and tears, Thou surely wilt befriend. G.
XCVI.
_Aquae in vinum versae._ Joan. ii. 1-11.
Unde rubor vestris, et non sua purpura lymphis? Quae rosa mirantes tam nova mutat aquas? Numen, convivae, praesens agnoscite Numen: Nympha pudica Deum vidit, et erubuit.[60]
_Water turned into wine._
Whence that blush upon thy brow, Fair Nymph of the waters, now? Mark the glow all rosy-red Of the stream astonied. All the guests in tumult rush'd: The shy Nymph saw her God, and blush'd. G.
ANOTHER VERSION.
Whence to your waters comes the glow of wine? What strange new rose their mazed streams hath flush'd? Haste, guests, and own your Visitant divine; For the chaste Nymph hath seen her God, and blush'd. CL.
ANOTHER.
Whence comes this rose, this ruddy colour strange? What blushes new the wondering water change? Mark, mark, gay guests, a present Deity! The conscious water blush'd its God to see. A.
XCVII.
_Absenti Centurionis filio Dominus absens medetur._ Matt. viii. 13.
Quam tacitis inopina salus illabitur alis! Alis quas illi vox tua, Christe, dedit. Quam longas vox ista manus habet! haec medicina Absens et praesens haec medicina fuit.
_The Lord at a distance heals the absent servant of the Centurion._
Safety unlook'd-for! silent 'light the wings Wherewith Thy voice, O Christ, swift-healing brings: Far-reaching hand Thy word has, and Thou healest Absent and present, even as Thou willest. G.
XCVIII.
_Quid timidi estis?_ Marc. iv. 40.
Tanquam illi insanus faceret sua fulmina ventus; Tanquam illi scopulos norit habere fretum. Vos vestri scopuli, vos estis ventus et unda: Naufragium cum illo qui metuit, meruit.
_Why are ye so fearful?_
As if to Him the winds their thunder threw; As if to Him hard rocks the water knew. Ye are your rocks, ye are your wind and wave: Shiprack with Him who fear, deserve to have. B.
XCIX.
_Nunc dimittis._ Luc. ii. 29.
Ite mei, quid enim ulterius, quid vultis, ocelli? Leniter obductis ite superciliis. Immo et adhuc et adhuc, iterumque iterumque videte; Accipite haec totis lumina luminibus. Jamque ite; et tutis o vos bene claudite vallis: Servate haec totis lumina luminibus. Primum est, quod potui te, Christe, videre: secundum, Te viso, recta jam potuisse mori.[61]
_Now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace._
Begone, mine eyes; what would ye see beside? Go now in peace 'neath darkening brows to hide. Once and again, and yet again; behold; With one long gaze His beams in yours enfold. Then go, and guard your treasure safe from foes, And fast in yours those beams of His enclose. To look on Thee, O Christ, this first have I; Then, having look'd on Thee, straightway to die. CL.
C.
_In segetem sacram._ Matt. xiii. 24.
Ecce suam implorat, demisso vertice, falcem: Tu segeti falcem da, Pater alme, suam. Tu falcem non das? messem tu, Christe, moraris? Hoc ipsum falx est; haec mora messis erit.
_Good seed in the field._
Its sickle it implores with head bow'd low; Its sickle on the corn-field, Lord, bestow. Refusest Thou? The harvest dost delay? The sickle this--hence fuller harvest-day. G.
CI.
_Coepit lacrymis rigare pedes ejus, et capillis extergebat._ Luc. vii. 37.
Unda sacras sordes lambit placidissima: flavae Lambit et hanc undam lucida flamma comae. Illa per has sordes it purior unda; simulque Ille per has lucet purior ignis aquas.
_She began to wash His feet with teares, and wipe them with the haires of her head._
Her eyes' flood lickes His feets' faire staine; Her hair's flame lickes up that againe. This flame thus quencht hath brighter beames; This flood thus stained fairer streames. CR.
ANOTHER RENDERING.
With placid force the gentle wave That consecrated dust doth lave, And a bright flame of golden hair Doth lave in light those waters fair. Purer the trickling waters shine Through contact with that dust divine; And purer through the waters' flow That flame of lucent fire doth glow. CL.
CII.
_Quid vis tibi faciam?_ Luc. xviii. 41.
Quid volo, Christe, rogas? quippe ah volo, Christe, videre: Quippe ad te, dulcis Christe, videre volo. At video, fideique oculis te nunc quoque figo: Est mihi, quae nunquam est non oculata, fides. Sed quamvis videam, tamen ah volo, Christe, videre: Sed quoniam video, Christe, videre volo.
_What seekest that I do to thee?_
Askest, O Christ, my wish? My Christ I wish to see: To see Thee, O my sweet Christ, to see Thee. But, lo, I see; for now on Thee I fix faith's eye, And gazing so, dimness and darkness fly. But though I see, yet, ah, my Christ I wish to see; And since I see, O Christ, I would see Thee. G.
CIII.
_Christus mulieri Canaaneae difficilior._ Matt. xv. 21.
Ut pretium facias dono, donare recusas: Usque rogat supplex, tutamen usque negas. Hoc etiam donare fuit, donare negare. Saepe dedit quisquis saepe negata dedit.
_The silence of Christ to the woman of Canaan._
That He a gift more precious might bestow, While she implor'd, discouragements He used. This was to give thus not to give; for, lo, He giveth oft who gives what's oft refused.[62] G.
CIV.
_Beatus venter et ubera, &c._ Luc. ii. 27.
Et quid si biberet Jesus vel ab ubere vestro? Quid facit ad vestram, quod bibit ille, sitim? Ubera mox sua et hic, o quam non lactea! pandet; E nato mater tum bibet ipsa suo.
_Blessed be the paps which Thou hast sucked._
Suppose He had been tabled at thy teates, Thy hunger feeles not what He eates: He'l have His teat ere long--a bloody one; The mother then must suck the Son. CR.
CV.
_In Christum vitem._ Joan. xv. 1.
Ulmum vitis amat, quippe est et in arbore flamma, Quam fovet in viridi pectore blandus amor: Illam ex arboribus cunctis tu, vitis, amasti; Illam, quaecunque est, quae crucis arbor erat.
_Christ the true Vine (including the branches)._
The vine clings lovingly unto the elm; Love's flame draws thus a tree within its realm: But most, O vine, thou lov'st, whate'er its name, That tree from which the cross of Calvary came. G.
CVI.
_Vos flebitis et lamentabimini._ Joan. xvi. 20.
Ergo mihi salvete mei, mea gaudia, luctus: Quam charum, o Deus, est hoc mihi flere meum! Flerem, ni flerem: solus tu, dulcis Jesu, Laetitiam donas tunc quoque quando negas.
_Verily I say unto you, Yee shall weep and lament._
Welcome, my griefe, my joy; how deare's To me my legacy of teares! I'll weepe and weepe, and will therefore Weepe 'cause I can weepe no more. Thou, Thou, deare Lord, even Thou alone, Giv'st joy, even when Thou givest none. CR.
CVII.
_In gregem Christi Pastoris._ Joan. x. 11.
O grex, o nimium tanto Pastore beatus; O ubi sunt tanto pascua digna grege? Ne non digna forent tanto grege pascua, Christus Ipse suo est Pastor, pascuum et ipse gregi.
_Christ the good Shepherd._
O flock, O too much in thy Sheepherd blest, Where are fields worthy thee to feed and rest? Lest worthy pastures nowhere should be found, Christ is to thee the Sheepherd and the ground. B.
ANOTHER VERSION.
O flock, in your great Shepherd all too blest, Where shall fit pasturage be found for you? That His fair flock may ne'er want food or rest, Christ is the Pastor and the pasture too. CL.
CVIII.
_In vulnera pendentis Domini._ Matt. xxviii. 26-53.
Sive oculos, sive ora vocem tua vulnera; certe Undique sunt ora, heu, undique sunt oculi. Ecce ora, o nimium roseis florentia labris! Ecce oculi, saevis ah madidi lacrymis! Magdala, quae lacrymas solita es, quae basia sacro Ferre pedi, sacro de pede sume vices. Ora pedi sua sunt, tua quo tibi basia reddat: Quo reddat lacrymas scilicet est oculus.[63]
_On the wounds of the crucified Lord._
Thy wounds, O Lord, are mouths and eyes-- Let not the strange words breed surprise: Where'er I look, wounds seem to speak; Where'er I look, wounds in tears break; Mouths with ruddy lips disparted, Eyes as of the broken-hearted. Thou, Mary, on His sacred feet Rainedst thy tears and kisses sweet. Now retake thy kisses, tears; Cling thee there, there hush thy fears. See, mouths and eyes are here also; Swift they'll pay back thy loving woe. G.
CIX.
_Paralyticus convalescens._ Marc. ii. 1-13.
Christum, quod misero facilis peccata remittit, Scribae blasphemum dicere non dubitant. Hoc scelus ut primum Paralyticus audiit: ira Impatiens, lectum sustulit atque abiit.
_The paralytic healed._
The Scribes audaciously blaspheme the Lord, That He a poor man pardon'd with a word. The Paralytic hears all that they say; Indignant takes his bed, and walks away. G.
CX.
_Tunc sustulerunt lapides._ Joan. viii. 59.
Saxa? illi? quid tam foedi voluere furores? Quid sibi de saxis hi voluere suis? Indolem, et antiqui agnosco vestigia patris: Panem de saxis hi voluere suis.
_Then took they up stones._
'They took up stones:' What meant they by such rage? What wanted they with them? Their meaning's plain: 'Tis their old father's way--O sad presage! He too took up the stones for bread amain.[64] G.
CXI.
_In resurrectionem Domini._ Matt. xxviii. 6.
Nasceris, en, tecumque tuus, Rex auree, mundus, Tecum[65] virgineo nascitur e tumulo. Tecum in natales properat natura secundos, Atque novam vitam te novus orbis habet. Ex vita, Sol alme, tua vitam omnia sumunt: Nil certe, nisi mors, cogitur inde mori. At certe neque mors: nempe ut queat illa sepulchro, Christe, tuo condi, mors volet ipsa mori.
_On the Resurrection of the Lord._
Thou'rt born, and, lo, bright King, Thy world is born, Is born with Thee from virgin tomb this morn. Hastes Nature to its second day of birth, And a new life in Thee crowns a new earth. Dear Sun, from Thy life all things draw life's breath; Nought thence is forced to die, save only Death. Nor is Death forced--since in Thy grave to lie, Death will itself, O Christ, be glad to die. R. WI.
CXII.
_Aliqui vero dubitabant._ Matt. xxviii. 17.
Scilicet et tellus dubitat,[66] tremebunda: sed ipsum hoc, Quod tellus dubitat, vos dubitare vetat. Ipsi custodes vobis, si quaeritis, illud Hoc ipse dicunt,[67] dicere quod nequeunt.
_But some doubted._
Earth, quaking, wavers: if that fact be true, The wavering earth forbids you waver too. The very keepers, if their voice you seek, Though speechless, even by their silence speak. R. WI.
CXIII.
_In vulnerum vestigia quae ostendit Dominus, ad firmandam suorum fidem._ Joan. xx. 20.
His oculis, nec adhuc clausis coiere fenestris, Invigilans nobis est tuus usus amor. His oculis nos cernit amor tuus: his et amorem, Christe, tuum gaudet cernere nostra fides.
_The scars of the wounds which the Lord showed to the strengthening of His disciples' faith._
Thy love these eyes did open; They're watching for us still: These eyes, of love the token, Our faith with love do fill. G.
CXIV.
_Mittit Joannes qui quaerant a Christo, an is sit._ Luc. vii. 19.
Tu qui adeo impatiens properasti agnoscere Christum, Tunc cum claustra uteri te tenuere tui, Tu, quis sit Christus, rogitas? et quaeris ab ipso? Hoc tibi vel mutus dicere quisque potest.[68]
_John sends to Jesus ... saying, Art Thou He that should come? or look we for another?_
And dost _thou_ ask, who in thy mother's womb So eager wast to hail Messiah come? Thou ask, and of Himself, if Christ He be? Why, even the very dumb can answer thee. CL.
CXV.
_In Petrum auricidam._ Joan. xviii. 10.
Quantumcunque ferox tuus hic, Petre, fulminat ensis, Tu tibi jam pugnas, o bone, non Domino. Scilicet in miseram furis implacidissimus aurem, Perfidiae testis ne queat esse tuae.
_On St. Peter cutting off Malchus his eare._
Well, Peter, dost thou wield thy active sword; Well for thyselfe, I meane, not for thy Lord. To strike at eares is to take heed there bee No witnesse, Peter, of thy perjury. CR.
CXVI.
_Manus arefacta sanatur._ Marc. iii. 1-5.
Felix, ergo tuae spectas natalia dextrae, Quae modo spectanti flebile funus erat! Quae nec in externos modo dextera profuit usus, Certe erit illa tuae jam manus et fidei.[69]
_The withered hand healed._
O happy man, thy right-hand's birth beholding, Erewhile a sad funereal sight enfolding! The hand of no use, by the word Christ saith, Restor'd, is now become the hand of faith. G. & B.
CXVII.
_In Pontium male lautum._ Matt. xxvii. 24.
Illa manus lavat unda tuas, vanissime judex: Ah tamen illa scelus non lavat unda tuum! Nulla scelus lavet unda tuum: vel si lavet ulla, O volet ex oculis illa venire tuis.
_To Pontius washing his hands._
Thy hands are washt; but, O, the water's spilt That labour'd to have washt thy guilt: The flood, if any can, that can suffice, Must have its fountaine in thine eyes. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
The unjust judge washt his hands at the time: Ah, but no water can wash out thy crime. No water washt it out: if any will, 'Tis that which must from thy owne eyes distil. B.
CXVIII.
_In piscem dotatum._ Matt. xvii. 27.
Tu piscem si, Christe, velis, venit ecce, suumque Fert pretium: tanti est vel periisse tibi. Christe, foro tibi non opus est; addicere nummos Non opus est: ipsum se tibi piscis emet.
_The stater-giving fish._
A fish Thou wishest, Lord; And without e'er a word, Behold, it swims to Thee, Fetching its own cost, free. Thou needest not to go In markets to and fro; Nor need'st Thou price to bring-- The fish owns Thee its king. G.
CXIX.
_Ego vici mundum._ Joan. xvi. 33.
Tu contra mundum dux es meus, optime Jesu? At tu, me miserum! dux meus ipse jaces. Si tu, dux meus, ipse jaces, spes ulla salutis? Immo, ni jaceas tu, mihi nulla salus.
_I have overcome the world._
Jesus, my Captain, give me victories! Alas, Jesus Himself, my Captain, dies. And if my Captain fall, what hope have I? No hope at all, unless my Captain die. B.
ANOTHER VERSION.
Art Thou my Chief, best Lord, against the foe? But Thou, my Chief, me wretched! liest low. If Thou, my Chief, liest low, what help for me? Nay, if Thou liest not low, no help can be. A.
CXX.
_In ascensionem Dominicam._ Act. i. 10.
Vadit, io, per aperta sui penetralia coeli: It coelo, et coelum fundit ab ore novum. Spargitur ante pedes, et toto sidere pronus Jam propius solis sol bibit ora sui. At fratri debere negans sua lumina Phoebe, Aurea de Phoebo jam meliore redit. Hos, de te victo, tu das, Pater, ipse triumphos: Unde triumphares, quis satis alter erat?
_On the ascension of our Lord._
Through open'd depths of His own heaven He soars, And from His face in heaven a new heaven pours. Scatter'd before Him down the welkin sinks The sun, and its own sun's near glory drinks. Moon unto sun for light no more beholden, Now from more lustrous sun returns all golden. These triumphs o'er Thyself Thou grantest, Lord; Triumphs no other could suffice to 'accord. R. WI.
CXXI.
_In descensum Spiritus Sancti._ Act. ii.
Jam coeli circum tonuit fragor: arma minasque Turbida cum flammis mista ferebat hiems. Exclamat Judaeus atrox: Venit ecce nefandis, Ecce venit meriti fulminis ira memor. Verum ubi composito sedit fax blandior astro, Flammaque non laesas lambit amica comas; Judaeis, fulmen quia falsum apparuit esse, Hoc ipso verum nomine fulmen erat.
{Ouranou ektypese bromos; polemon kai apeilas Ege trechon anemos syn phlogi smerdalee. Auen Ioudaios; miara stygeron ta karena Ephthase tes orges to prepon ouranies. Alla galenaio hote keitai hesychon astro Phlegma, kai abletous leiche philon plokamous, Hekthambei. hoti gar keinois ouk een alethes, Nyn eteon dioti tode keraunos een.}
_The descent of the Holy Spirit._
Booms the thunder through the sky, Flash the lightnings, threats the storm; Cries the Jew with vengeful eye: See SIN doom'd in fitting form! But, lo, the lightning, paled to light Mild and calm as ev'ning's star, Binds their brows with nimbus bright, Playing softly i' their hair. To the Jews it is not lightning, Yet the more the name's enlightening.[70] G.
CXXII.
_Sic dilexit mundum Deus, ut Filium morti traderet._ Joan. iii. 16.
Ah nimis est, illum nostrae vel tradere vitae: Guttula quod faceret, cur facit oceanus? Unde et luxuriare potest, habet hinc mea vita: Ample et magnifice mors habet unde mori.
_God so loved the world, that He gave His only-begotten Son...._
Ah, 'tis too much to give Him for our sake: A drop might serve, why then an ocean take? Here may my life expatiate gloriously-- Amply, magnificently, Death may die. R. WI.
CXXIII.
_Juga boum emi._ Luc. xiv. 19.
Ad coenam voco te, domini quod jussa volebant; Tu mihi, nescio quos, dicis, inepte, boves. Imo vale, nobis nec digne nec utilis hospes; Coena tuos, credo, malit habere boves.
_I have bought five yoke of oxen._
I call thee to His Supper, for so The Master spake: Thou sayest 'No,' pretending thou must thy oxen take. Farewell, O thou unworthy and wholly useless guest; Thy oxen for the Supper in truth were better prest. G.
CXXIV.
_D. Paulum, verbo sanantem claudum, pro Mercurio Lystres adorant._ Act. xiv. 8-18.
Quis Tagus hic, quae Pactoli nova volvitur unda? Non hominis vox est haec: Deus ille, Deus. Salve, mortales nimium dignate penates: Digna Deo soboles, digna tonante Deo. O salve, quid enim, alme, tuos latuisse volebas? Te dicit certe vel tua lingua Deum. Laudem hanc haud miror: meruit facundus haberi, Qui claudo promptos suasit habere pedes.
_St. Paul, healing the lame man with a word, is worshipped by the Lystrians as Mercury._
What Tagus, what Pactolus here is rolled? 'Tis not man's voice: a God, a God behold. Hail, too much honour thou to men hast done, Of Jove, of thundering Jove the worthy son. Hail, Lord, for why wouldst hide thee from thine own? A God e'en by thy tongue assuredly art known. The praise of eloquence for him was meet Who could persuade the lame to use swift feet. R. WI.
CXXV.
_In S. Columbam ad Christi caput sedentem._
Cui sacra siderea volueris suspenditur ala? Hunc nive plus niveum cui dabit illa pedem? Christe, tuo capiti totis se destinat auris, Qua ludit densae blandior umbra comae. Illic arcano quid non tibi murmure narrat, Murmure mortales non imitante sonos? Sola avis haec nido hoc non est indigna cubare: Solus nidus hic est hac bene dignus ave.[71]
{Pe tachyergos agei pteryg' asteroessan eretmos? E tini keina pherei ten poda chioneen? Christe, tee kephale pasais pterygessin epeigei; Pe skia toi dasiois paize mala plokamois. Poia soi arrheto psithyrismati kein' agoreuei? Arret', ouk eches isa men andromees. Mouna men hed' ornis kalias est' axia tautes. Axia d' ornithos mouna men he kalia.}
_To the sacred Dove alighting on the head of Christ._
On whom doth this blest Bird its wings outspread? Where will it suffer its white feet to rest? O Jesus, hovering o'er Thy hallow'd head, Within Thy hair's sweet shade it seeks a nest. There does it breathe a mystic song to Thee, A melody unlike all earthly sound: That Bird alone to this pure nest may flee; This nest alone worthy the Bird is found. W.
CXXVI.
_In fores divo Petro sponte apertas._ Act. xii. 10.
Quid juvit clausisse fores, bone janitor, istas? Et Petro claves jam liquet esse suas. Dices, sponte patent: Petri ergo hoc scilicet ipsum Est clavis, Petro clave quod haud opus est.
_The doors of the prison self-opening to Peter._
Good jailor, how is this, These doors thou lockest here? That Peter has the keys 'Tis now to all men clear. Thou say'st the doors self-open, And well thou sayest indeed; For by this very token He no other key doth need. G.
CXXVII.
_Murmurabant Pharisaei, dicentes, Recipit peccatores, et comedit cum illis._ Luc. xv. 2.
Ah male, quisquis is est, pereat, qui scilicet istis Convivam, saevus, non sinit esse suum! Istis cum Christus conviva adjungitur, istis O non conviva est Christus, at ipse cibus.[72]
_The Pharisees murmured, saying, This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them._
Ah, let him perish in his harsh protests Who sinners checks to be the Saviour's guests! Sinners do entertain Christ as a guest: They spread the table, but He is the feast. G. & B.
CXXVIII.
_In trabem Pharisaicam._ Matt. vii. 3.
Cedant, quae, rerum si quid tenue atque minutum est, Posse acie certa figere, vitra dabunt. Artis opus mirae! Pharisaeo en optica trabs est, Ipsum, vera loquor, qua videt ille nihil.
_On the beam of the Pharisee._
Grant you can fix upon a needle's end Each smallest object microscopes will lend. Rare beam to look through has the Pharisee, Whereby, in sooth, nothing itself sees he! R. WI.
CXXIX.
_Constituerunt ut si quis confiteretur eum esse Christum, synagoga moveretur._ Joan. ix. 22.
Infelix, Christum reus es quicunque colendi; O reus infelix, quam tua culpa gravis! Tu summis igitur, summis damnabere coelis: O reus infelix, quam tua poena gravis!
_They determined that if any man should confess Him to be Christ, he should be put out of the synagogue._
Alas, unhappy, own the Christ thou wilt; Unhappy culprit, fearful is thy guilt. The gates of heaven for aye should keep thee close: Unhappy culprit, fearful are thy woes. A.
CXXX.
_De voto filiorum Zebedaei._ Matt. xx. 20.
Sit tibi, Joannes, tibi sit, Jacobe, quod optas; Sit tibi dextra manus; sit tibi laeva manus. Spero alia in coelo est, et non incommoda, sedes; Si neque laeva manus, si neque dextra manus. Coeli hanc aut illam nolo mihi quaerere partem; O coelum, coelum da, Pater alme, mihi.
_Concerning the prayer of the sons of Zebedee._
O brothers twain, may it be yours to fill At right and left your places as ye will! A seat remains, I trust--a fair one too-- Besides those high ones that were sought for you. I pray not that to me some part be given, But heaven itself, kind Father, grant me heaven. CL.
ANOTHER VERSION.
John and James, take your place at God's command: One at the right, th' other at the left hand. I ask not to be placed so, or so: To heaven, to heaven, good Father, let me go. B.
CXXXI.
_Ad hospites coenae miraculosae quinque panum._ Joan. vi. 9-13.
Vescere pane tuo, sed et, hospes, vescere Christo; Et panis pani scilicet ille tuo. Tunc pane hoc Christi recte satur, hospes, abibis, Panem ipsum Christum si magis esurias.[73]
_To the guests at the miraculous supper of the five loaves._
Feed on thy bread, on Christ too feed, O guest; With Bread on bread forsooth thou shalt be blest. Then shalt thou go, with Christ's bread satisfied, If hungering for the living Bread beside. R. WI.
CXXXII.
_De Christi contra mundum pugna._ Joan. xvi. 33.
Tune, miser, tu, mundus ait, mea fulmina contra Ferre manus, armis cum tibi nuda manus? I, lictor, manibusque audacibus injice vinc'la: Injecit lictor vincula, et arma dedit.
_Christ overcoming the world._
O wretched! the world mutters. I do wonder Thou dar'st lift unarm'd hands against my thunder. Go, tyrant; put thy chains upon these hands: 'Tis done; and now full-arm'd the prisoner stands. G.
CXXXIII.
_Graeci disputatores divo Paulo mortem machinantur._ Act. ix. 29.
Euge, argumentum! sic disputat: euge, sophista! Sic pugnum Logices stringere, sic decuit. Hoc argumentum in causam quid, Graecule, dicit? Dicit, te in causam dicere posse nihil.[74]
_The Grecian disputants go about to kill St. Paul._
O noble argument, Sophister rare! Thus Logic's fist to double be your care. This argument, poor Greek, what does it weigh? It says that you have nought at all to say. R. WI.
CXXXIV.
_Qui maximus est inter vos, esto sicut qui minimus._ Luc. xxii. 26.
O bone, discipulus Christi vis maximus esse? At vero fies hac ratione minor. Hoc sanctae ambitionis iter, mihi crede, tenendum est, Haec ratio: Tu, ne sis minor, esse velis.
_He that is greatest among you, let him be as the younger._
The greatest of disciples wouldst thou be? Whoever's so ambitious, less is he. That thou mai'st not go less, to every one Submit: this, this is Christ's ambition. B.
CXXXV.
_In lacrymantem Dominum._ Luc. xix. 41.
Vobis, Judaei, vobis haec volvitur unda; Quae vobis, quoniam spernitis, ignis erit. Eia faces, Romane, faces! seges illa furoris, Non nisi ab his undis, ignea messis erit.
_He beheld the city, and wept over it._
For you, O Jews, is roll'd this tearful tide, Which as a flame shall glow, since ye deride. Torches, Rome's torches--those wild-waving ears A fiery crop shall prove, fed by these tears. R. WI.
CXXXVI.
_Christus in Aegypto._ Matt. ii. 19-21.
Hunc tu, Nile, tuis majori flumine monstra; Hunc, nimis ignotum, dic caput esse tibi. Jam tibi, Nile, tumes; jam te quoque multus inunda: Ipse tuae jam sis laetitiae fluvius.
_Christ in Egypt._
With prouder stream, Nile, show Him to thine own; Call Him thy fountain-head, too little known: Now swelling for thyself, thyself o'erflow; And with its own joy let thy current glow. R. WI.
CXXXVII.
_In caecos Christum confitentes, Pharisaeos abnegantes._ Matt. ix. 27-31.
Ne mihi tu, Pharisaee ferox, tua lumina jactes: En caecus! Christum caecus at ille videt. Tu, Pharisaee, nequis in Christo cernere Christum: Ille videt caecus; caecus es ipse videns.[75]
_The blind confessing Christ, the Pharisees denying._
Cast not thine eyes on me, proud Pharisee, Lo, this blind man, though blind, yet Christ can see. Thou, Pharisee, canst not in Christ Christ find; The blind man sees Him, and the seer's blind. G. & B.
CXXXVIII.
_Si quis pone me veniet, tollat crucem et sequatur me._ Matt. xvi. 24.
Ergo sequor, sequor, en, quippe et mihi crux mea, Christe, est: Parva quidem; sed quam non satis, ecce, rego. Non rego? non parvam hanc? ideo neque parva putanda est. Crux magna est, parvam non bene ferre crucem.
_If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me._
Therefore I follow, lo, I follow on; My cross is with me, yet not rightly worn. It little is compar'd with Thine, I own; Yet little is not being wrongly borne. G.
CXXXIX.
_Relictis omnibus sequutus est eum._ Luc. v. 28.
Quas Matthaeus opes, ad Christi jussa, reliquit; Tum primum vere coepit habere suas.[76] Iste malarum est usus opum bonus, unicus iste; Esse malas homini, quas bene perdat, opes.
_And he left all ... and followed Him._
To be rich, truly rich, Matthew did take The right way, when he left all for Christ's sake. This is the one good use of ill-got wealth; For ill-got 'tis which, leaving, bringeth health. B. & G.
CXL.
_Aedificatis sepulchra Prophetarum._ Matt. xxiii. 29.
Sanctorum in tumulis quid vult labor ille colendis? Sanctorum mortem non sinit ille mori. Vane, Prophetarum quot ponis saxa sepulchris, Tot testes lapidum, queis periere, facis.
_Ye build the sepulchres of the Prophets._
Thou trim'st a Prophet's tombe, and dost bequeath The life thou took'st from him unto his death. Vain man! the stones that on his tombe doe lye Keepe but the score[77] of them that made him dye. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
What means this labour on the tombs of saints, Causing their holy memory be cherish'd? Vain men! each stone which consecrates their plaints Doth tell us of the stones by which they perish'd. G.
CXLI.
_In manum aridam qua Christo mota est miseratio._ Marc. iii. 3-5.
Prende, miser, Christum; et cum Christo prende salutem: At manca est, dices, dextera: prende tamen. Ipsum hoc, in Christum, manus est: hoc prendere Christum est, Qua Christum prendas, non habuisse manum.
_The man with the withered hand, who excited Christ's compassion._
Take hold of Christ, O wretched one, And with Christ take salvation. But thy right hand, thou say'st, is dead; Yet take thee hold: His word is said. Take hold of Christ e'en without hand; Then safe in Christ, and well, thou'lt stand: Take hold of Christ in simple faith; This will be hand to thee, He saith. G.
CXLII.
_Ad D. Lucam medicum._ Coloss. iv. 14.
Nulla mihi, Luca, de te medicamina posco, Ipse licet medicus sis, licet aeger ego: Quippe ego in exemplum fidei dum te mihi pono, Tu, medice, ipse mihi es tu medicina mea.
{Ouden ego, Louka, para sou moi pharmakon aito, Kan sy d' iatros ees, kan men ego noseros. All' en hoso paradeigma peleis moi pistios, autos, Autos iatros emoi g' essi akestorie.}
_Luke the beloved physician._
No medicine of thee, O Luke, I seek, Though thou art a physician, and I sick: Th' example of thy faith before my eyen, To me, physician, is the medicine. B.
ANOTHER VERSION.
_To St. Luke as a physician._
No medicine will I crave, Saint Luke, of thee, Though I be sick, though thou physician be: Pattern of faith, I plant thee in my soul, And thou thyself the medicine makest me whole. A.
CXLIII.
_Hydropicus sanatus, Christum jam sitiens._ Luc. xiv. 4.
Pellitur inde sitis, sed et hinc sitis altera surgit; Hinc sitit ille magis, quo sitit inde minus. Felix o, et mortem poterit qui temnere morbus; Cui vitae ex ipso fonte sititur aqua.
_The dropsical man thirsting now for Christ._
Thy dropsy's quench'd, but other thirst now rises, Which craves the more, the less the former thirsts. O happy malady, which death despises: Thirst for the stream which from life's fountain bursts. G.
CXLIV.
_In coetum coelestem omnium Sanctorum._
Felices animae, quas coelo debita virtus Jam potuit vestris inseruisse polis: Hoc dedit egregii non parcus sanguinis usus, Spesque per obstantes expatiata vias. O ver, o longae semper seges aurea lucis; Nocte nec alterna dimidiata dies; O quae palma manu ridet, quae fronte corona; O nix virgineae non temeranda togae; Pacis inocciduae vos illic ora videtis; Vos Agni dulcis lumina; vos--quid ago?
_To the assembly of all the Saints._
Thrice-happy souls, to whom the prize is given, Whom faith and truth have lifted into heaven: Gift of the heavenly Martyrs' dying breath, Gift of a Faith that burst the gates of Death. O Spring, O golden harvest of glad light; Sweet day, whose beauty never fades in night; The palm blooms in each hand, the garland on each brow, The raiment glitters in its undimm'd snow; The regions of unfading peace ye see, And the meek brightness of the Lamb: how different from me![78] W.
ANOTHER VERSION.
Thrice-happy, happy souls, to you heaven's debt Is paid; you in your heavenly spheres are set. Whence this to you? ah, noble blood ye shed, And your strong faith the strong world buffeted. O ever-ripening harvest of long light; O Spring, O day not halved with lingering night; O hands with laughing palms, O crowned brows; O spotless robes, whiter than virgin snows! The beauteous eyes of fadeless Peace ye see-- The eyes of the sweet Lamb; yea--woe is me! A.
CXLV.
_Christus absenti medetur._ Matt. viii. 13.
Vox jam missa suas potuit jam tangere metas? O superi, non hoc ire sed isse fuit. Mirac'lum fuit ipsa salus, bene credere possis, Ipsum, mirac'lum est, quando salutis iter.
_Christ heals in absence._
Came, then, His voice with power, Himself unseen? Heavens! this, though not to go, was to have been. The cure miraculous we can credit well, When the mere going was a miracle. CL.
CXLVI.
_Caecus natus._ Joan. ix. 1, 2.
Felix, qui potuit tantae post nubila noctis, O dignum tanta nocte, videre diem: Felix ille oculus, felix utrinque putandus, Quod videt, et primum quod videt ille Deum.
_The man born blind._
Happy the man who was endu'd with sight, And saw a day well worth so long a night: Happy the eye, twice happy is the eye, That sees, and at first look, a Deity. B.
ANOTHER VERSION.
Thrice-happy eye, that after such dark night-- Day worthy night so dark--couldst see the light: O happy eye, eye thrice and four times blest, At once to ope, and upon God to rest. A.
CXLVII.
_Et ridebant illum._ Matt. ix. 24.
Luctibus in tantis, Christum ridere vacabat? Vanior iste fuit risus, an iste dolor? Luctibus in tantis hic vester risus inepti, Credite mi, meruit maximus esse dolor.
_And they laughed at Him._
Laughter at Christ the Saviour-- Laughter 'mid falling tears! O, which show'd greater folly, Vain laughter or vain fears? Such laughter 'mid such sorrow, O fools, ye may believe: Such laughter in such Presence Gave greatest cause to grieve. G.
CXLVIII.
_In sapientiam seculi._ Matt. xi. 25.
Noli altum sapere, hoc veteres voluere magistri, Ne retrahat lassos alta ruina gradus. Immo mihi dico, Noli sapuisse profundum: Non ego ad infernum me sapuisse velim.
_The wisdom of the world._
'Aim not at things too high,' 'twas said of old, 'Lest ruin thence o'ertake thee, over-bold.' For me to dive too deep I think not well: I would not have my knowledge deep as hell. CL.
CXLIX.
_In stabulum ubi natus est Dominus._
Illa domus stabulum? non est, Puer auree, non est: Illa domus, qua tu nasceris, est stabulum? Illa domus toto domus est pulcherrima mundo; Vix coelo dici vult minor illa tuo.[79] Cernis ut illa suo passim domus ardeat auro? Cernis ut effusis rideat illa rosis? Sive aurum non est, nec quae rosa rideat illic; Ex oculis facile est esse probare tuis.
{Oikos hod' est' aule? ou me. teos oikos, Iesou, En th' o ty tikte aulion ou peletai. Oikon men panton mala de kallistos ekeinos; Ouranou oude teou mikroteros peletai. Enide keino neo dom' empyrizeto chryso, Enide keino neois doma rhodoisi gela. En rhodon ouchi gela, en oude te chrysos ekeithen; Ek sou d' ophthalmon estin elenchemenai.}
_On the stable where our Lord was born._
That house a stable? nay, bright Infant, nay: Where Thou art born--a stable do we say? Of mansions in this world fairest of all, That house but little less than heaven we call. Seest thou that house with golden splendour flush? Seest thou that house with scatter'd roses blush? There is no gold, no rose there laughing lies: It is the light that falls from His fair eyes. A.
CL.
_S. Stephanus amicis suis, funus sibi curantibus._ Act. vii. 57-60.
Nulla, precor, busto surgant mihi marmora: bustum Haec mihi sint mortis conscia saxa meae. Sic nec opus fuerit, notet ut quis carmine bustum, Pro Domino, dicens, occidit ille suo. Hic mihi sit tumulus, quem mors dedit ipsa; meique Ipse hic martyrii sit mihi martyrium.
_St. Stephen to his friends, to raise no monument._
I pray you, raise, my friends, no tomb for me, But let these conscious stones my record be; Nor will there then be need of verse to tell That here for his dear Lord a martyr fell. That which brought death, a tomb shall also bring, And be the witness of my witnessing. CL.
CLI.
_In D. Joannem, quem Domitianus ferventi oleo illaesum indidit._
Illum qui, toto currens vaga flammula mundo, Non quidem Joannes, ipse sed audit amor-- Illum ignem extingui, bone Domitiane, laboras? Hoc non est oleum, Domitiane, dare.[80]
_On St. John, whom Domitian cast into a caldron of boiling oil, he unhurt._
That fire--which o'er the world a wandering flame, Bears not the name of John, but Love's own name-- To quench, my good Domitian, dost thou toil? Fire scarce is quench'd, methinks, by adding oil. CL.
CLII.
_In tenellos martyres._
Ah, qui tam propero cecidit sic funere, vitae Hoc habuit tantum, possit ut ille mori. At cujus Deus est sic usus funere, mortis Hoc tantum, ut possit vivere semper, habet.
_The infant-martyrs._
Fallen, alas, in life's most tender dawn, With only so much life as die they may. But they 'gainst whom Death's arrows thus are drawn, Only taste death that they may live for aye. G.
CLIII.
_Attulerunt ei omnes male affectos daemoniacos, lunaticos: et sanavit eos._ Matt. iv. 24.
Collige te tibi, torve Draco, furiasque facesque, Quasque vocant pestes nox Erebusque suas: Fac colubros jam tota suos tua vibret Erinnys; Collige, collige te fortiter, ut pereas.
_They brought unto Him all sick people that were taken with divers diseases and torments, and those which were possessed with devils, and those which were lunatick, and those that had the palsy; and He healed them._
Gather thy powers, grim Dragon, furies, flames, All plagues which Erebus or midnight claims, Bid each Erinnys high her serpents flourish; Bring all, bring all, that thou mayst wholly perish.[81] R. WI.
CLIV.
_Tuam ipsius animam pertransibit gladius._ Luc. ii. 35.
Quando habeat gladium tua, Christe, tragoedia nullum, Quis fuerit gladius, Virgo beata, tuus? Namque nec ulla alias tibi sunt data vulnera, Virgo, Quam quae a vulneribus sunt data, Christe, tuis. Forsan quando senex jam caligantior esset, Quod Simeon gladium credidit, hasta fuit. Immo neque hasta fuit, neque clavus, sed neque spina: Hei mihi, spina tamen, clavus et hasta fuit. Nam queiscunque malis tua, Christe, tragoedia crevit, Omnia sunt gladius, Virgo beata, tuus.
_A sword shall pierce through thy own soul._
Since in the tragedy Wrought upon Calvary, No sword, O Christ, hast Thou, Whence, then, shall come the blow To Mary, virgin-mother?
Not any wounds are given, Save as her Son is riven: No sword, O Christ, hast Thou; Whence, then, shall come the blow To Mary, virgin-mother?
Perchance the dim-ey'd seer By sword intended spear: No sword, O Christ, hast Thou; Whence, then, shall come the blow To Mary, virgin-mother?
Not spear or nail or thorn, Yet by all these I'm torn: No sword, O Christ, hast Thou; O whence, then, comes the blow To Mary, virgin-mother?
In the dread tragedy Wrought upon Calvary, Whate'er, O suff'ring Lord, Smote Thee, pierc'd as a sword Mary, the virgin-mother. G.
CLV.
_In sanguinem circumcisionis dominicae. Ad convivas, quos haec dies apud nos solennes habet._
Heus, conviva! bibin'? Maria haec, Mariaeque puellus, Mittunt de prelo musta bibenda suo. Una quidem est, toti quae par tamen unica mundo, Unica gutta, suo quae tremit orbiculo. O bibite hinc; quale aut quantum vos cunque bibistis, Credite mi, nil tam suave bibistis adhuc. O bibite et bibite, et restat tamen usque bibendum: Restat, quod poterit nulla domare sitis. Scilicet hic, mensura sitis, mensura bibendi est: Haec quantum cupias vina bibisse, bibis.
_On the blood of the Lord's circumcision._
Ah, friend, wilt drink? Mary and her Babe divine Send from their press, for drinking, this new wine. One drop, yet this round world in worth resembling, A single drop in tiny circlet trembling. Drink hence; whate'er ye've drunk, how much soever, Trust me, such pleasant drink ye've met with never. Drink, drink again; to drink is left for you-- Is left what mortal thirst can ne'er subdue. Thirst's limit here will drinking's bound define: You drink all that you would drink of this wine. R. WI.
CLVI.
_Puer Jesus inter doctores._ Luc. ii. 46.
Fallitur, ad mentum qui pendit quemque profundum, Ceu possint laeves nil sapuisse genae. Scilicet e barba male mensuratur Apollo; Et bene cum capitis stat nive, mentis hyems. Discat, et a tenero disci quoque posse magistro, Canitiem capitis nec putet esse caput.
_The Child Jesus among the doctors._
To weigh a man by bearded chin is vain, As if smooth cheeks no wisdom could contain. Forsooth the beard is a poor gauge of wit; With mental winter snowy head may fit. Hear what wise words from a Child-teacher fall, Nor think a hoary head the head of all. R. WI.
CLVII.
_Ad Christum, de aqua in vinum versa._ Joan. ii. 1-11.
Signa tuis tuus hostis habet contraria signis: In vinum tristes tu mihi vertis aquas. Ille autem e vino lacrymas et jurgia ducens, Vina iterum in tristes, hei mihi! mutat aquas.
_To our Lord, upon the water made wine._
Thou water turn'st to wine, faire friend of life; Thy foe, to crosse the sweet arts of Thy reigne, Distills from thence the teares of wrath and strife, And so turnes wine to water backe againe. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
Blessing's in Thy every sign, But the Tempter each pollutes: Thou the water makest wine, He the wine to woe transmutes. G.
CLVIII.
_Christus infans Patri sistitur in templo._ Luc. ii. 22-33.
Agnus eat ludatque, licet, sub patre petulco; Cumque sua longum conjuge turtur agat. Conciliatorem nihil hic opus ire per agnum, Nec tener ut volucris non sua fata ferat. Hactenus exigua haec, quasi munera, lusimus; haec quae Multum excusanti sunt capienda manu. Hoc donum est; de quo, toto tibi dicimus ore, Sume, Pater: meritis hoc tibi sume suis. Donum hoc est, hoc est; quod scilicet audeat ipso Esse Deo dignum: scilicet ipse Deus.
_The Infant Christ is presented to the Father in the temple._
Let the lamb go, by horned sire to play; The turtle, with its mate, flee far away: No need is here of lamb to mediate, Or tender bird to bear another's fate. At those poor offerings once, as 'twere, we play'd, Receiv'd by One who much allowance made. This is a gift the full-voic'd boast to wake, 'Take it, O Father, on its merits take.' A gift, a gift this is, which need not fear Being fit for God, since God Himself is here. R. WI.
CLIX.
_Leprosus Dominum implorans._ Matt. viii. 2.
Credo quod ista potes, velles modo: sed quia credo, Christe, quod ista potes, credo quod ista voles. Tu modo, tu faciles mihi, sol meus, exere vultus; Non poterit radios nix mea ferre tuos.[82]
_The leper beseeching._
I believe, Lord, Thou'rt able if Thou'rt willing, And I believe Thou'rt willing as Thou'rt able. Shine on me, O my Sun: Thy rays distilling, Shall melt my snow, and give me healing stable. G.
CLX.
_Christus in tempestate._ Matt. viii. 23-27.
Quod fervet tanto circum te, Christe, tumultu, Non hoc ira maris, Christe, sed ambitio est. Haec illa ambitio est, hoc tanto te rogat ore, Possit ut ad monitus, Christe, tacere tuos.
_Why are ye afraid, O ye of little faith?_
As if the storme meant Him, Or 'cause Heaven's face is dim, His needs a cloud. Was ever froward wind That could be so unkind, Or wave so proud? The wind had need be angry, and the water black, That to the mighty Neptune's Self dare threaten wrack. There is no storm but this Of your own cowardise That braves you out; You are the storme that mocks Yourselves; you are the rocks Of your owne doubt: Besides this feare of danger there's no danger here, And he that here feares danger does deserve his feare. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
That the Sea with such violence falls on, 'Tis not his malice, but ambition: This the ambition, this the loud request, At Thy command, O Christ, to take his rest. B.
CLXI.
_Annunciant ritus, quos non licet nobis suscipere, cum simus Romani._ Act. xvi. 21.
Hoc Caesar tibi, Roma, tuus dedit, armaque? solis Romanis igitur non licet esse piis? Ah, melius, tragicis nullus tibi Caesar in armis Altus anhelanti detonuisset equo; Nec domini volucris facies horrenda per orbem Sueta tibi in signis torva venire tuis: Quam miser ut staret de te tibi, Roma, triumphus, Ut tanta fieres ambitione nihil. Non tibi, sed sceleri vincis: proh laurea tristis, Laurea, Cerbereis aptior umbra comis. Tam turpi vix ipse pater diademate Pluto, Vix sedet ipse suo tam niger in solio. De tot Caesareis redit hoc tibi, Roma, triumphis: Caesaree, aut, quod idem est, egregie misera es.
_They teach customs which are not lawful for us to receive, neither to observe, being Romans._
Rome, have thy Caesar's arms wrought this for thee, That Romans only may not Christians be? Better for thee no Caesar had waged war, High-thundering on his fiery steed afar; Nor eagle's lordly form o'er all the world Had aye on thy stern ensigns been unfurl'd. How poor a triumph, Rome, o'er thyself wrought, By dint of such ambition to be--nought! Conquering for sin, not Rome; sad laurel-wreath, More fit to shadow Cerberus' locks beneath. Old Pluto scarce wears diadem so base, Sits scarce so swart enthron'd in his own place. Caesarean triumphs, Rome, win this for thee-- Caesarean, that is, highest misery. R. WI.
CLXII.
_Hic lapis fiat panis._ Matt. iv. 3.
Et fuit ille lapis, quidni sit dicere? panis, Christe, fuit: panis sed tuus ille fuit. Quippe Patris cum sic tulerit suprema voluntas, Est panis, panem non habuisse, tuus.
{Artos een toi det', eipein themis estin, ekeinos, Christe, toi artos een kai lithos, alla teos. En hou tos tou patros ee megalou to thelema, Artos hot' ouk en toi, Christe, toi artos een.}
_Command that this stone become a loaf._
And so it was; bread was that stone; Such bread, Christ, as was all Thine own. Since God so will'd that it should be, To have no bread was bread to Thee. G.
CLXIII.
_Mulier Canaanitis._ Matt. xv. 22.
Quicquid Amazoniis dedit olim fama puellis, Credite: Amazoniam cernimus, ecce, fidem. Foemina, tam fortis fidei? jam credo fidem esse Plus quam grammatice foeminei generis.
_The woman of Canaan._
Whate'er Fame tells of Amazons of old, Believe: here Amazonian faith behold. Of such strong faith a woman? Faith I see More than in grammar feminine to be. R. WI.
CLXIV.
_Deus, post expulsum daemonem mutum, maledicis Judaeis os obturat._ Luc. xi. 14.
Una pene opera duplicem tibi daemona frangis: Iste quidem daemon mutus; at ille loquax. Scilicet in laudes, quae non tibi laurea surgit? Non magis hic loquitur, quam tacet ille tuas.
_Upon the dumbe devill cast out, and the slanderous Jewes put to silence._
Two devills at one blow Thou hast laid flat; A speaking devill this, a dumbe one that. Was't Thy full victorie's fairer increase, That th' one spake, or that th' other held his peace? CR.
CLXV.
_Dicebant, Vere hic est Propheta._ Joan. vi. 14.
Post tot quae videant, tot quae miracula tangant, Haec et quae gustent, Christe, dabas populo: Jam Vates, Rex, et quicquid pia nomina possunt, Christus erat: vellem dicere, venter erat. Namque his, quicquid erat Christus, de ventre repleto Omne illud vero nomine venter erat.
_They said, This is of a truth that Prophet._
When Christ had given the multitude so much, So many miracles to see, taste, touch; Now Prophet, King, the holiest name Heaven wishes, Was Christ: I'd rather call it 'Loaves and fishes.' Whate'er Christ was, to their stay'd appetite 'Twas all more truly 'Loaves and fishes' dight. R. WI.
CLXVI.
_Christus ambulabat in porticu Salomonis, et hyems erat._ Joan. x. 22.
Bruma fuit? non, non; ah, non fuit ore sub isto: Si fuit, haud anni, nec sua bruma fuit. Bruma tibi vernis velit ire decentior horis, Per sibi non natas expatiata rosas. At tibi ne possit se tam bene bruma negare, Sola haec, quam vibrat gens tua, grando[83] vetat.
_It was winter, and Jesus walked in Solomon's porch._
Was't winter? No, O no; beneath that Face: At least no natural winter there found place. Winter for Thee would breathe Spring's beauteous hours, With roses crowd its unaccustom'd bowers. But lest so sweetly Winter should retire, Lo, this hail hinders, hurl'd by Jewish ire. R. WI.
CLXVII.
_Dederunt nummos militibus._ Matt. xxviii. 12.
Ne miles velit ista loqui, tu munera donas? Donas, quod possit, cum tacet ipse, loqui. Quae facis a quoquam, pretio suadente, taceri; Clarius, et dici turpius ista facis.
_They gave large money to the soldiers._
The soldiers' silence is't with money bought? Thy gift will tell a tale, though they say nought. Whatever with a bribe thou fain wouldst hide, More shamefully thou spreadest far and wide. R. WI.
CLXVIII.
_Beatae Virgini: de salutatione angelica._ Luc. i. 26-28.
{Chaire} suum neque Caesareus jam nuntiet ales; {Chaire} tuum penna candidiore venit. Sed taceat, qui {chaire} tuum quoque nuntiat, ales; {Chaire} meum penna candidiore venit. Quis dicat mihi {chaire} meum mage candidus autor, Quam tibi quae dicat candidus ille tuum? Virgo, rogas, quid candidius quam candidus ille Esse potest? Virgo, quae rogat, esse potest. {Chaire} tuum, Virgo, donet tibi candidus ille; Donas candidior tu mihi {chaire} meum. {Chaire} meum de {chaire} tuo quid differat, audi: Ille tuum dicit, tu paris, ecce, meum.
_To the blessed Virgin: concerning the angelic salutation._
Its 'hail' Caesarean eagle need not bring; Thy 'hail' comes wafted on a whiter wing. But let the 'all-hail' angel e'en be still; My 'hail' comes flitting on a whiter quill. To say my 'hail' what whiter being can be Than that white being who utters thine to thee? Virgin, dost ask what whiter than that white Might be? The Virgin who is asking, might. That white one, Virgin, may give 'hail' to thee; But thou, more white, dost give my 'hail' to me. My 'hail' o'er thy 'hail,' wouldst thou know its worth; He utters thine, but mine thou bringest forth. R. WI.
CLXIX.
_Pontio lavanti._ Matt. xxvii. 24.
Non satis est caedes, nisi stuprum hoc insuper addas, Et tam virgineae sis violator aquae? Nympha quidem pura haec et honesti filia fontis Luget, adulterio jam temerata tuo. Casta verecundo properat cum murmure gutta, Nec satis in lacrymam se putat esse suam. Desine tam nitidos stuprare, ah desine, rores: Aut dic, quae miseras unda lavabit aquas.
_To Pontius washing his blood-stained hands._
Is murther no sin? or a sin so cheape That thou need'st heape A rape upon't? Till thy adult'rous touch Taught her these sullied cheeks, this blubber'd face, She was a nimph, the meadowes knew none such; Of honest parentage, of unstain'd race; The daughter of a faire and well-fam'd fountaine As ever silver-tipt the side of shady mountaine.
See how she weeps, and weeps, that she appeares Nothing but teares: Each drop's a teare that weeps for her own wast. Harke how at every touch she does complaine her; Harke how she bids her frighted drops make hast, And with sad murmurs chides the hands that stain her. Leave, leave, for shame; or else, good judge, decree What water shal wash this when this hath washed thee. CR.
CLXX.
_In die passionis dominicae._
Tamne ego sim tetricus? valeant jejunia: vinum Est mihi dulce meo, nec pudet esse, cado. Est mihi quod castis, neque prelum passa, racemis Palmite virgineo protulit uva parens. Hoc mihi, ter denis sat enim maturuit annis, Tandem, ecce, e dolio praebibit hasta suo. Jamque it; et o quanto calet actus aromate torrens, Acer ut hinc aura divite currit odor! Quae rosa per cyathos volitat tam vina Falernos? Massica quae tanto sidere vina tremunt? O ego nescibam; atque ecce est vinum illud amoris, Unde ego sim tantis, unde ego par cyathis. Vincor: et o istis totus prope misceor auris: Non ego sum tantis, non ego par cyathis. Sed quid ego invicti metuo bona robora vini? Ecce est, quae validum diluit[84] unda merum.
_On the day of the Lord's Passion._
Should I be dull? Fastings farewell! Sweet wine I have--nor am asham'd--in cask of mine, Which the full grape, unprest, from virgin shoot Produced for me in purest cluster'd fruit. This wine, now mellow'd by the thirtieth year, Lo, from the 'wood' will pour at touch of spear. It pours, and O how sweet the torrent glows, How sharp an odour on the rich air flows! What bouquet thus breathes from Falernian jars? What Massic wines tremble beneath such stars? O, I knew not; and, lo, this is Love's wine, Whence I such draughts, e'en I, need not decline. Vanquish'd, I wholly faint these airs along; I am no match, not I, for draughts so strong. But wherefore fear I their blest strength divine? Behold the water mingled with the wine! R. WI.
CLXXI.
_In die resurrectionis dominicae venit ad sepulchrum Magdalena ferens aromata._
Quin et tu quoque busta tui Phoenicis adora; Tu quoque fer tristes, mens mea, delicias. Si nec aromata sunt, nec quod tibi fragrat amomum; Qualis Magdalina est messis odora manu. Est quod aromatibus praestat, quod praestat amomo: Haec tibi mollicula, haec gemmea lacrymula. Et lacryma est aliquid: neque frustra Magdala flevit: Sentiit haec, lacrymas non nihil esse suas. His illa, et tunc cum Domini caput iret amomo, Invidiam capitis fecerat esse pedes. Nunc quoque cum sinus huic tanto sub aromate sudet, Plus capit ex oculis, quo litet, illa suis. Christe, decent lacrymae: decet isto rore rigari Vitae hoc aeternum mane tuumque diem.
_On the day of our Lord's resurrection, the Magdalene bearing spices cometh to the sepulchre._ Marc. xvi. 1; Luc. xxiv. 1.
Come thou too, thou; kneel by thy Phoenix' tomb; Bring thy poor offerings too, my soul, and come. With thee no herbs and fragrant spice are seen-- Such odorous tribute gave the Magdalene; But these--no herbs nor spices equal them-- These little liquid drops, each tear a gem. One tear is much: thine did not fall in vain, Sweet Magdalene; thou knewest the tears were gain. With these--her Lord's head in amomum laid-- The humble feet the head's despair she made. Now, while her breast moist with such fragrance lies, She in a strife draws sweeter from her eyes. Lord Christ, these tears are well: well fits it too Life's everlasting morn drip with such dew. A.
CLXXII.
_In cicatrices Domini adhuc superstites._ Luc. xxiv. 31.
Arma vides; arcus, pharetramque levesque sagittas, Et quocunque fuit nomine miles Amor. His fuit usus Amor: sed et haec fuit ipse; suumque Et jaculum, et jaculis ipse pharetra suis. Nunc splendent tantum, et deterso pulvere belli E memori pendent nomina magna tholo. Tempus erit tamen, haec irae quando arma pharetramque, Et sobolem pharetrae spicula tradet Amor. Heu, qua tunc anima, quo stabit conscia vultu, Quum scelus agnoscet dextera quaeque suum? Improbe, quae dederis, cernes ibi vulnera, miles, Qua tibi cunque tuus luserit arte furor. Seu digito suadente tuo mala laurus inibat Temporibus; sacrum seu bibit hasta latus: Sive tuo clavi saevum rubuere sub ictu; Seu puduit jussis ire flagella tuis. Improbe, quae dederis, cernes ibi vulnera, miles: Quod dederis vulnus, cernere, vulnus erit. Plaga sui vindex clavosque rependet et hastam: Quoque rependet, erit clavus et hasta sibi. Quis tam terribiles, tam justas moverit iras? Vulnera pugnabunt, Christe, vel ipsa tibi.
_On the scars of the Lord still remaining._
Arms see--bows, quiver, arrows flying far, And every style in which Love went to war. These arms Love used--nay, Himself was: His own Dart and darts' quiver was Himself alone. Now they but shine, and, dusty battle ended, In treasur'd glory are on high suspended. Time comes when unto Wrath these arms, both quiver And quiver's offspring, darts, Love will deliver. Ah, with what thoughts, what countenance wilt thou stand When its own guilt comes home to each right hand? Wretch, thou wilt see the wounds which thou hast made, And with what fatal skill thy fury play'd: Whether with bloody wreath thy fingers plied His temples, or thy spear drank His dear side; Or 'neath thy blow nails turned a cruel red, Or the scourge blush'd as at thy call it sped. Wretch, there the wounds thou gavest thou shalt see: To see the wound thou gav'st a wound shall be. Stroke self-avenging follows nails and spear: Its nail and spear of recompense are here. Such awful righteous wrath who would excite? Thy very wounds, O Christ, for Thee will fight. R. WI.
CLXXIII.
_Pacem meam do vobis._ Joan. xiv. 27.
Bella vocant: arma, o socii, nostra arma paremus Atque enses: nostros scilicet, ah, jugulos. Cur ego bella paro, cum Christus det mihi pacem? Quod Christus pacem dat mihi, bella paro. Ille dedit, nam quis potuit dare certior autor? Ille dedit pacem: sed dedit ille suam.
_My peace I give unto you._
War calls: O friends, our arms let us prepare, And swords; forsooth, our throats let us lay bare. Why war prepare, if Christ His peace afford? Because Christ gives me peace, I take the sword. He gave--what surer giver can be shown? He gave the peace, but then He gave His own. R. WI.
CLXXIV.
_In D. Paulum illuminatum simul et excaecatum._ Act. ix. 8, 9.
Quae, Christe, ambigua haec bifidi tibi gloria teli est, Quod simul huic oculos abstulit atque dedit? Sancta dies animi, hac oculorum in nocte, latebat; Te ut possit Paulus cernere, caecus erat.
_Paul's conversion and blindness._
Why, Lord, this twofold glory of Thy ray, Giving him sight whose sight it takes away? Paul in that night God's inner light shall find: That he may see The Christ his eyes are blind. CL.
CLXXV.
_Ego sum Via. Ad Judaeos spretores Christi._ Joan. xiv. 6.
O sed nec calcanda tamen: pes improbe, pergis? Improbe pes, ergo hoc coeli erat ire viam? Ah pereat, Judaec ferox, pes improbus ille, Qui coeli tritam sic facit esse viam.
_I am the Way. To the Jewish despisers of Christ._
Not to be trampled on, though: vile foot, stay; Vile foot, is this to tread the heavenly Way? Let that fierce Jewish foot to death be given, Which thus wears out the blessed Way to heaven. R. WI.
CLXXVI.
_In nocturnum et hyemale iter infantis Domini._ Matt. ii. 19-21.
Ergo viatores teneros, cum Prole parentem, Nox habet hos, queis est digna nec ulla dies. Nam quid ad haec Pueri vel labra genasve parentis? Heu, quid ad haec facient oscula, nox et hyems! Lilia ad haec facerent, faceret rosa; quicquid et halat Aeterna Zephyrus qui tepet in viola. Hi meruere, quibus vel nox sit nulla; vel ulla Si sit, eat nostra purius illa die. Ecce sed hos quoque nox et hyems clausere tenellos: Et quis scit, quid nox, quid meditetur hyems? Ah, ne quid meditetur hyems saevire per Austros, Quaeque solet nigros nox mala ferre metus! Ah, ne noctis eat currus non mollibus Euris, Aspera ne tetricos nuntiet aura Notos! Heu, quot habent tenebrae, quot vera pericula secum, Quot noctem dominam quantaque monstra colunt! Quot vaga quae falsis veniunt ludibria formis! Trux oculus, Stygio concolor ala Deo! Seu veris ea, sive vagis stant monstra figuris; Virginei satis est hinc, satis inde metus. Ergo veni; totoque veni resonantior arcu, Cynthia, praegnantem clange procul pharetram. Monstra vel ista vel illa, tuis sint meta sagittis: Nec fratris jaculum certior aura vehat. Ergo veni, totoque veni, flagrantior ore, Dignaque Apollineas sustinuisse vices. Scis bene quid deceat Phoebi lucere sororem: Ex his, si nescis, Cynthia, disce genis. O tua, in his, quanto lampas formosior iret! Nox suam, ab his, quanto malit habere diem! Quantum ageret tacitos haec luna modestior ignes, Atque verecundis sobria staret equis! Luna, tuae non est rosa tam pudibunda diei, Nec tam Virgineo fax tua flore tremit. Ergo veni; sed et astra, tuas age, Cynthia, turmas: Illa oculos pueri, quos imitentur, habent. Hinc oculo, hinc astro: at parili face nictat utrumque; Aetheris os, atque os aethereum Pueri. Aspice, quam bene res utriusque deceret utrumque! Quam bene in alternas mutua regna manus! Ille oculus coeli hoc si staret in aethere frontis; Sive astrum hoc Pueri fronte sub aetherea. Si Pueri hoc astrum aetherea sub fronte micaret, Credat et hunc oculum non minus esse suum. Ille oculus coeli, hoc si staret in aethere frontis, Non minus in coelis se putet esse suis. Tam pulchras variare vices cum fronte Puelli, Cumque Puelli oculis aether et astra queant. Astra quidem vellent; vellent aeterna pacisci Foedera mutatae sedis inire vicem. Aether et ipse, licet numero tam dispare, vellet Mutatis oculis tam bona pacta dari. Quippe iret coelum quanto melioribus astris, Astra sua hos oculos si modo habere queat! Quippe astra in coelo quantum meliore micarent, Si frontem hanc possint coelum habuisse suum. Aether et astra velint: frustra velit aether et astra: Ecce negat Pueri frons, oculique negant. Ah, neget illa, negent illi: nam quem aethera mallent Isti oculi? aut frons haec quae magis astra velit? Quid si aliquod blanda face lene renideat astrum? Lactea si coeli terque quaterque via est? Blandior hic oculus, roseo hoc qui ridet in ore; Lactea frons haec est terque quaterque magis. Ergo negent, coelumque suum sua sidera servent: Sidera de coelis non bene danda suis. Ergo negant: seque ecce sua sub nube recondunt, Sub tenera occidui nube supercilii: Nec claudi contenta sui munimine coeli, Quaerunt in gremio matris ubi lateant. Non nisi sic tactis ubi nix tepet illa pruinis, Castaque non gelido frigore vernat hyems. Scilicet iste dies tam pulchro vespere tingi Dignus; et hos soles sic decet occidere. Claudat purpureus qui claudit vesper Olympum; Puniceo placeas tu tibi, Phoebe, toro; Dum tibi lascivam Thetis auget adultera noctem, Pone per Hesperias strata pudenda rosas. Illas nempe rosas, quas conscia purpura pinxit; Culpa pudorque suus queis dedit esse rosas. Hos soles, niveae noctes, castumque cubile, Quod purum sternet per mare virgo Thetis; Hos, sancti flores; hos, tam sincera decebant Lilia; quaeque sibi non rubuere rosae. Hos, decuit sinus hic; ubi toto sidere proni Ecce lavant sese lacteo in oceano. Atque lavent: tandemque suo se mane resolvant, Ipsa dies ex hoc ut bibat ore diem.
_On the night and winter journey of the Infant Lord._
These tender travellers, feel they Night's dark sway, Mother and Child, too good for whitest day? For how will mother's cheeks, or lips of Child, How kisses fare, from Night and Winter wild? With lilies these, with roses, should be blest, Or sweetest breath of violet-perfum'd West. Such travellers merited to have no night, Or, if at all, one whiter than our light. Winter and Night these tender ones enclose, And what Night plots, or Winter, ah, who knows? Ah, lest fell Winter with its north-winds rage, Ill-omen'd Night its wonted fears engage. Ah, lest rough east-winds should Night's chariot draw, Or harsh south-winds should shake the heart with awe. What real perils troop in Darkness' train, Over what monsters Night extends her reign: What vagrant phantoms, which in false shapes go, Stern-ey'd, black-pinion'd, like the gods below! But standing forth in false forms or in true, For these, for those, a Virgin's dread is due. Come then, come, Cynthia, with resounding bow, And clang thy full-charg'd quiver at the foe. These monsters, those, thy darts unerring share, Nor truer aim thy brother's arrows bear: Come, then, O come, with all thy face a-flame, Worthy thyself to take Apollo's name. Thou know'st how Phoebus' sister ought to shine; If not, learn, Cynthia, from these cheeks divine. Placed here thy torch more beauty would display, And Night from hence prefer to draw its day; Such moon more modest shed its silent beam, And shamefac'd stay her softly-going team. O Moon, thy day no rose so chaste resembles, Thy torch with no such virgin beauty trembles. Come then, but bring thy troops of stars likewise; For they can try to shine like the Child's eyes. An eye, a star, twinkling with equal grace, The face of heaven and the Child's heavenly face. How well the charm of each transferr'd would show, From hand to hand the mutual sceptres go! Whether heaven's eye should deck His skiey brow, Or the Child's star adorn heaven's forehead now. If the Child's star on heaven's forehead shone, That eye would seem to Him not less His own. Place on His skiey forehead heaven's eye, Not less 'twould deem itself in its own sky. Such interchanges might the stars and skies Make charmingly with the Child's brow and eyes. For change of place the stars indeed might like An everlasting treaty now to strike; And differing though in numbers, e'en the skies Might wish to bargain for a change of eyes. With how much better stars the sky would shine, If as its stars it had these eyes divine! The stars would shine in how much better heaven, If as their sky this brow divine were given! So sky and stars may choose--in vain they choose; For the Child's brow and His fair eyes refuse. Ah, wisely; for these eyes what better heaven Could wish? what better stars to brow be given? What though some gentle star more softly gleams? What if heaven's way thrice, four times, milky seems? Softer this eye which smiles in ruddy face; This milk-white brow, thrice, four times is its grace. To quit their heaven, let then these stars deny; Stars ought not to be ta'en from their own sky. They do deny; and soon in cloud are hid, In tender shadow of the drooping lid. Nor with their own defence content they rest, But seek a hiding-place in mother's breast. Thus the snow melts where His warm touch is plac'd, And genial Spring blooms out of Winter chaste. Such day such evening-dew deserves to drink; Such suns in such a bed deserve to sink. Sky-closing Eve, thy purple veil entwine, Sun, thy luxurious couch incarnadine; While wanton Thetis day too early closes, Thy shameless bed place 'mid Hesperian roses; Roses, forsooth, by conscious blushes painted, By sin with its own tell-tale redness tainted. Nights snowy-white, chaste couch to these suns be, Which virgin Thetis spreads o'er lucent sea; All-holy flowers, lilies inviolate, Roses with innocent blush upon them wait. Be theirs this bosom, where reclin'd all night They bathe themselves in ocean milky-white. And let them bathe, till their own morn say, rise; And Day itself drink splendour from these eyes. R. WI.
CLXXVII.
_Non dico, me rogaturum Patrem pro vobis._ Joan. xvi. 26.
Ah tamen ipse roga: tibi scilicet ille roganti Esse nequit durus, nec solet esse, Pater. Ille suos omni facie te figit amores; Inque tuos toto effunditur ore sinus. Quippe, tuos spectans oculos, se spectat in illis; Inque tuo, Jesu, se fovet ipse sinu. Ex te metitur sese, et sua numina discit: Inde repercussus redditur ipse sibi. Ille tibi se, te ille sibi par nectit utrinque: Tam tuus est, ut nec sit magis ille suus. Ergo roga: ipse roga: tibi scilicet ille roganti Esse nequit durus, nec solet esse, Pater. Illum ut ego rogitem? Hoc, eheu, non ore rogandum; Ore satis puras non faciente preces. Illum ego si rogitem, quis scit quibus ille procellis Surgat, et in miserum hoc quae tonet ira caput? Isto etiam forsan veniet mihi fulmen ab ore: Saepe isto certe fulmen ab ore venit. Ille una irati forsan me cuspide verbi, Uno me nutu figet, et interii: Non ego, non rogitem: mihi scilicet ille roganti Durior esse potest, et solet esse, Pater. Immo rogabo: nec ore meo tamen: immo rogabo Ore meo, Jesu, scilicet ore tuo.
_I do not say that I will pray the Father for you._
Yea, Lord, ask Thou: He is not wont to be, He cannot prove unkind, if ask'd of Thee. With favouring eyes He makes Thee all His love; Toward Thine heart, Lord, His whole affections move. Beholding Thy fair eyes Himself He sees; In Thy pure breast Himself He cherishes. By Thee He metes Himself, His godhead learns, And, sweet reversion! to Himself returns. He Thee, Thou He, in one Ye intertwine; He is His own no more, He is so Thine. Yea, Lord, ask Thou: He is not wont to be, He cannot prove unkind, if ask'd of Thee. Shall these lips, Lord, ask Him? But how should they? With rightful words and pure they fail to pray. If I should ask Him, then, what tempests dread, What anger thundering o'er this wretched head! His look perchance would gleam as lightning down-- Yea, oft, I know, as lightning falls His frown. Perchance the javelin of one angry word, One nod, would slay, and I should die unheard. I? I'll not ask: Lord, He is wont to be, He easy proves unkind, if ask'd of me. Yet, stay: I'll ask:--not with these lips of mine; Yea, with my lips,--my lips, Lord, namely Thine. A.
CLXXVIII.
_In die ascensionis dominicae._ Act. i. 9, 10.
Usque etiam nostros te, Christe, tenemus amores? Heu, coeli quantam hinc invidiam patimur! Invidiam patiamur: habent sua sidera coeli, Quaeque comunt tremulas crispa tot ora faces; Phoebenque et Phoebum, et tot pictae vellera nubis, Vellera, quae rosea Sol variavit acu. Quantum erat, ut sinerent hac una nos face ferri? Una sit hic: sunt et sint ibi mille faces. Nil agimus: nam tu quia non ascendis ad illum, Aether[85] descendit, Christe, vel ipse tibi.
{Nyn eti hemeteron se, Christe, echomen ton erota? Ouranou oun hosson ton phthonon hos echomen; Alla echomen. echei hea men ta d' agalmata aither, Astra te kai Phoibon kai kala ton nephelon. Hosson een, hemin ophr' eie hen tode astron? Astron hen hemin e; eisi toi astr' hekaton. Panta maten. hoti, Christe, sy ouk anebaines es auton, Autos men katebe ouranos eis se teos.}
_On the day of the Lord's ascension._
Still do we keep Thee here, O Christ, our Love? Ah, envy much we gain from Heaven above! But be it so: Heaven is with stars a-blaze, And countless orbs that trick their tremulous rays: Moon, sun, and colour'd clouds, a fleecy store, By Evening's rosy touch embroider'd o'er. 'Twere little they should leave one light below: Let one be here, a thousand there may glow. 'Tis vain: since Thou ascendest not on high, To Thee, O Christ, descends the very sky. R. WI.
CLXXIX.
_Caecus implorat Christum._ Marc. x. 46-52.
Improba turba, tace. Mihi tam mea vota propinquant, Et linguam de me vis tacuisse meam? Tunc ego tunc taceam, mihi cum meus ille loquetur: Si nescis, oculos vox habet ista meos. O noctis miserere meae, miserere; per illam In te quae primo riserit ore, diem. O noctis miserere meae, miserere; per illam Quae, nisi te videat, nox velit esse, diem. O noctis miserere meae, miserere; per illam In te quam fidei nox habet ipsa, diem. Haec animi tam clara dies rogat illam oculorum: Illam, oro, dederis; hanc mihi ne rapias.
{Nykt' eleeson emen, eleeson. nai toi ekeino, Christe, emou emar, nyx hod' emeio echei. Ophthalmon men ekeino, Theos, deetai tode gnomes; Me moi tout' aires, dos moi ekeino phaos.}[86]
_The blind man implores Christ._
Be silent, crowd: my prayers so near me come, And do you bid my pleading tongue be dumb, Before my Lord to me His speech addresses? Know, then, that voice of His my eyes possesses. Pity my night, Lord, pity; by that day Which smiled on me in Thee with earliest ray: Pity my night, Lord, pity; by that day Which if it sees Thee not, for night would pray: Pity my night, Lord, pity; by that day Which in faith's dimness fades not quite away. My mind's clear day bids my eyes' day awake: This grant, O Lord, nor the other from me take. R. WI.
CLXXX.
_Quis ex vobis si habeat centum oves, et perdiderit unam ex illis, &c._ Luc. xv. 4.
O ut ego angelicis fiam bona gaudia turmis! Me quoque solicito quaere per arva gradu. Mille tibi tutis ludunt in montibus agni, Quos potes haud dubia dicere voce tuos. Unus ego erravi, quo me meus error agebat; Unus ego fuerim gaudia plura tibi. Gaudia non faciunt, quae nec fecere timorem; Et plus quae donant ipsa peric'la placent. Horum quos retines fuerit tibi latior usus: De me quem recipis dulcior usus erit.
{Eis men ego, he mou plane periegen, alemi; Eis de toi sos esomai gethosynai pleones. Amnos ho me poion phobon ou poiei de te charma. Meizon ton men, emou chreia de glykytere.}
_What man of you having a hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, &c._
O might I fire the angel-bands with joy, Thy seeking steps o'er anxious plains employ! A thousand lambs on the safe mountains play; All Thine they are, Thou certainly canst say. The one that err'd and stray'd behold in me; Be I the one to bring more joy to Thee! They give no joy who never caus'd a fear; Dangers themselves, o'ercome, the more endear. Of those retain'd, more wide be the employment; Of me recover'd, sweeter the enjoyment. R. WI.
CLXXXI.
_Herodi D. Jacobum obtruncanti._ Act. xii. 2.
Nescis Jacobus quantum hunc tibi debeat ictum, Quaeque tua in sacrum saeviat ira caput. Scilicet ipso illi donasti hoc ense coronam, Quo sacrum abscideras scilicet ense caput. Abscissum pensare caput quae possit abunde, Sola haec tam saeva et sacra corona fuit.
{En men, Iakobe, kephalen toi xiphos aperen, Hen tode kai stephanon xiphos edoke teon. Mounon ameibesthai kephalen, Iakobe, dynaito, Keinos hod' hos kalos martyriou stephanos.}
_To Herod beheading St. James._
Know'st not how much James owes thee for this stroke, Or how on his blest head thine anger broke. Lo, to himself a crown thou dost accord Forsooth with that selfsame beheading sword. Only this sacred sanguinary crown That sunder'd head was able to weigh down. R. WI.
CLXXXII.
_Caeci receptis oculis Christum sequuntur._ Matt. xx. 34.
Ecce manu imposita Christus nova sidera ponit: Sectantur patriam sidera fida manum. Haec manus his, credo, coelum est: haec scilicet astra Suspicor esse olim quae geret ille manu.[87]
{Cheir epiballomene Christou epeballen opopon Astra; opedeuei keina ge cheiri Theou. Cheir haue toutois pelen ouranos. astra gar oimai En cheri taut' oisei Christos epeita hee.}
_The blind men having received their sight follow Christ._
See Christ with outstretcht hand new stars create, Which on that hand with due observance wait. That hand, sure, is their heaven: these stars are they Which He will hold in His right hand one day. R. WI.
CLXXXIII.
_Zachaeus in sycomoro._ Luc. xix. 4.
Quid te, quid jactas alienis fructibus, arbor? Quid tibi cum foliis non, sycomore, tuis? Quippe istic ramo qui jam tibi nutat ab alto, Mox e divina Vite racemus erit.
{Tipt' epikompazeis keneon xeino de te karpo, Kai phyllois semne me, sykomore, teois? Kai gar hod' ekkremnes sou nyn meteoros ap' ernous, Ampelou ho kladon essetai ouraniou.}
_Zaccheus in the sycamore-tree._
Why of strange fruits dost boast, O sycamore? Of leaves not thine who gave thee such a store? He who waves to and fro on bough of thine, A cluster soon will be of the True Vine. R. WI.
CLXXXIV.
_On our crucified Lord naked and bloody._
Th' have left Thee naked, Lord: O that they had! This garment too I would they had deny'd. Thee with Thyselfe they have too richly clad, Opening the purple wardrobe of Thy side. O never could bee found garments too good For Thee to weare, but these of Thine own blood.
CLXXXV.
_Sampson to his Dalilah._
Could not once blinding me, cruell, suffice? When first I look't on thee, I lost mine eyes.
SECULAR EPIGRAMS.
I.
_Upon Ford's two Tragedyes, 'Love's Sacrifice' and 'The Broken Heart.'_
Thou cheat'st us, Ford; mak'st one seeme two by art: What is Love's Sacrifice but The Broken Heart?
II.
_Vpon the Faire Ethiopian, sent to a gentlewoman._
Lo here the faire Chariclea, in whom strove So false a fortune and so true a love! Now after all her toyles by sea and land, O may she but arrive at your white hand! Her hopes are crown'd; onely she feares that than Shee shall appeare true Ethiopian.
III.
_On marriage._
I would be married, but I'de have no wife: I would be married to a single life.
IV.
_On Nanus mounted upon an ant._
High-mounted on an ant, Nanus the tall Was throwne, alas, and got a deadly fall; Vnder th' unruly beast's proud feet he lies All torne: with much adoe yet ere he dyes Hee straines these words: Base Envy, doe laugh on: Thus did I fall, and thus fell Phaethon.
V.
_Vpon Venus putting-on Mars his armes._
What, Mars his sword? faire Cytherea, say, Why art thou arm'd so desperately to-day? Mars thou hast beaten naked; and, O then, What needst thou put on armes against poore men?
VI.
_Vpon the same._
Pallas saw Venus arm'd, and straight she cry'd: Come if thou dar'st; thus, thus let us be try'd. Why, foole! saies Venus, thus provok'st thou mee, That being nak't, thou know'st could conquer thee?
VII.
_Out of Martiall._
Foure teeth thou hadst, that, ranck'd in goodly state, Kept thy mouth's gate. The first blast of thy cough left two alone; The second, none. This last cough, Delia, cought-out all thy feare; Th' hast left the third cough now no business here.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
These Secular, or, as the word was, 'Humane' Epigrams, all originally appeared in the volume of 1646, as before, and were continued in the after-editions. It is pleasant to have this recognition of John Ford (I.) by Crashaw. The two Tragedies celebrated, appeared in the same year, 1633. The 'Faire Ethiopian' of II. was doubtless William Lisle's poem so named [Lond. 1632],--not given by Hazlitt, _s.n._ The others are too well known to need annotation. These are all preserved, with a collection of others, in the Tanner MS., as before. G.
Latin Poems.
PART FIRST. SACRED.
II.
EPIGRAMMATA SACRA.
NEVER BEFORE PRINTED.
NOTE.
It is my great privilege to be the first to print the following extensive additions to the _Epigrammata Sacra_ of Crashaw. They are wholly derived from Archbishop Sancroft's MS. in the Bodleian, as described in our Preface (Vol. I. p. xx.-xxiii.) and in the Preface to the present Volume. For their relation to those published by the Author himself and in the editions of 1634 and 1670, see our Essay, as before. As with Crashaw's own collection (of 1634), the Epigrams seem to have been composed and written down on the spur of the moment as a subject struck him, and hence there is the same absence of arrangement: nor is it much to be lamented, seeing that each is independent. As a rule, I follow the order of the manuscript. For translations of fifteen of these fifty-five Epigrams, viz. Nos. 8, 9, 19, 24, 26, 32, 34, 35, 39, 46, 48, 49, 51, 52, 53, and 55, I am indebted, as for so much more throughout, to my excellent poet-friend the Rev. RICHARD WILTON, M.A., as before: for the others, in Fuller's phrase, 'my meanness is responsible,' except in a few instances wherein Crashaw has himself furnished renderings, or at least little poems less or more corresponding with the Latin; as pointed out in the places. G.
I.
Act. xxviii. 3.
Paule, nihil metuas, non fert haec vipera virus: Virtutem vestrae vult didicisse manus. Oscula, non morsus; supplex, non applicat hostis. Nec metuenda venit, sed miseranda magis.
_St. Paul and the viper._
Paul, fear thou nought; no poison bears this asp: It seeks to learn the virtue of thy hand. Not as a foe, but suppliant, it would clasp; Not fear, but pity, it would fain command. G.
II.
Joan. vi. 14, 26.
Jam credunt, Deus es: Deus est, qui teste palato, Quique ipso demum est judice dente Deus. Scilicet haec sapiunt miracula: de quibus alvus Proficere, et possit pingue latus fluere. Haec sua fecisti populo miracula credunt. Gens pia, et in ventrem relligiosa suum!
_The miracle of the loaves._
Now truly they believe that Thou art God!-- God witnessed by palate and by tooth!-- They know the smack of miracles that load And swell their paunches; yea, believe, forsooth. To a most pious race, Lord, Thou appealest, And stomachs most believing Thou revealest. G.
III.
_In lacrymas Christi patientis._
Saeve dolor! potes hoc? oculos quoque perpluis istos? O quam non meritas haec arat unda genas! O lacrymas ego flere tuas, ego dignior istud, Quod tibi cunque cadit roris, habere meum. Siccine? me tibi flere tuas! ah, mi bone Jesu, Si possem lacrymas vel mihi flere meas! Flere meas? immo immo tuas, hoc si modo possem: Non possem lacrymas, non ego flere meas. Flere tuas est flere meas, tua lacryma, Christe, Est mea vel lacryma est si tua, causa mea est.
_Of the tears of the suffering Christ._
O cruel Pain! I ask thee how Thou canst do what thou'rt doing now? Dost thou also--or is't my fears?-- Drench His sweet eyes with scalding tears? O how that show'r furrows amain His undeserving cheek, as rain! More meet it were that I should know The tears that from His anguish flow: More meet it were that I should feel All dews that down His wan cheek steal: O is it thus? Would that it were! That I might weep Thy laden tear: Yea, blessed Jesus, would that I For mine own self could weeping lie: Mine own tears weep? nay, they are Thine, For all Thy tears, alas, are mine. Ah, not a tear that Thou didst shed, When sorrow bow'd Thy sacred head, But came of human woe or guilt, For which at last Thy Blood was spilt; And even if the tears were Thine, Being for my sake, they're rather mine. G.
IV.
_In sepulcrum Domini._ Joan. xix. 38-42.
Jam cedant, veteris cedant miracula saxi, Unde novus subito fluxerat amne latex. Tu felix rupes, ubi se lux tertia tollet, Flammarum sacro fonte superba flues.
_The sepulchre of the Lord._
Yield place, ye wonders of the ancient stone Whence sudden-gushing streams were seen to flow: When the third day, blest rock, on thee has shone, Proudly with fount of sacred fire thou'lt glow. G.
V.
_Ubi amorem praecipit._ Joan. xiii. 14.
Sic magis in numeros morituraque carmina vivit Dulcior extrema voce caducus olor; Ut tu inter strepitus odii, et tua funera, Jesu, Totus amor liquido totus amore sonas.
_The parting words of Love._
E'en as the dying swan, sweeter for failing breath, Dies not, but rather lives, in her last wistful song, Dost Thou, Lord, mid hate's din and close-approaching death, As Love, with melting voice, Thy dying love prolong. G.
VI.
Act. xii. 23.
Euge, Deus--pleno populus fremit undique plausu-- Certe non hominem vox sonat, euge, Deus! Sed tamen iste Deus qui sit, vos dicite, vermes, Intima turba illi; vos fovet ille sinu.
_Herod devoured of worms._
Behold a god! full-voic'd the people cry; Not man, but god, with shouts they him attest. What kind of god he is, ye worms, reply-- A crowd that know the secrets of his breast. G.
VII.
_Bonum est nobis esse hic._
Cur cupis hic adeo, dormitor Petre, manere? Somnia non alibi tam bona, Petre, vides.
_It is good to be here._
Why seek'st thou, drowsy Peter, here to stay? Elsewhere such pleasant dreams thou see'st not, eh?[88] G.
VIII.
_Videte lilia agrorum ... nec Salomon, &c._ Matt. vi. 29.
Candide rex campi, cui floris eburnea pompa est, Deque nivis fragili vellere longa toga; Purpureus Salomon impar tibi dicitur esto. Nempe, quod est melius, par fuit ille rosis.
_Look on the lilies of the field ... not Solomon, &c._
O fairest monarch of the enamell'd field, Whose is the blossom'd pomp of ivory splendour, And whose the fleeces, snowy-white, which yield Long-flowing robes immaculate and tender. Ah, not like lilies--'tis divinely spoken-- Was Solomon, with sin encrimsoned; But not unlike--and 'tis a better token-- Roses tear-wash'd, which hang the blushing head. R. WI.
IX.
Marc. vii. 33, 36.
Voce manuque simul linguae tu, Christe, ciendae: Sistendae nudis vocibus usus eras. Sane at lingua equus est pronis effusus habenis: Vox ciet, at sistit non nisi tota manus.
_The deaf healed._
To wake the tongue--voice, hand too, Christ would use; To check it, but a bare word of command. Really, the tongue is as a horse rein'd-loose-- Starts at a word, stay'd only with strong hand. R. WI.
X.
_In beatae Virginis verecundiam._
Non est hoc matris, sed, crede, modestia nati, Quod virgo in gremium dejicit ora suum. Illic jam Deus est, oculus jam Virginis ergo, Ut coelum videat, dejiciendus erit.
_The modesty of the blessed Virgin._
Not humbleness of mother, but of Child, Shines in the downward gaze of Virgin mild. The Virgin gazes where her God doth lie: She must look down that Heaven may meet her eye. G.
XI.
_Mitto vos sicut agnos in medio luporum._
Hos quoque, an hos igitur saevi lacerabitis agnos? Hic saltem, hic vobis non licet esse lupis. At sceleris nulla est clementia, at ergo scietis, Agnus qui nunc est, est aliquando Leo.
_I send you as lambs in the midst of wolves._
These lambs also, e'en these, will ye, then, fiercely tear? Here to be wolves, at least here, ye will never dare. Alas, the wicked still are cruel; but ye'll learn He Who is now a Lamb will one day Lion turn. G.
XII.
_Christus a daemone vectus._ Matt. iv.
Ergo ille, angelicis o sarcina dignior alis, Praepete sic Stygio, sic volet ille vehi. Pessime! nec laetare tamen tu scilicet inde, Non minus es daemon, non minus ille Deus.
_Christ carried by the devil._
Will He--O burden worthier angels' wings!-- Deign to be carried by swift fiend of hell? Vilest! to thee this no advancement brings; He no less God, thou no less demon fell. G.
XIII.
Joan. i. 23.
Vox ego sum, dicis: tu vox es, sancte Joannes? Si vox es, sterilis cur tibi mater erat? Quam fuit ista tuae mira infoecundia matris! In vocem sterilis rarior esse solet.
_St. John the Baptist a voice._
'I am a voice, a voice,' says holy John. If so, how should thy mother barren be? This is unfruitfulness to muse upon; Tongue-barren women we so seldom see! G.
XIV.
_Vox Joannes, Christus Verbum._
Monstrat Joannes Christum, haud res mira videtur: Vox unus, verbum scilicet alter erat. Christus Joanne est prior, haec res mira videtur: Voce sua verbum non solet esse prius.
_John the Voice, Christ the Word._
John points out Christ; no wonder this we deem: One is a Voice, the other is the Word. Christ is before John; wondrous this may seem; For when was word before a voice e'er heard? G.
XV.
_In natales Domini pastoribus nuntiatos._ Luc. ii. 8-19.
Ad te sydereis, ad te, bone Tityre, pennis Purpureus juvenis gaudia tanta vehit. O bene te vigilem, cui gaudia tanta feruntur, Ut neque dum vigilas, te vigilare putes. Quem sic monstrari voluit pastoribus aether, Pastor an agnus erat? Pastor et agnus erat. Ipse Deus cum Pastor erit, quis non erit agnus? Quis non pastor erit, cum Deus agnus erit?
_On the birth of the Lord announced to the shepherds._
To thee, good Tityrus, on starry wings _shepherd_ The royal angel such 'glad tidings' brings. Surely the happy watcher never thought That he was watching when such joys were brought. And He, Whom thus the heavenly host reveal'd To shepherds 'mid their flocks in open field, Tell me, was He a Shepherd or a Lamb? Shepherd and Lamb at once; He took each name. Since, then, our God a Shepherd's name doth wear, The name of lamb who will not wish to bear? And who will not be shepherd, since God deigns To be a Lamb, for suffering of sin's pains? G.
XVI.
_In Atheniensem merum._ Act. xvii. 28.
Ipsos naturae thalamos sapis, imaque rerum Concilia, et primae quicquid agunt tenebrae, Quid dubitet refluum mare, quid vaga sydera volvant; Christus et est studiis res aliena tuis. Sic scire, est tantum nescire loquacius illa: Qui nempe illa sapit sola, nec illa sapit.
_Of the 'blue-blood' pride of the Athenians._
Thou knowest Nature's secret things And all her deepest counsellings-- All wonders of the primal Night Conceal'd from prying human sight; Knowest how the sea-tide pauses, The wandering stars too in their causes. But while to thee, in all else wise, Christ from thy thoughts an alien lies, In earthly studies to advance Is but loquacious ignorance; And he whose wisdom is but such, Of those things even knows not much. O, study thou beneath the Cross, Or all thy labour is but loss! G.
XVII.
_Ego vitis vera._ Joan. xv. 1.
Credo quidem, sed et hoc hostis te credidit ipse Caiaphas, et Judas credidit ipse, reor. Unde illis, Jesu, vitis nisi vera fuisses, Tanta tui potuit sanguinis esse sitis?
_I am the True Vine._
'Believe!' e'en Caiaphas, thy foe, believed Thee the True Vine; and Judas too, I think. Had they not, Lord, Thee as True Vine received, Could they have thirsted so Thy Blood to drink? G.
XVIII.
_Abscessum Christi queruntur Discipuli._
Ille abiit, jamque o quae nos mala cunque manetis, Sistite jam in nostras tela parata neces. Sistite; nam quibus haec vos olim tela paratis, Abscessu Domini jam periere sui.
_The departure of Christ lamented by the Disciples._
The Lord is gone; and now, all evils dire, Hold back the darts which for our death you flourish: Yea, hold them back, nor waste on us your ire, For with our Lord's departure, lo, we perish. G.
XIX.
_In descensum Spiritus Sancti._ Act. ii. 1-4.
Quae vehit auratos nubes dulcissima nimbos? Quis mitem pluviam lucidus imber agit? Agnosco, nostros haec nubes abstulit ignes: Haec nubes in nos jam redit igne pari. O nubem gratam et memorem, quae noluit ultra Tam saeve de se nos potuisse queri! O bene; namque alio non posset rore rependi, Coelo exhalatum quod modo terra dedit.
_On the descent of the Holy Spirit._
What sweetest cloud comes wafting golden shower? What gentle raindrops bring their shining dower? The cloud which stole our flame, our heart's desire, This very cloud returns with equal fire. O kindly-mindful cloud, which could not brook That we should mourn thee with so sad a look! 'Tis well; no other dew had countervail'd That which from earth to heaven was late exhal'd. R. WI.
XX.
Act. x. 39.
Quis malus appendit de mortis stipite vitam? O malus agricola, hoc inseruisse fuit? Immo, quis appendit vitae hac ex arbore mortem? O bonus Agricola, hoc inseruisse fuit. What wicked one affix'd Life to Death's tree? O wretched gard'ner, call'st thou this engrafting? Nay, tell me who affix'd Death to Life's tree? O noble Gard'ner, this I call engrafting. G.
XXI.
_Ego sum Ostium._ Joan. x. 9.
Jamque pates, cordisque seram gravis hasta reclusit, Et clavi claves undique te reserant. Ah, vereor, sibi ne manus impia clauserit illas, Quae coeli has ausa est sic aperire fores.
_I am the Doore._
And now th' art set wide ope; the speare's sad art, Lo, hath unlockt Thee at the very heart. He to himselfe--I feare the worst-- And his owne hope, Hath shut these doores of heaven, that durst Thus set them ope. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
Now Thou art open wide; the barrier dear Of Thy great heart unclos'd by cruel spear; And nails as keys unlock Thee everywhere. Ah, he whose wicked hand thus forc'd the gate Of heaven, perhaps at heaven's shut door will wait One day, with outer darkness for his fate. G.
XXII.
_In spinas demtas a Christi capite cruentatas._
Accipe, an ignoscis? de te sata germina, miles. Quam segeti est messis discolor illa suae! O quae tam duro gleba est tam grata colono? Inserit hic spinas: reddit et illa rosas.
_Upon the thornes taken downe from our Lord's head bloody._
Knowst thou this, souldier? 'tis a much-chang'd plant, which yet Thyselfe didst set; 'Tis chang'd indeed: did Autumn e're such beauties bring To shame his Spring? O, who so hard an husbandman could ever find A soyle so kind? Is not the soile a kind one, thinke ye, that returnes Roses for thornes? CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
Take, soldier--know'st them not?--thy planted germs; A harvest how unlike to its seed-corn! What soil yields husbandman such kindly terms? The rose he gathers, where he planted thorn. G.
XXIII.
Joan. iii. 1-21.
Nox erat, et Christum, Doctor male docte, petebas In Christo tenebras depositure tuas. Ille autem multo dum te bonus irrigat ore, Atque per arcanas ducit in alta vias, Sol venit, et primo pandit se flore diei, Ludit et in dubiis aureus horror aquis. Sol oritur; sed adhuc, et adhuc tamen, o bone, nescis. Sol oritur, tecum nox tamen est, et adhuc . . . . . Non coeli, illa fuit, nox fuit illa tua.
_Nicodemus._
'Twas night; and, Teacher all untaught, Thy darkness thou to Christ hast brought But while attent He speaks to thee Benignant words, that thou mayst see, Leading higher still and higher, As thy yearnings do aspire, Guiding thee, by sure grace given, Through secret paths that reach to heaven; Lo, the Sun on thee is risen, Bursting from his cloudy prison, Showing Him, the Life, the Way, Flushing with first bloom of day, Quivering with a golden light Such as on wav'ring seas gleams bright. The Sun is risen; yet darkness lies, Good Nicodemus, on thine eyes; But the night's thine own; for, lo, All heav'n above doth lustrous glow. G.
XXIV.
_Domitiano de S. Johanne ad portam Lat._
Ergo ut inultus eas? sed nec tamen ibis inultus, Sic violare ausus meque meosque deos. Ure oleo, lictor. Oleo parat urere lictor: Sed quem uri lictor credidit, unctus erat. Te quoque sic olei virtus malefida fefellit? Sic tua te Pallas, Domitiane, juvat?
_To Domitian, concerning St. John commanded to be cast into a caldron of boiling oil._
Thou go unpunish'd? That shall never be, Since thou hast dar'd to mock my gods and me. Burn him in oil!--The lictor oil prepares: Behold the Saint anointed unawares! With such elusive virtue was the oil fraught! Such aid thy olive-loving Pallas brought![89] R. WI.
XXV.
_In Baptistam vocem._ Joan. i. 23.
Tantum habuit Baptista loqui, tot flumina rerum, Ut bene Vox fuerit, praetereaque nihil. Ecce autem Verbum est unum tantum ille loquutus: Uno sed Verbo cuncta loquutus erat.
_The voice of the Baptist._
The Baptist had to speak such floods of things, That well he might be Voice and nothing more: But one word only, lo, Christ speaks, which brings In one word all: My soul that Word adore! G.
XXVI.
_In D. Petrum angelo solutum._ Act. xii. 6, 7.
Mors tibi et Herodes instant: cum nuncius ales Gaudia fert, quae tu somnia ferre putas. Quid tantum dedit ille, rogo, tibi? Vincula solvit, Mors tibi et Herodes nonne dedisset idem?
_On St. Peter loosed by the angel._
Death, Herod, press on thee; when angel's wing Brings joys which thou supposest dreams to bring. What gave he thee? Thy chains burst at his touch; But Death and Herod would have given as much. R. WI.
XXVII.
_Relictis omnibus sequuti sunt eum._ Luc. v. 28.
Ad nutum Domini abjecisti retia, Petre. Tam bene non unquam jacta fuere prius. Scilicet hoc recte jacere est tua retia, Petre, Nimirum, Christus cum jubet, abjicere.
_On St. Peter casting away his nets at our Saviour's call._
Thou hast the art on't, Peter, and canst tell To cast thy nets on all occasions well. When Christ calls, and thy nets would have thee stay, To cast them well's to cast them quite away. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
At the Lord's word thy nets were cast away: Never before thy nets so well were cast. Rightly to cast them is to cast away, When once The Master's order has been pass'd. G.
XXVIII.
_Agnus Dei, qui tollit peccata mundi._ Joan. i. 36.
Ergo tot heu, torvas facies, tot in ora leonum, In tot castra lupum qui meat, Agnus erit? Hic tot in horribiles, quot sunt mea crimina, pardos? Hic tot in audaces ungue vel ore feras? Ah melius, pugiles quis enim commiserit istos? Quos sua non faciunt arma vel ira pares.
_The Lamb of God, Who bears away the sins of the world._
Shall He, then, be a Lamb, to go Forth against such various foe? Lions ravenous, great of jaw; Wolves in vast herds, of mighty paw; Pards vengeful, prowling out and in-- Frightful, num'rous as my sin-- Awful of face, and gaunt and grim, Merciless to mangle limb by limb. Ah, goest Thou, gentle One, 'gainst these? And does terror upon Thee seize? O how unequal is the strife, And the prey so grand a life! With such as these to fight art fated? Nor in arms nor passion mated. G.
XXIX.
_Pisces multiplicati._ Joan. xxi. 11.
Quae secreta meant taciti tibi retia verbi, Queis non tam pisces quam capis Oceanum?
_The miraculous draught of fishes._
What nets, hid in Thy silent word, Passest Thou on; By which not fish Thou takest, Lord, But the Ocean? G.
XXX.
_Domine, non solum pedes, sed et caput, &c._ Joan. xiii. 9.
En caput, atque suis quae plus satis ora laborant Sordibus; huc fluvios, ais [et] adde tuos. Nil opus est; namque haec, modo tertius occinat ales, E fluviis fuerint, Petre, lavanda suis.
_Lord, not my feet only, but also my head, &c._
'Behold my head, behold my face, Which sin's filthiest stains deface: Here pour Thy streams:' thou say'st to Me. But, Peter, needs not this for thee; For ere the cock a third time crow, Rivers of its own tears must flow. G.
XXXI.
_Cum tot signa edidisset, non credebant._ Joan. xii. 37.
Quanta amor ille tuus se cunque levaverit ala, Quo tua cunque opere effloruit alta manus; Mundus adest, contraque tonat, signisque reponit Signa, adeo sua sunt numina vel sceleri, Imo, o nec nimii vis sit temeraria verbi, Ille uno sensu vel tua cuncta premit. Tot tantisque tuis mirac'lum hoc objicit unum, Tot tantisque tuis non adhibere fidem.
_Though they beheld so many miracles, they believed not._
However high in Thy great love Thou wingest, And whatsoe'er within Thy hand Thou bringest, Against Thee, with its thunders, stands the world, Sign answering sign; Sin's banners all unfurl'd. Nay--and let not the bold rash word appal-- One thought o' the world makes all Thy wonders fall: Against Thy mightiest signs this one it wields-- To the vast whole of Thine, no faith it yields. G.
XXXII.
_In nubem, quae Dominum abstulit._ Act. i. 9.
O nigra haec! quid enim mihi candida pectora monstrat, Pectora cygneis candidiora genis? Sit vero magis alba, suo magis aurea Phoebo, Quantumcunque sibi candida; nigra mihi est. Nigra mihi nubes! et qua neque nigrior Austros, Vel tulit irati nuntia tela Dei. Nigra! licet nimbos, noctem neque detulit ullam. Si noctem non fert, at rapit, ecce, diem.
_On the cloud which received the Lord._
O, this black cloud! a white breast does it show-- A breast more white than a swan's neck of snow? More bright than golden sunshine let it be! However fair itself, 'tis black to me. From blacker cloud ne'er issu'd stormy blast, Nor thunderbolts of angry heaven were cast. Black! though no showers or shadows round it play; If Night it bring not, yet it takes our Day. R. WI.
XXXIII.
_Vidit urbem, et flevit super eam._ Luc. xix. 41, 42.
Ergo meas spernis lacrymas, urbs perfida? Sperne. Sperne meas, quas o sic facis esse tuas. Tempus erit, lacrymas poterit cum lacryma demum Nostra, nec immerito, spernere spreta tuas.
_He saw the city, and wept over it._
Why scornest thou My tears, deceitful city? Scorn, scorn My tears, and thus thou mak'st them thine. The time will come when thou shalt seek My pity; But I shall scorn thy tears, as thou scorn'st Mine. G.
XXXIV.
_Nec sicut iste publicanus._ Luc. xviii. 11.
Tu quoque dum istius miseri peccata fateris, Quae nec is irato mitius ungue notat; Hic satis est gemino bonus in sua crimina telo. Interea, quid erit, mi Pharisaee, tuis?
_Nor even as this publican._
While thou too dost this wretch's sins confess, Which he with hand and tongue deplores no less; If he 'gainst his own crimes twice just will be, What thinks he meanwhile of the Pharisee? R. WI.
XXXV.
_Accedentes Discipuli excitaverunt eum._ Matt. viii. 25.
Ah, quis erat furor hos, tam raros, solvere somnos? O vos, queis Christi vel sopor invigilat! Illum si somnus tenuit, vos somnia terrent, Somnia tam vanos ingeminata metus. Nil Christi nocuit somnus, mihi credite. Somnus Qui nocuit, vestrae somnus erat fidei.
_His Disciples came and awoke Him._
What madness this, slumbers so rare to break, O ye, for whom even Christ's sleep doth wake! If sleep held Him, ye're terrified by dreams-- Dreams which redouble fear that only seems. Christ's sleep nought injur'd you, indeed 'tis true: Your faith's sleep, and that only, injur'd you. R. WI.
XXXVI.
_In mulierem Canaanaeam cum Domino decertantem._ Matt. xv. 22-28.
Cedit io jam, jamque cadet modo, fortiter urge, Jam tua ni desit dextera, jamque cadet. Nimirum hoc velit ipse, tuo favet ipse triumpho, Ipse tuas tacitus res tuus hostis agit. Quas patitur facit ille manus; ictu ille sub omni est; Atque in te vires sentit, amatque suas. Usque adeo haud tuus hic ferus est, neque ferreus hostis; Usque adeo est miles non truculentus Amor. Illo quam facilis victoria surgit ab hoste, Qui, tantum ut vinci possit, in arma venit!
_The woman of Canaan._
Now He yieldeth, now He falleth, As thy passion on Him calleth: Press thee nigher still and nigher, Urge thee higher still and higher; Cleave and cling, nor let thy hand Cease to plead, nor fearing stand. He thy triumph sees with gladness, Loves thee in thy clinging sadness; Seems thy foe, yet ne'ertheless Yearns in His heart of love to bless; Willing bears thy every blow, That from His own pow'r doth flow; Loves to hear thy interceding, His own voice within thee pleading. Ah, this seeming en'my of thine, Of fierceness giveth thee no sign; For Love no grim soldier is, Rough and severe, denying bliss. Eas'ly is that victory won, When the foe seeks to be undone. G.
XXXVII.
_Quare comedit Magister vester cum peccatoribus, &c._ Matt. ix. 11.
Siccine fraternos fastidis, improbe, morbos, Cum tuus, et gravior, te quoque morbus habet? Tantum ausus medicum morbus sibi quaerere, magnus; Tantum ausus medicum spernere, major erat.
_Wherefore eateth your Master with sinners, &c._
Dost loathe thy brother, Pharisee, Since his disease to Christ he brings? And knowest not that all men see Disease to thee more deadly clings? That he dare seek Healer so great, Shows great his disease to be; That thou dar'st scorn on Him to wait, Shows a greater cleaves to thee. G.
XXXVIII.
_In febricitantem et hydropicum sanatos._ Marc. i. 30, 31; Luc. xiv. 2-4.
Nuper lecta gravem extinxit pia pagina febrem, Hydropi siccos dat modo lecta sinus. Haec vice fraterna quam se miracula tangunt, Atque per alternum fida juvamen amant! Quippe ignes istos his quam bene mersit in undis, Ignibus his illas quam bene vicit aquas!
_Miracles of healing the men sick of fever and of dropsy._
We read within the sacred page Christ quench'd a fever's burning rage; Read that a dropsy's swollen flood Ebb'd at His word e'en as He stood. Well join'd these mir'cles each to other, As loving brother unto brother: How well these waters drown'd that flame, That fire these waters overcame! G.
XXXIX.
_In S. Lucam medicum._ Col. iv. 14.
Hanc, mihi quam miseram faciunt mea crimina vitam, Hanc, medici, longam vestra medela facit. Hoc'ne diu est vixisse? diu, mihi credite, non est Hoc vixisse; diu sed timuisse mori. Tu foliis, Medice alme, tuis medicamina praebes, Et medicaminibus, quae mala summa, malis. Hoc mortem bene vitare est, vitare ferendo. Et vixisse diu est hoc, cito posse mori.
_To St. Luke the physician._
This life my sins with wretchedness make rife, Physicians by their art prolong this life. Is this to live long time? I hear one sigh; This is but fearing a long time to die. Thy leaves, Physician blest, medicines contain E'en for our medicines poor, our chiefest bane. This is to escape death well--in death to lie; And this is to live long--quickly to die. R. WI.
XL.
_Tollat crucem suam, &c._ Matt. xxvii. 32.
Ergo tuam pone; ut nobis sit sumere nostram: Si nostram vis nos sumere, pone tuam. Illa, illa, ingenti quae te trabe duplicat, illa Vel nostra est, nostras vel tulit illa cruces.
_He bears His own cross, &c._
Wherefore Thy cross, O Lord, lay down, That we our own may make it: If ours Thou willest us to own, Thine, Lord, lay down; we'll take it: That, that, I say, with its huge beam, Which Thy prest body doubles; That cross, e'en that, our own we deem, For it has borne our troubles. Our sin Thy burden sendeth; Thy cross our crosses blendeth. G.
XLI.
_In cygneam D. Jesu cantionem._ Joan. xvii.
Quae mella, o quot, Christe, favos in carmina fundis! Dulcis et, ah furias! ah, moribundus olor! Parce tamen, minus hae si sunt mea gaudia voces: Voce quidem dulci, sed moriente canis.
_Upon our Lord's last comfortable discourse with His disciples._
All Hybla's honey, all that sweetnesse can, Flowes in Thy song, O faire, O dying Swan! Yet is the joy I take in't small or none; It is too sweet to be a long-liv'd one. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION. _On the swan-song of our Lord Jesus._
What songs, like honeycomb, your tongue employ, Sweet Swan! but ah, Thou waitest for Death's call. O cease; these sounds are but a doubtful joy; 'Tis a sweet voice, but has a dying fall. G.
XLII.
_Et conspuebant illum._ Marc. xiv. 65.
Quid non tam foede saevi maris audeat ira? Conspuit ecce oculos, sydera nostra, tuos. Forsan et hic aliquis sputo te excaecat, Jesu, Qui debet sputo, quod videt ipse, tuo.
_And they spat upon Him._
What will Wrath's sea, so foully fierce, not dare? It spits upon our stars, Thy eyes so fair. Perchance e'en here some one now spits on Thee Who to Thy spittle owes it, he doth see. G.
XLIII.
_Rogavit eum, ut descenderet et sanaret filium suum._ Joan. iv. 47.
Ille ut eat tecum, in natique tuique salutem? Qui petis; ah nescis, credo, quod ales Amor. Ille ut eat tecum? quam se tua vota morantur! Ille ut eat? tanto serius esset ibi. Ne tardus veniat, Christus tecum ire recusat: Christi nempe ipsum hoc ire moratur iter. Christi nempe viis perit hoc quodcunque meatur: Christi nempe viis vel properare mora est. Hic est, cui tu vota facis tua, Christus: at idem, Crede mihi, dabit haec qui rata, Christus ibi est.
_He besought that He would go with him and heal his son._
That He would go with thee thou pleadest, As for thy child thou intercedest. Ah, little knowest thou how Love, Such as descendeth from Above, Swifter far is than feet can go, Or any motion here below. 'Go with thee?' O how strange request! Thou wouldst later then be blest. That He may not slowlier come, Christ will not travel with thee home, For so to 'go' were to delay; All paths unneeded by The Way. Christ to Whom thou speakest pleading, Christ with Whom thou'rt interceding, He is here, and yet is yonder, Swift as is the bolt of thunder: He thy heart's desire will give; Have thou faith, thy child shall live. G.
XLIV.
_Pavor enim occupaverat eum super capturam piscium._ Luc. v. 9.
Dum nimium in captis per te, Petre, piscibus haeres, Piscibus, ut video, captus es ipse tuis. Rem scio, te praedam Christus sibi cepit: et illi Una in te ex istis omnibus esca fuit.
_For dread came upon him at the great draught of fishes._
Whilst, Peter, thou art so astonished At thy draught of fishes, Methinks thyself by them art captive led: Christ to catch thee wishes, So as one bait He setteth all these fishes. G.
XLV.
_Viderunt et oderunt me._ Joan. xv. 24.
Vidit? et odit adhuc? Ah, te non vidit, Jesu. Non vidit te, qui vidit, et odit adhuc. Non vidit, te non vidit, dulcissime rerum; In te qui vidit quid, quod amare neget.
_But now they have seen and hated._
Seene, and yet hated Thee? They did not see; They saw Thee not, that saw and hated Thee: No, no, they saw Thee not, O Life, O Love, Who saw aught in Thee that their hate could move. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
See Thee, Lord, and hated still? Ah, that were impossible: See and hate? He saw Thee never Who could see, nor love for ever. O Thou, the all-lovely One, He hath had no vision Who can see and hate; for why, Speck nor stain may none descry In Thy lowly, lofty Face, Full of sweetness, love, and grace. G.
XLVI.
Luc. xviii. 39.
Tu mala turba tace; mihi tam mea vota propinquant, Tuque in me linguam vis tacuisse meam? Tunc ego, tunc taceam, mihi cum meus Ille loquetur. Si nescis, oculos vox habet ista meos. O noctis miserere meae, miserere, per illam, Quae tam laeta tuo ridet in ore diem. O noctis miserere meae, miserere, per illam, Quae, nisi te videat, nox velit esse, diem. O noctis miserere meae, miserere, per illam, Haec mea quam, fidei, nox habet ipsa, diem. Illa dies animi, Jesu, rogat hanc oculorum: Illam, oro, dederis; hanc mihi ne rapias.
_The blind suppliant._
Be silent, crowd: my prayers so near me come, And do you bid my pleading tongue be dumb Before my Lord to me His speech, etc.[90]
ANOTHER VERSION.
Silence, silence, O vile crowd; Yea, I will now cry aloud: He comes near, Who is to me Light and life and liberty. Silence seek ye? yes, I'll be Silent when He speaks to me, He my Hope; ah, meek and still, I shall 'bide His holy will. O crowd, ye it may surprise, But His voice holdeth my eyes: O have pity on my night, By the day that gives glad light; O have pity on my night, By the day would lose its light, If it gat not of Thee sight; O have pity on my night, By day of faith upspringing bright; That day within my soul that burns, And for eyes' day unto Thee turns. Lord, O Lord, give me this day, Nor do Thou take that away. G.
XLVII.
_In Pharisaeos Christi verbis insidiantes._ Matt. xxii. 15.
O quam te miseri ludunt vaga taedia voti, Ex ore hoc speras qui, Pharisaee, malum! Sic quis ab Aurorae noctem speraverit ulnis, Unde solet primis Sol tener ire rosis? Sic Acheronta petas illinc unde amne corusco Lactea sydereos Cynthia lavit equos. Sic violas aconita roges: sic toxica nympham, Garrula quae vitreo gurgite vexat humum. Denique, ut exemplo res haec propriore patescat, A te sic speret quis, Pharisaee, bonum?
_The Pharisees insidiously watching the words of Christ._
O self-baffl'd Pharisee, Vainly dost thou weary thee, Hoping at His holy mouth To catch other than the Truth: Stainless, holy, pure is He, Guileless as Simplicity. Who would e'er expect black Night In the bosom of the Light, When the young sun in splendour burns, And the dawn to roses turns? Who, again, would seek to mark Acheron plunging i' the dark, Where white Cynthia's starry steeds Lave them by the glitt'ring meads? Who would aconite think to get From the fragrant violet? Or, watching by the babbling rill Gushing in pureness from the hill, Think thence poison to distil? In fine, instance nearer thee-- Would any ever hope to see Aught of good in Pharisee? G.
XLVIII.
Matt. ix. 20.
Falleris, et nudum male ponis, pictor, Amorem; Non nudum facis hunc, cum sine veste facis. Nonne hic est, dum sic digito patet ille fideli, Tunc cum vestitus, tunc quoque nudus Amor?
_Touched the hem of His garment._
Erringly, painter, thou portrayst Love bare: Not bare you make him, though no clothes he wear. Here, while laid open to believing hand, Though clothed indeed, bare truly see Him stand. R. WI.
XLIX.
Tolle oculos, tolle, o tecum tua sydera nostros. Ah quid enim, quid agant hic sine sole suo? Id quod agant sine sole suo tua sydera, coelum: Id terrae haec agerent hic sine sole suo. Illa suo sine sole suis caeca imbribus essent: Caeca suis lacrymis haec sine sole suo.
_The departing Saviour._
O take, take with Thee, Lord, Thy stars, our eyes; What would they do left here without their sun? E'en what your sunless stars would do, ye skies, Would here by sunless stars of earth be done. Without their sun, those dark with showers we see; These without sun, dark with their tears would be. R. WI.
L.
_Nam ego non solum vinciri, &c._ Act. xxi. 13.
Quid mortem objicitis nostro, quid vinc'la timori? Non timor est illinc, non timor inde meus. Vincula, quae timeam, sunt vincula sola timoris: Sola timenda mihi est mors, timuisse mori.
_Paul unfearing._
Why talk of death or bonds to me, As if these things a fear could be? My fear springeth not from thence; Nor in these is influence Me to trouble or alarm, Me to fret, or me to harm. The only bonds that fearful are Are the bonds themselves of fear; The only death looks dreadfully, Is lest I should fear to die. G.
LI.
_Legatio Baptistae ad Christum._ Matt. xi.
Oro, quis es? legat ista suo Baptista Magistro. Illi quae referant, talia Christus habet. Cui caecus cernit, mutus se in verba resolvit, It claudus, vivit mortuus: oro, quis est?
_The message of the Baptist to Christ._
I ask, Who art Thou? is the Baptist's word. Straight from his Master this reply is heard: He by whose mighty power dumb speak, blind see, Lame walk, dead live: Who is This? I ask thee. R. WI.
LII.
Accipe dona, puer, parvae libamina laudis; Accipe, non meritis accipienda suis: Accipe dona, puer dulcis; dumque accipis illa, Digna quoque efficies, quae, puer, accipies. Sive oculo, sive illa tua dignabere dextra; Dextram oculumque dabis posse decere tuum. Non modo es in dantes, sed et ipsa in dona benignus; Nec tantum donans das, sed et accipiens.
_Gifts to Jesus._
Take, Lord, these gifts, small offerings of our hand, Though their own worth acceptance none command. Take, and while taking them, Thou Saviour sweet. E'en what Thou takest, Thou wilt render meet. Whether Thou deem them worthy eye or touch, Thou wilt be able, Lord, to make them such: Kind e'en to gifts themselves, as to those giving, Thou givest both when giving and receiving. R. WI.
LIII.
_In partum B. Virginis non difficilem._
Nec facta est tamen illa parens impune, quod almi Tam parcens uteri venerit ille puer. Una haec nascentis quodcunque pepercerit hora. Toto illum vitae tempore parturiit. Gaudia parturientis erat semel ille parenti; Quotidie gemitus parturientis erat.
_On the blessed Virgin's easy parturition._
Not lightly she escap'd a mother's doom, Although her Child dealt gently with her womb: Whate'er was spar'd at the one hour of birth, She travail'd with Him all His time on earth: The joy of childbirth quickly pass'd away; She felt the pangs of childbirth every day. R. WI.
LIV.
Circulus hic similem quam par sibi pergit in orbem! Principiumque suum quam bene finis amat! Virgineo thalamo quam pulchre convenit ille, Quo nemo jacuit, virgineus tumulus! Undique ut haec aequo passu res iret; et ille Josepho desponsatus, et ille fuit.
_Upon our Saviour's tombe, wherein never man was laid._
How life and death in Thee Agree! Thou hadst a virgin wombe And tombe: A Joseph did betroth Them both. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
See how a circle tends, Beginning as it ends: Behold a virgin womb; Behold a virgin tomb; Behold, and wonder at the truth, A Joseph was espous'd to both! G.
LV.
_In Sanctum igneis linguis descendentem Spiritum._ Act. ii. 3.
Absint, qui ficto simulant pia pectora vultu, Ignea quos luteo pectore lingua beat. Hoc potius mea vota rogant, mea thura petessunt, Ut mihi sit mea mens ignea, lingua luti.
_On the Holy Spirit descending in fiery tongues._
Begone, who goodness feign with a false face, Whom fiery tongues in earthy bosom grace. This rather all my prayers and gifts desire, A tongue of earth, if but my heart be fire. R. WI.
LVI.
LIFE FOR DEATH.[91]
_Whosoever will loose his life, &c._ Matt. xvi. 25.
Soe I may gaine Thy death, my life I'le giue,-- My life's Thy death, and in Thy death I liue; Or else, my life, I'le hide thee in His graue, By three daies losse aeternally to saue. CR.
LVII.
ON THE DIVINE LOVE: AFTER H. HUGO.[92]
_In amorem divinum_ (Hermannus Hugo).
Aeternall Loue! what 'tis to loue Thee well, None but himselfe who feeles it, none can tell. But oh, what to be lou'd of Thee as well, None, not himselfe who feeles it, none can tell. CR.
Latin Poems.
PART FIRST. SACRED.
III.
HITHERTO UNCOLLECTED.
1648.
NOTE.
Whether intentionally, or with his usual carelessness, the two following important and characteristic Poems are not given in Turnbull's edition; and they seem entirely to have escaped the knowledge of even admirers of Crashaw. They appeared originally in the 'Steps of the Temple' of 1648 (pp. 103-105), and were naturally excluded from the Paris collection of 1652, and overlooked in the edition of 1670. See their biographic significance in our Essay in the present Volume. For the second translation (viz. of Baptismus &c.) I tender thanks to my good friend Rev. J.H. Clark, M.A., as before; the other and somewhat difficult one (Fides &c.) I have myself done. G.
FIDES, QUAE SOLA JUSTIFICAT, NON EST SINE SPE ET DILECTIONE.
Nam neque tam sola est. O quis male censor amarus Jam socias negat in mutua sceptra manus? Deme Fidem; nec aget, nec erit jam nomen Amoris: Et vel erit, vel aget quid sine Amore Fides? Ergo, Amor, i, morere; i, magnas, Puer alme, per umbras 5 Elysiis non tam numen inane locis. O bene, quod pharetra hoc saltem tua praestat et arcus, Ne tibi in extremos sit pyra nulla rogos! O bene, quod tuus has saltem tibi providet ignis, In tu quas possis funera ferre faces! 10 Durus es, ah, quisquis tam dulcia vincula solvis; Quae ligat, et quibus est ipse ligatus Amor. O bene junctarum divortia saeva sororum, Tam penitus mixtas quae tenuere manus! Nam quae, tam varia, in tam mutua viscera vivunt? 15 Aut ubi, quae duo sunt, tam prope sunt eadem? Alternis sese circum amplectuntur in ulnis: Extraque et supra, subter et intus eunt. Non tam Nympha tenax, Baccho jam mista marito, Abdidit in liquidos mascula vina sinus. 20 Compare jam dempto, saltem sua murmura servat Turtur, et in viduos vivit amara modos. At Fidei sit demptus Amor; non illa dolebit, Non erit impatiens aegraque; jam moritur. Palma, marem cui tristis hyems procul abstulit umbram, 25 Protinus in viridem procubuit faciem? Undique circumfert caput, omnibus annuit Euris; Siqua maritalem misceat aura comam: Ah misera, expectat longum, lentumque expirat, Et demum totis excutitur foliis. 30 At sine Amore Fides nec tantum vivere perstat, Quo dici possit vel moritura Fides. Mortua jam nunc est: nisi demum mortua non est Corporea haec, anima deficiente, domus. Corpore ab hoc Fidei hanc animam si demis Amoris, 35 Jam tua sola quidem est, sed male sola Fides. Hectore ab hoc, currus quem jam nunc sentit Achillis, Hectora eum speres quem modo sensit herus? Tristes exuvias, Oetaei frusta furoris, Vanus, in Alcidae nomen et acta vocas? 40 Vel satis in monstra haec, plus quam Nemeaea, malorum Hoc Fidei torvum et triste cadaver erit? Immo, Fidem usque suos velut ipse Amor ardet amores; Sic in Amore fidem comprobat ipsa Fides.
ERGO:
Illa Fides vacua quae sola superbiat aula, 45 Quam Spes desperet, quam nee amabit Amor; Sola Fides haec, tam misere, tam desolate Sola, quod ad nos est, sola sit usque licet. A sociis quae sola suis, a se quoque sola est. Quae sibi tam nimia est, sit mihi nulla Fides. 50
NOTE.
In line 10 we have corrected an evident but long-continued misprint in the original text of 'In tu aquas' by reading 'In tu quas,' and translate accordingly. G.
TRANSLATION.
FAITH, WHICH ALONE JUSTIFIES,
EXISTS NOT WITHOUT HOPE AND LOVE.
That Faith which only justifies A sinner as in guilt he lies, Bow'd aneath the awful blood, Clinging to the uplifted rood, Is not alone so as nor Love Nor heavenly Hope may in it move, To thrill with touch of ecstasy The bruised heart, the swimming eye. What, censor! bitter to ill end, Dost thou thy dogma still defend? And wouldest thou to hands allied Mutual sceptres see denied, Snapping betwixt Faith and Love The tie that binds them from Above? I tell thee nay, stone-hearted one, The Faith of Christ is not alone: Take Faith away, and Love will sigh; Take Hope away, and Faith will die; Take Faith away, Love will do naught; Take Love away, and Faith's distraught: For I tell thee, vain sophister, They're as sister unto sister. But mark, this Love that brings Faith joy Is not blind Cupid. Ah, bright Boy, Begone; thou shalt not, wouldst thou, stay; Go, get thee swift from light o' day; Go, get thee now to the vast shades, And there indulge thy escapades: Thou in Elysian realms mayst reign A fitting deity, not vain: Go therefore, and with thee thy bow And quiver. Well it is below That these for thee shall form a pyre, To which thy torch will furnish fire. But, ah, thou hast a heart of stone, Who wouldest make Faith live alone, Loos'ning the sweet ties Love has found To bind Faith to her, herself bound. O, it is cruel thus to sever Sisters whom God hath joined ever; Whose clasped hands so closely cling, E'en as vine-tendrils ring on ring: You may not tell there's more than one, So absolute the union. Where shall you find beneath the sky Two differing so variously, And yet each life in other bound, Touch one, the other you shall wound: Or where, 'mid all the pairs on earth, Twins through marriage or through birth, Shall you find two so truly one? Arms twining in affection, They clasp each other, chin to chin, Above, below, without, within, Embracing and embrac'd by turns; Yet not with such wild-fire as burns In Lust's hot touch, and clasp and grasp Eager and stinging as tongue of asp. Not so closely interwine The graceful Elm and clinging Vine, When to bosom of the tree Bacchus' clusters prest you see, And the Nymph the fruit receives, And hides it amid dewy leaves; Ev'n as the poets tell of old, In legends of the Age of Gold. Faith and Love know no such flame, Their pure twining brings no shame; Look for taint, you'll find it missing: 'Tis as flower flower kissing; Or twin-roses dewy dripping, And twin-bees their honey sipping. The Turtle-dove, robb'd of her mate, Pines and mourns disconsolate; Yet still lives on in widow'd grief, Knowing at times Hope's sweet relief. But Faith when once of Love bereft Loses her all, has nothing left; Nor mourns nor frets nor pales--she's dead, Struck to the heart astonied. The Palm that by the wintry blast Sees her companion-tree downcast, Whose mighty shadow o'er her threw Protection when the fierce storm blew; Her umbrage sheds, and quivering Seeks that some fav'ring wind would bring Her branches with his boughs to mingle, Since she is left in sadness, single; Wretched, she wears and wastes away, Leaf following leaf in wan decay, Until at last, naked and bare, She shivers in the piercing air; And when the Spring comes, Winter sped, 'Tis vain to call her--she is dead! But when Love from Faith is gone, Faith lingers not still on and on; That while her form yet meets your eye, You can pronounce 'She'll surely die.' SHE'S DEAD i' the instant: or you will Maintain a stark corpse liveth still, Whose soul has pass'd beyond the sky, Sunder'd until the last great Cry. Faith is the body, Love the soul; Take Love from it, you take the whole: Now, now indeed thy Faith's alone, But being alone, lo, it is none. To make it clear, turn Homer's page That paints Achilles' hate and rage, When, having mighty Hector slain, He dragg'd him dead over the plain-- That Hector whom the chariot feels Dragg'd helpless, lifeless at its wheels, Was it the same who, with proud crest, That chariot's lord had lately prest, Eager the victory to wrest? Hercules' name and deeds dost see In Oeta's bloody tragedy, When dead the mighty hero lay, Of jealousy the poison'd prey. His living strength the lion slew, And hide Nemaean round him threw: 'Gainst more than lion-rage of Death Dost summon the sad corpse of Faith? Sure Love with love for Faith will burn, While Faith herself trusts Love in turn.
THEREFORE:
That Faith alone, lording it high, Which Hope despairs of, and with cry Of anguish Love can never love, Is not the Faith sent from Above: The Faith that thus would be alone, What is't to us--desolate, lone? Faith then, that loved will not love Nor hope--may no such Faith me move! But ever in my bosom lie Faith, Hope, and Love in trinity: Yea, Love himself shall Faith's best lover prove, And Faith confirm his strongest faith in Love. G.
BAPTISMUS NON TOLLIT FUTURA PECCATA.
Quisquis es ille tener modo quem tua mater[93] Achilles In Stygis aethereae provida tinxit aquis, Sanus, sed non securus dimitteris illinc: In nova non tutus vulnera vivis adhuc. Mille patent aditus; et plus quam calce petendus 5 Ad nigri metues spicula mille dei. Quod si est vera salus, veterem meminisse salutem; Si nempe hoc vere est esse, fuisse pium; Illa tibi veteres navis quae vicerat Austros, Si manet in mediis usque superstes aquis; 10 Ac dum tu miseros in littore visis amicos, Et peccatorum triste sodalitium, Illa tibi interea tutis trahet otia velis, Expectans donec tu rediisse queas: Quin igitur da vina, puer; da vivere vitae; 15 Mitte suum senibus, mitte supercilium; Donemus timide, o socii, sua frigora brumae: Aeternae teneant hic nova regna rosae. Ah, non tam tetricos sic eluctabimur Euros; Effractam non est sic revocare ratem. 20 Has undas aliis decet ergo extinguere in undis; Naufragium hoc alio immergere naufragio: Possit ut ille malis oculus modo naufragus undis, Jam lacrymis melius naufragus esse suis.
TRANSLATION.
BAPTISM CANCELS NOT AFTER-SINS.
O young Achilles, whom a mother's care Hath dipp'd as in a sacred Stygian wave; Whole, but yet not secure, thou hence dost fare, For there are wounds from which it will not save. A thousand ways of entrance open lie For evil; not alone against thy heel The prince of darkness in his rage lets-fly The thousand arrows thou mayst dread to feel. But if remember'd health may still have given True health, and to have been is still to be, Thou seem'st as one whose bark, by storms unriven, Still rides, as yet unconquer'd, on the sea; And, while on shore thy friends thou visitest, And the sad company of them that sin, With furled sails upon the waves at rest, Thy bark floats idly till thou art within. But if for this thou criest overbold, 'Bring wine! enjoy the moment as it goes; Leave to old age its cares; dismiss the cold, While in new realms for ever reigns the rose!' Ah, know that not in revels such as these Learn we to struggle with the spiteful gale; Nor thus can hope to rescue from rough seas The broken cable and the driven sail. These waves must in another wave be wash'd, This shipwreck in another shipwreck drown'd; The eye in such ill storms so vilely dashed, A happier wreck in its own tears be found. CL.
Latin Poems.
PART FIRST. SACRED.
IV.
NEVER BEFORE PRINTED.
NOTE.
The Sancroft MS., as before, furnishes the following hitherto unprinted longer Poems, which I place under SACRED, as being throughout in subject and treatment such. The Rev. RICHARD WILTON, M.A., as before, has at once the praise and responsibility of the translations in the whole of this section. G.
PSALMUS I.
O te te nimis et nimis beatum, Quem non lubricus implicavit error; Nec risu misero procax tumultus. Tu cum grex sacer undique execrandis Strident consiliis, nec aure felix; Felix non animo, vel ore mixtus, Haud intelligis impios susurros. Sed tu deliciis ferox repostis Cultu simplice, sobriaque cura Legem numinis usque et usque volvis. Laeta sic fidas colit arbor undas, Quem immiti violentus aura Seirius frangit, neque contumacis.
NOTE.
This fragment of a Latin rendering of the first Psalm may be compared with BUCHANAN'S, but, I fear, not to its advantage. It were superfluous to give a translation of it; but see the parallel which follows. G.
IRA PROCELLAE.
At tu, profane pulvis, et lusus sacer Cujusvis aurae; fronte qua tandem feres Vindex tribunal? quanta tum, et qualis tuae Moles procellae stabit? O quam ferreo Frangere nutu, praeda frontis asperae, Sacrique fulminandus ah procul, procul A luce vultus, aureis procul a locis, Ubi longa gremio mulcet aeterno pios. Sincera semper pax, et umbrosa super Insurgit ala, vividique nectaris Imbres beatos rore perpetuo pluit. Sic ille, sic, o vindice, stat vigil, Et stabit ira torvus in impios, Seseque sub mentes bonorum Insinuat facili favore.
TRANSLATION.
THE WRATH OF THE JUDGMENT-WHIRLWIND.
But thou, O dust profane, and of each air The plaything doom'd, with what face wilt thou bear The Judgment-throne? how huge a stormy cloud Will lower upon thee! how wilt thou be bow'd With iron nod, the prey of frowning Face, By thunder to be driven far off, apace, From light of sacred Countenance! afar From golden regions, where the righteous are, Sooth'd in pure Peace's lap eterne, whose wing Towers high above them, overshadowing; While happy showers of nectar sweet imbue Their lips, as with an everlasting dew. The wicked so His watchful ire will learn, And cower 'neath God's avenging countenance stern; The righteous so His love divine will feel With gentle lapse into their bosom steal. R. WI.
CHRISTE, VENI.
Ergo veni; quicunque ferant tua signa timores, Quae nos cunque vocant tristia, Christe, veni. Christe, veni; suus avulsum rapiat labor axem, Nec sinat implicitas ire redire vias; Mutuus attonito titubet sub foedere mundus, Nec natura vagum dissona volvat opus. Christe, veni; roseos ultra remeare per ortus Nolit, et ambiguos Sol trahat aeger equos. Christe, veni; ipsa suas patiatur Cynthia noctes, Plus quam Thessalico tincta tremore genas; Astrorum mala caesaries per inane dolendum Gaudeat, horribili flore repexa caput; Sole sub invito subitae vis improba noctis Corripiat solitam, non sua jura, diem; Importuna dies, nec Eoi conscia pacti, Per desolatae murmura noctis eat. Christe, veni; tonet Oceanus pater, et sua nolit Claustra vagi montes sub nova sceptra meent. Christe, veni; quodcunque audet metus, audeat ultra Fata id agant, quod agant; tu modo, Christe, veni. Christe, veni; quacunque venis mercede malorum. Quanti hoc constiterit cunque venire, veni. Teque tuosque oculos tanti est potuisse videre! O tanti est te vel sic potuisse frui! Quicquid id est, veniat. TU MODO, CHRISTE, VENI.
TRANSLATION.
EVEN SO: COME, LORD JESUS.
O come; whatever fears Thy standards carry, Or sorrows summon us, Lord, do not tarry. Come, Lord; though labouring heaven whirl from its place, And its perplexed paths no more can trace; Though sympathising earth astonied reel, And nature jarred cease its round to wheel. Come, Lord; though sun refuse with rosy beam To rise, and sickly drives a doubtful team. Come, Lord; though moon look more aghast at night Than when her cheeks with panic fear are white; Though ominous comets through the dolorous air Hurtle, and round their brow dread fire-wreaths wear; Though spite of struggling sun Night's sudden sway Impious and lawless seize the accustom'd day; Mistimed Day, mindless of eastern glow, Through moanings of forsaken Night should go. Come, Lord; though father Ocean roars and lowers, That his mov'd mountain-bars own other powers. Come, Lord; whate'er Fear dares, e'en let it dare; Let Fates do what they will, be Thou but there. Come, Lord; with whate'er recompense of ill, Whate'er Thy coming cost, O come, Lord, still. Thee and Thine eyes, O what 'twill be to see! Thee to enjoy e'en so, what will that be! Let come what will, do Thou, Lord, only come. R. WI.
CIRCUMCISIO.
Ah ferus, ah culter, qui tam bona lilia primus In tam crudeles jussit abire rosas; Virgineum hoc qui primus ebur violavit ab ostro, Inque sui instituit muricis ingenium. Scilicet hinc olim quicunque cucurrerit amnis, Ex hoc purpurei germine fontis erit. Scilicet hunc mortis primum puer accipit unguem, Injiciunt hodie fata, furorque manus. Ecce illi sanguis fundi jam coepit; et ecce Qui fundi possit, vix bene sanguis erat; Excitat e dolio vix dum bene musta recenti, Atque rudes furias in nova membra vocat. Improbus, ut nimias jam nunc accingitur iras, Armaque non molli sollicitanda manu; Improbus, ut teneras audet jam ludere mortes, Et vitae ad modulum, quid puerile mori; Improbus, ut tragici impatiens praeludia fati Ornat, et in socco jam negat ire suo: Scilicet his pedibus manus haec meditata cothurnos? Haec cum blanditiis mens meditata minas? Haec tam dura brevem decuere crepundia dextram? Dextra giganteis haec satis apta genis? Sic cunis miscere cruces? cumque ubere matris Commisisse neces et scelus et furias? Quo ridet patri, hoc tacite quoque respicit hastam, Quoque oculo matrem mulcet, in arma redit. Dii superi, furit his oculis! hoc asper in ore est! Dat Marti vultus, quos sibi mallet Amor. Deliciae irarum! torvi, tenera agmina, risus! Blande furor! terror dulcis! amande metus! Praecocis in paenas pueri lascivia tristis! Cruda rudimenta! et torva tyrocinia! Jam parcum breviusque brevi pro corpore vulnus, Proque brevi brevior vulnere sanguis eat: Olim, cum nervi vitaeque ferocior haustus Materiam morti luxuriemque dabunt; Olim maturos ultro conabitur imbres; Robustum audebit tunc solidumque mori. Ergo illi, nisi qui in saevos concreverit usus, Nec nisi quem possit fundere, sanguis erit? Euge, puer trux! euge tamen mitissime rerum! Quique tibi tantum trux potes esse, puer? Euge tibi trux! euge mihi mitissime rerum! Euge Leo mitis! trux sed et Agne tamen! Macte, puer, macte hoc tam durae laudis honore! Macte, o paenarum hac indole et ingenio! Ah ferus, ah culter, sub quo, tam docte dolorum, In tristem properas sic, puer, ire virum. Ah ferus, ah culter, sub quo, puer auree, crescis, Mortis proficiens hac quasi sub ferula.
TRANSLATION.
THE CIRCUMCISION OF CHRIST.
Ah, fierce, fierce knife, which such sweet lilies first Into such cruel roses made to burst; Which first this ivory pure with purple stain'd, And in the white a deeper dye engrain'd. Whatever stream hereafter hence shall flow, Out of this purple fountain-head shall grow. Now first this tender Child Death's talons knows, The Fates and Fury now hurl their first blows. See now His blood begins to pour; and see Scarce blood enough to pour there seems to be. Scarce wise to broach the new wine from the wood, And 'gainst those young limbs call the Furies rude. Wanton, e'en now He girds on woes too much, And arms not to be tried by such soft touch: Wanton, He dares at gentle deaths to play, And for His age to die, as a child may: Wanton, beforehand acts His tragic woe, Restless, refusing in child-step to go. Buskins is this hand shaping for those feet, And does this mind plan threats with coaxings sweet? Such playthings stern does this small hand bespeak, And is it match'd with giant's iron cheek? To mingle cross with cradle, mother's breast With slaughter, wickedness, and rage unblest? His smiling eye now glances at the spear, And turns to arms from soothing mother dear. God, with such face to frown, such eyes to rage! War wins the looks which Love would fain engage. O winsome angers! savage smiles--mild brood-- Soft rage, sweet terror, awe which might be woo'd! Sad wanton forwardness of Child for woes; Harsh rudiments, stern training which He chose! Now scantier wound for scanty body show, And scantier blood for scanty wound let now. Soon, when His strength and deeper draught of breath Shall furnish food luxuriously for Death, 'Twill be His pleasure then full showers to try, Then will He strongly, wholly dare to die. No blood but what to cruel use will grow To Him belongs, or what He can bid flow. Ah, cruel Child, though of all things most mild, Yet to Thyself Thou canst be cruel, Child; To Thyself cruel, but most mild to me; A Lion mild, a pitiless Lamb here see. Long, long may this stern praise Thine honour lift, A faculty for woes[94] and innate gift. Fierce knife, from which experience sharp He borrows, While the Child hastes to grow the Man of Sorrows; Fierce knife, 'neath which Thou draw'st Thy golden breath, Advancing as 'twere 'neath the rod of Death. R. WI.
VIRGO.
Ne, pia, ne nimium, Virgo, permitte querelis: Haud volet, haud poterit natus abesse diu. Nam quid eum teneat? vel quae magis oscula vellet? Vestri illum indigenam quid vetet esse sinus? Quippe illis quae labra genis magis apta putentur? Quaeve per id collum dignior ire manus? His sibi quid speret puer ambitiosius ulmo, Quove sub amplexu dulcius esse queat? O quae tam teneram sibi vitis amicior ulmum Implicet, alternis nexibus immoriens? Cui circum subitis eat impatientior ulnis? Aut quae tam nimiis vultibus ora notet? Quae tam prompta puer toties super oscula surgat? Qua signet gemma nobiliore genam? Illa ubi tam vernis adolescat mitius auris, Tamve sub apricis pendeat uva jugis? Illi qua veniat languor tam gratus in umbra? Commodius sub quo murmure somnus agat? O ubi tam charo, tam casto in carcere regnet, Maternoque simul virgineoque sinu, Ille ut ab his fugiat, nec tam bona gaudia vellet? Ille ut in hos possit non properare sinus? Ille sui tam blanda sinus patrimonia spernet? Haeres tot factus tam bene deliciis? Ne tantum, ne Diva, tuis permitte querelis: Quid dubites? Non est hic fugitivus Amor.
TRANSLATION.
TO THE VIRGIN MARY,
ON LOSING THE CHILD JESUS.
Not, not too much, Virgin, to plaints give way; Nor will, nor can, thy Son long from thee stay. Why should He? Where so love to be carest? What could prevent His nestling in thy breast? What lips more suited to those cheeks divine? What hand to clasp that neck more fit than thine? What could He hope more clinging than these arms? Or what embraces e'er possess such charms? What kindlier vine its tender elm around Could twine, in mutual folds e'en dying found? To whom with sudden arms more eager go? Who on this face such yearning glances throw? Where 'mid such quick-rain'd kisses could He wake?' Whence His prest cheek a nobler ruby take? Where could that grape ripen in airs more mild, Or hang 'neath hills where suns so sweetly smil'd? Where could such grateful languor o'er Him creep, Or what more soothing murmur lull to sleep? Where could He reign in nook so chaste, so dear, As in this Mother's, Virgin's bosom here? Could He fly hence, and such blest joys decline, And could He help hastening to breast of thine? This balmy bosom's heritage not share, Of such delights so easily made heir? Nay, Lady, nay; thy loud complainings stay; Be cheer'd: this is no Love that flies away. R. WI.
APOCALYPSE XII. 7.
Arma, viri! aetheriam quocunque sub ordine pubem Siderei proceres ducitis; arma, viri! Quaeque suis, nec queis solita est, stet dextra sagittis; Stet gladii saeva luce corusca sui. Totus adest, totisque movet se major in iris, Fertque Draco, quicquid vel Draco ferre potest. Quas secum facies, imae mala pignora noctis; Quot secum nigros ducit in arma deos. Jam pugnas parat, heu saevus! jam pugnat, et ecce, Vix potui 'Pugnat' dicere, jam cecidit. His tamen ah nimium est quod frontibus addidit iras; Quod potuit rugas his posuisse genis. Hoc torvum decus est, tumidique ferocia fati, Quod magni sceleris mors quoque magna fuit. Quod neque, si victus, jaceat victoria vilis; Quod meruit multi fulminis esse labor; Quod queat ille suas hoc inter dicere flammas: 'Arma tuli frustra: sed tamen arma tuli.'
TRANSLATION.
WAR IN HEAVEN.
Rev. xii. 7.
To arms, ye starry chieftains all, who lead The youth of heaven to war--to arms, with speed! Let each right-hand its untried arrows grasp, Or its own fiercely-gleaming falchion clasp. _He_ is _all_ here, and mightier in his wrath, The Dragon brings all powers the Dragon hath: Strange forms, curst children of the deepest Night-- What dusky gods he marshals to the fight! Now he makes ready, fights now, fierce as hell! Scarce could I say 'He fights,' when, lo, he fell. Ah, 'twas too much to scar with wrath these faces, And leave on angel-cheeks such furrow'd traces. 'Tis his grim boast and proudly-swelling fate, That of a great crime e'en the end was great: If vanquish'd, that 'twas no mean victory; Much bolted thunder there requir'd to be; That with these words his fiery pains he charms: 'Arms I bore vainly; but I did bear arms.' R. WI.
NOTE.
See our Essay, as before, for relation of this poem to the Sospetto d' Herode, and others. G.
NON ACCIPIMUS BREVEM VITAM,
SED FACIMUS.
Ergo tu luges nimium citatam Circulo vitam properante volvi? Tu Deos parcos gemis, ipse cum sis Prodigus aevi? Ipse quod perdis, quereris perire? Ipse tu pellis, sed et ire ploras? Vita num servit tibi? servus ipse Cedet abactus. Est fugax vitae, fateor, fluentum: Prona sed clivum modo det voluptas, Amne proclivi magis, et fugace Labitur unda. Fur Sopor magnam hinc, oculos recludens, Surripit partem, ruit inde partem Temporis magnam spolium reportans Latro voluptas. Tu creas mortes tibi mille, et aeva Plura quo perdas, tibi plura poscis......
TRANSLATION.
WE DO NOT RECEIVE, BUT MAKE, A SHORT LIFE.
Dost thou lament that life, urg'd-on too quickly, Rolls round its course in hasting revolution? Dost blame the thrifty gods, when thou thyself art Lavish of lifetime? What thyself wastest, mourn'st thou if it perish? Dost drive it from thee, but deplore it going? Is life thy servant? Sooth, a very servant Turn'd off departeth. Life's stream is fleeting--I confess it--always; But once let Pleasure yield an easy incline, With headlong wave and with more fleeting current Onward it glideth. Sleep, the thief, closing drowsy eyelids, snatcheth One mighty portion; while as large a portion Pleasure, the robber, carries off unchalleng'd-- Time's precious gold-dust. Thou for thyself a thousand deaths createst; And the more lifetimes thou dost spend in folly, So many more in lieu of them demandest; Wasting and wanting. R. WI.
DE SANGUINE MARTYRUM.
Felices, properatis io, properatis, et altam Vicistis gyro sub breviore viam. Vos per non magnum vestri mare sanguinis illuc Cymba tulit nimiis non operosa notis, Quo nos tam lento sub remigio luctantes Ducit inexhausti vis male fida freti. Nos mora, nos longi consumit inertia lethi; In ludum mortis luxuriemque sumus. Nos aevo et senio et latis permittimur undis; Spargimur in casus, porrigimur furiis. Nos miseri sumus ex amplo spatioque perimus; In nos inquirunt fata, probantque manus; Ingenium fati sumus, ambitioque malorum. Conatus mortis consiliumque sumus. In vitae multo multae patet area mortis[95] . . . . . Non vitam nobis numerant, quot viximus anni: Vita brevis nostra est; sit licet acta diu. Vivere non longum est, quod longam ducere vitam: Res longa in vita saepe peracta brevi est. Nec vos tam vitae Deus in compendia misit, Quam vetuit vestrae plus licuisse neci. Accedit vitae quicquid decerpitur aevo, Atque illo brevius, quo citius morimur.
TRANSLATION.
MARTYRS.
Good speed ye made, in sooth, good speed, ye blest, And by a shorter course won heavenly rest; Over a narrow sea of your own blood Death's bark has borne you, by few gales withstood: While with slow oars we toil the shore to gain, Through boisterous fury of the boundless main. _We_ waste with lingering, indolent decay; We are Death's pastime and his wanton play; O'er time and age and wide waves we are blown, Expos'd to furies and to chances thrown. Wretched in full are we, perish at length; Fates seek us out, and try on us their strength. We are Fate's skill, Evils' ambition fine, Death's utmost effort and deep-plann'd design. In a long life wide field for Death there lies; In a short life grand deeds may daze men's eyes.[96] By years we live we reckon not our life; Our life is short, with great deeds be it rife. To spend long years, let not long life be thought; A long-liv'd deed oft in short life is wrought. God not so much contracted your life's space, As order'd Death the sooner to give place. What earth's life loses, gains the life on high: By how much sooner, so much less we die. R. WI.
SPES.
Spes diva, salve! diva avidam tuo Necessitatem numine prorogans, Vindicta fortunae furentis, Una salus mediis ruinis. Regina quamvis, tu solium facis Depressa parvi tecta tugurii; Surgit jacentes inter; illic Firma magis tua regna constant. Cantus catenis, carmina carcere, Dolore ab ipso gaudiaque exprimis: Scintilla tu vivis sub imo Pectoris, haud metuens procellas. Tu regna servis, copia pauperi, Victis triumphus, littora naufrago, Ipsisque damnatis patrona, Anchora sub medio profundo. Quin ipse alumnus sum tuus, ubere Pendens ab isto, et hinc animam traho. O Diva nutrix, o foventes Pande sinus, sitiens laboro.
TRANSLATION.
HOPE.
Hail, goddess Hope! Who Fate remorseless movest Far off, and canst with raging Fortune cope; 'Mid ruin thou our sole salvation provest. A mighty queen, Thy throne on roof-trees lowly And prostrate souls is fix'd, and there are seen The firm foundations of thy kingdom holy. A gladsome hymn From fetters disengaging, And joy from grief, thou liv'st in bosom dim, A spark that laughs at tempests wildly raging. A crown to slaves; Abundance to the needy; To shipwreck'd men a refuge from the waves; To conquer'd and condemn'd deliverance speedy. An 'Anchor sure,' The eternal Rock thou graspest, The strain of ocean 'stedfast' to endure; And Heaven's calm joys 'within the veil' thou claspest. Nay, I thy child, Dependent here adore thee: From thee I draw my life, O Mother mild; Open thy fostering bosom, I implore thee. R. WI.
{EIS TON TOU STEPHANOU STEPHANON}.
Ecce tuos lapides! nihil est pretiosius illis; Seu pretium capiti dent, capiantve tuo. Scilicet haec ratio vestri diadematis: hoc est, Unde coronatis vos decet ire comis. Quisque lapis quanto magis in se vilis habetur, Ditior hoc capiti est gemma futura tuo. Haec est, quae sacra didicit florere figura, Non nisi per lacrymas charta videnda tuas. Scilicet ah dices, haec cum spectaveris ora, Ora sacer sic, o sic tulit ille pater. Sperabis solitas illinc, pia fulmina, voces; Sanctaque tam dulci mella venire via. Sic erat illa, suas Famae cum traderet alas, Ad calamum, dices, sic erat illa manus. Tale erat et pectus, celsae domus ardua mentis, Tale suo plenum sidere pectus erat. O bene fallacis mendacia pulchra tabellae, Et qui tam simili vivit in aere, labor! Cum tu tot chartis vitam, Pater alme, dedisti, Haec merito vitam charta dat una tibi.
TRANSLATION.
ON STEPHEN'S CROWN.
[This poem seems only intelligible by our supposing that a double reference is intended; first, and faintly, to St. Stephen the proto-martyr; and mainly to Stephens (Stephanus), father and son, Robert and Henry, the great scholars, commentators, printers, and publishers of the sixteenth century, whose books would always be in Crashaw's hands. Stephens, father and son, suffered persecution, banishment, poverty, and excommunication alike from Protestants and Catholics, while engaged in bringing out the Bible, Greek Testament, and numerous Classic Authors. 'In two years Henry revised and published more than 4000 pages of Greek text.' In the latter years of his life, being driven from Geneva (as it is alleged) by the 'petty surveillance and censorship of the pious pastors there, he wandered in poverty over Europe, his own family often ignorant where he was to be found.']
Behold thy stones! more precious nought is seen, Whether they deck with precious rays serene Thy head, or from it take a precious glow. This is your style of diadem; e'en so With crowned locks 'tis seemly ye should go: The viler in itself each stone may seem, A richer gem upon thy head will gleam. Behold the Book where, seen through mist of tears, A sacred form in manhood's bloom appears. Ah, you will say, when you behold this face, Such looks, O such, our father us'd to grace. The accustom'd sounds you hope for--holy thunder, And the blest honey hid that sweet tongue under: So, o'er his pen, you say, that hand was bent, When her own wings to fetter'd Fame he lent. Such was that breast, his spirit's lofty dwelling-- That breast with its own starry thoughts high swelling. O pleasing fantasies of picture fair, And kindred forms which laboured brass may bear! Since through thee, Sire, such countless writings live, Life unto thee let this one writing give. R. WI.
EXPOSTULATIO JESU CHRISTI
CUM MUNDO INGRATO.
Sum pulcher: at nemo tamem me diligit. Sum nobilis: nemo est mihi qui serviat. Sum dives: a me nemo quicquam postulat. Et cuncta possum: nemo me tamen timet. Aeternus exsto: quaeror a paucissimis. Prudensque sum: sed me quis est qui consulit? Et sum Via: at per me quotusquisque ambulat? Sum Veritas: quare mihi non creditur? Sum Vita: verum rarus est qui me petit. Sum Vera Lux: videre me nemo cupit. Sum misericors: nullus fidem in me collocat. Tu, si peris, non id mihi imputes, homo: Salus tibi est a me parata: hac utere.[97]
TRANSLATION.
JESUS CHRIST'S EXPOSTULATION
WITH AN UNGRATEFUL WORLD.
I am all-fair, yet no one loveth Me: Noble, yet no one would My servant be: Rich, yet no suppliant at My gate appears: Almighty, yet before Me no one fears: Eternal, I by very few am sought: Wise am I, yet My counsel goes for nought: I am the Way, yet by Me walks scarce one: The Truth, why am I not relied upon? The Life, yet seldom one My help requires: The True Light, yet to see Me none desires: And I am merciful, yet none is known To place his confidence in Me alone. Man, if thou perish, 'tis that thou dost choose it; Salvation I have wrought for thee, O use it! R. WI.
Latin Poems.
PART SECOND. SECULAR.
I.
FROM 'STEPS TO THE TEMPLE' AND 'DELIGHTS OF THE MUSES,' ETC.
1646-1648.
NOTE.
Among the English poems of the 'Steps to the Temple' and 'Delights of the Muses' of 1646 were the following, in order: In Picturam Reverendissimi Episcopi D. Andrews (p. 89)--Epitaphium in Dominum Herrisium (pp. 92-3)--Principi recens natae omen maternae indolis (pp. 108-9)--In Serenissimae Reginae partum hyemalem (pp. 118-9)--Ad Reginam (pp. 121-2)--In faciem Augustiss. Regis a morbillis integram (p. 127)--Rex Redux (pp. 131-2), and Ad Principem nondum natum (p. 133). In the enlarged edition of 1648 besides these, there appeared: Bulla (pp. 54-58)--Thesaurus Malorum Foemina (p. 59)--In Apollinea depereuntem Daphnen (pp. 60-1)--Aeneas Patris sui Bajulus (p. 61)--In Pygmaliona (p. 61)--Arion (pp. 61-2)--Phoenicis Genethliacon et Epicedion (p. 63)--Epitaphium (p. 64)--Damno affici saepe fit Lucrum (pp. 64-5)--Humanae Vitae Descriptio (p. 65)--Tranquillitas Animi, Similitudine ducta ab Ave captiva et canora tamen (pp. 66-7).
These Poems I have arranged under two classes: (_a_) Miscellaneous, really, not merely formally, poetry: (_b_) Royal and other commemorative pieces. The former in the present section, the latter in the next. See our Essay on each. Nearly the whole of the translations in this division are by myself, with additional renderings of some by Rev. Thomas Ashe, M.A., as before, and others by Rev. Richard Wilton, M.A., as before, as pointed out in the places.
As before, I note here the more misleading errors of Turnbull's text. In 'Bulla,' l. 1, 'timores' for 'tumores;' l. 4, 'dextera mihi' for 'dextra mei;' l. 54, 'nitent' for 'niteat;' l. 80, 'avis' for 'uvis;' l. 84, 'nives' for 'niveae;' l. 85, 'sint' for 'sunt;' l. 154, 'desinet' for 'defluet;' l. 157, 'Tempe' for 'Nempe:' in Tranquillitas Animi,' l. 13, 'minis minisque' for 'nimis nimisque;' l. 16, 'patrisque' for 'patreaeque;' l. 20, 'provocabit' for 'provocabat:' in 'Humanae Vitae Descriptio,' l. 13, 'more' for 'mare:' in 'Apollinea depereuntem Daphnen,' l. 12, 'ores' for 'oris:' in Phoenicis Genethliacon et Epicedion,' l. 5, 'teipsum' for 'teipsam:' in 'Epitaphium,' l. 6, 'tremulum' for 'tremulam;' l. 7, 'discas' for 'disces,' 'hinc' for 'huc,' and 'reponas' for 'repones;' l. 10, 'miseris' for 'nimis:' in 'Thesaurus Malorum Foemina,' l. 16, 'Pietas' for 'Pectus.' G.
BULLA.
Quid tibi vana suos offert mea Bulla tumores? Quid facit ad vestrum pondus inane meum? Expectat nostros humeros toga fortior. Ista En mea Bulla, lares en tua dextra mei. Quid tu? quae nova machina, 5 Quae tam fortuito globo In vitam properas brevem? Qualis virgineos adhuc Cypris concutiens sinus, Cypris jam nova, jam recens, 10 Et spumis media in suis, Promsit purpureum latus; Concha de patria micas, Pulchroque exsilis impetu; Statim et millibus ebria 15 Ducens terga coloribus Evolvis tumidos sinus Sphaera plena volubili. Cujus per varium latus, Cujus per teretem globum 20 Iris lubrica cursitans Centum per species vagas, Et picti facies chori Circum regnat, et undique, Et se Diva volatilis 25 Jucundo levis impetu Et vertigine perfida Lasciva sequitur fuga, Et pulchre dubitat; fluit Tam fallax toties novis, 30 Tot se per reduces vias, Erroresque reciprocos Spargit vena coloribus; Et pompa natat ebria. Tali militia micans 35 Agmen se rude dividit; Campis quippe volantibus, Et campi levis aequore Ordo insanus obambulans Passim se fugit, et fugat. 40 Passim perdit, et invenit. Pulchrum spargitur hic Chaos. Hic viva, hic vaga flumina Ripa non propria meant, Sed miscent socias vias, 45 Communique sub alveo Stipant delicias suas. Quarum proximitas vaga Tam discrimine lubrico, Tam subtilibus arguit 50 Juncturam tenuem notis, Pompa ut florida nullibi Sinceras habeat vias; Nec vultu niteat suo. Sed dulcis cumulus novos 55 Miscens purpureus sinus Flagrant divitiis suis, Privatum renuens jubar. Floris diluvio vagi, Floris sidere publico 60 Late ver subit aureum, Atque effunditur in suae Vires undique copiae. Nempe omnis quia cernitur, Nullus cernitur hic color, 65 Et vicinia contumax Allidit species vagas. Illic contiguis aquis Marcent pallidulae faces. Unde hic vena tenellulae, 70 Flaminis ebria proximis Discit purpureas vias, Et rubro salit alveo. Ostri sanguineum jubar Lambunt lactea flumina; 75 Suasu caerulei maris Mansuescit seges aurea; Et lucis faciles genae Vanas ad nebulas stupent; Subque uvis rubicundulis 80 Flagrant sobria lilia; Vicinis adeo rosis Vicinae invigilant nives; Ut sint et niveae rosae, Ut sunt et roseae nives, 85 Accenduntque rosae nives, Extinguuntque nives rosas. Illic cum viridi rubet, Hic et cum rutile viret, Lascivi facies chori. 90 Et quicquid rota lubrica Caudae stelligerae notat, Pulchrum pergit et in ambitum. Hic coeli implicitus labor, Orbes orbibus obvii; 95 ex velleris aurei, Grex pellucidus aetheris; Qui noctis nigra pascua Puris morsibus atterit; Hic quicquid nitidum et vagum 100 Coeli vibrat arenula, Dulci pingitur in joco; Hic mundus tener impedit Sese amplexibus in suis. Succinctique sinu globi 105 Errat per proprium decus. Hic nictant subitae faces, Et ludunt tremulum diem, Mox se surripiunt sui et Quaerunt tecta supercili, 110 Atque abdunt petulans jubar, Subsiduntque proterviter. Atque haec omnia quam brevis Sunt mendacia machinae! Currunt scilicet omnia 115 Sphaera, non vitrea quidem-- Ut quondam Siculus globus-- Sed vitro nitida magis, Sed vitro fragili magis, Et vitro vitrea magis. 120 Sum venti ingenium breve, Flos sum, scilicet, aeris, Sidus scilicet aequoris; Naturae jocus aureus, Naturae vaga fabula, 125 Naturae breve somnium. Nugarum decus et dolor; Dulcis doctaque vanitas. Aurae filia perfidae; Et risus facilis parens. 130 Tantum gutta superbior, Fortunatius et lutum. Sum fluxae pretium spei; Una ex Hesperidum insulis. Formae pyxis, amantium 135 Clare caecus ocellulus; Vanae et cor leve gloriae. Sum caecae speculum Deae, Sum Fortunae ego tessera, Quam dat militibus suis; 140 Sum Fortunae ego symbolum, Quo sancit fragilem fidem Cum mortalibus ebriis, Obsignatque tabellulas. Sum blandum, petulans, vagum, 145 Pulchrum, purpureum, et decens, Comptum, floridulum, et recens, Distinctum nivibus, rosis, Undis, ignibus, aere, Pictum, gemmeum, et aureum, 150 O sum, scilicet, o NIHIL. Si piget, et longam traxisse in taedia pompam Vivax, et nimium Bulla videtur anus: Tolle tuos oculos pensum leve defluet, illam Parca metet facili non operosa manu. 155 Vixit adhuc. Cur vixit? adhuc tu nempe legebas. Nempe fuit tempus tum potuisse mori?
NOTE.
A collation of the 'Bulla' with the Tanner MS. corrects the punctuation of the original and subsequent printed texts, and specially puts right in the last line 'Nempe' for 'Tempe,' so long retained. In the fourth line from close the printed texts read 'desinet' for 'defluet.' Nothing else noticeable. G.
TRANSLATION. THE BUBBLE. [TO REV. DR. LANY.]
What art thou? What new device, Globe, chance-fashion'd in a trice, Into brief existence bounding, Perfectly thy circle rounding? As when Cypris, her breast smiting-- Virgin still, all love inviting-- Cypris in young loveliness Couch'd rosy where the white waves press Her to bear and her to bless; _So_ forth from thy native shell Gleamest thou ineffable! Springing up with graceful bound And describing dainty round; Thousand colours come and go As thou dost thy fair curves show, Swelling out--a whirling ball Meet for Fairy-Festival; Through whose sides of shifting hue, Through whose smooth-turn'd globe, we view Iris' gliding rainbow sitting, In a hundred forms soft-flitting: And semblance of a troop displaying, All around dominion swaying: And the Goddess volatile With witching step and luring smile Follows still with twinkling foot In link'd mazes involute: With many a sight-deceiving turn And flight which makes pursuers burn, And a graceful hesitation-- Only treacherous simulation: JUST SO, and no less deceiving, Our BUBBLE, all its colours weaving, Follows ever-varying courses, Or in air itself disperses: Here now, there now, coming, going, Wand'ring as if ebbing, flowing: Sporting Passion's colours all In ways that are bacchanal; And the GLOBES undisciplin'd As though driven by the wind, Borne along the fleeting plains Light as air; nor order reigns-- But the heaven-possess'd array Moving each in its own way, Hither now and thither flying, Glancing, wavering, and dying, Losing still their path and finding, In a random inter-winding: Rising, falling, on careering, Vis'ble now, now disappearing; Living wand'ring streams outgoing, Ev'n Confusion beauteous showing: Flowing not each in its course, But each to other joining force; Moving in pleasant pastime still In a mutual good-will: And a nearness that's so near You the contact almost fear, Yet so finely drawn to eye In its delicate subtlety That the procession, blossom-fair, Nowhere has direction clear: Nor with their own aspect glance, But in the sweet luxuriance Which skiey influences lend, As in new windings on they trend: Throwing off the stol'n sunlight In a flood of blossoms bright, Scatter'd on the fields of light; Such a brilliancy of bloom As all may share if all will come. Now golden Spring advances lightly, Spreading itself on all sides brightly, Out of its rich and full supply Open-handed, lavishly. Since all colours you discern, No one colour may you learn: All tints melted into one In a sweet confusion, You cannot tell 'tis that or this, So shifting is the loveliness: Gleams as of the peacock's crest, Or such as on dove's neck rest; Opal, edg'd with amethyst, Or the sunset's purpl'd mist, Or the splendour that there lies In a maiden's azure eyes, Kindling in a sweet surprise: Flower-tints, shell-tints, tender-dy'd, Save to curious unespied: Lo, one BUBBLE follows t'other, Differing still from its frail brother, Striking still from change to change With a quick and vivid range. There in the contiguous wave Torches palely-glist'ning lave; Here what delicate love-lights shine! Through them near flames bick'ring shine. Matching flushing of the rose, As the ruddy channel flows: Milky rivers in white tide Lucent, hush, still onwards glide: Purple rivers in high flood-- Red as is man's awful blood: Corn-fields smiling goldenly Meet the blue laugh of the sea: Mist-clouds sailing on their way Darken the changeful cheeks of Day: And beneath vine-clusters red Lilies are transfigured: Here you mark as 'twere the snows Folding o'er the neighb'ring rose; Snow into blown roses flushing, Roses wearied of their blushing, As the shifting tints embrace, And their course you scarce can trace; Now retiring, now advancing, Now in wanton mazes dancing; Now a flow'ry red appears, Now a purpl'd green careers. All the signs in heaven that burn Where the gliding wheel doth turn, Here in radiant courses go, As though 'twere a heaven below: The sky's mazes involute Circling onward with deft foot, Sphere on heavenly sphere attending, Coming, going, inter-blending: And the gold-fleec'd flocks of air Wand'ring inviolate and fair; Flocks that drink in chaste delight Dewy pastures of the Night, Leaving no trace of foot or bite. Whate'er of change above you note, As these clouds o'er heaven float, Lo, repeated here we see In a sportive mimicry. Here the tiny tender world Within its own brightness furl'd Wavers, as in fairy robe 'Twere a belted lined globe. Lights as of the breaking Day Tremble with iridescent play, But now swiftly upward going, Evanescent colours showing, In some nook their beams concealing, Nor their wantonness revealing. O, what store of wonders here In this short-liv'd slender SPHERE! For all wonders I have told Are within its GLOBE enroll'd: Not such globe as skilled he Fashion'd of old in Sicily: Brighter e'en than crystals are, And than crystal frailer far. 'I am Spirit of the Wind, For a flitting breath design'd; I am Blossom born of air; I'm of Ocean, guiding Star; I'm a golden sport of Nature, Frolic stamp'd on ev'ry feature: I'm a myth, an idle theme, The brief substance of a dream: Grace and grief of trifles, I Charm--a well-skill'd vanity; Begotten of the treacherous breeze, Parent of absurdities: Yet, a drop or mote, at best, Favour'd more than are the rest. I'm price of Hope that no more is, One of the Hesperides: Beauty's casket, doating eye Of lovers blinded wilfully: The light Spirit of Vanity. I am Fortune's looking-glass, The countersign which she doth pass To her troop of warriors: I'm the oath by which she swears, And wherewith she doth induce Men to trust a fragile truce. Charming, provoking, still astray, Fair and elegant and gay, Trim and fresh and blossom-hu'd; Interchangeably imbu'd With rosy-red and the snow's whiteness, Air and water and fire's brightness: Painted, gemm'd, of golden dye, NOTHING--after all--am I!' If now, O gentle Reader, it appear Irksome my BUBBLE'S chatterings to hear; If on it frowning, 'Words, words, words!' thou say, No more I'll chatter, but at once obey. So, turn thine eye, my Friend, no more give heed; My BUBBLE lives but if thou choose to read. Cease thou to read, and I resign my breath; Cease thou to read, and that will be my death. G.
TRANQUILLITAS ANIMI:
SIMILITUDINE DUCTA AB AVE CAPTIVA, ET CANORA TAMEN.
Ut cum delicias leves, loquacem Convivam nemoris vagamque musam Observans, dubia viator arte Prendit desuper: horridusve ruris Eversor, male perfido paratu, 5 Heu durus! rapit, atque io triumphans Vadit: protinus et sagace nisu Evolvens digitos, opus tenellum Ducens pollice lenis erudito, Virgarum implicat ordinem severum, 10 Angustam meditans domum volucri. Illa autem, hospitium licet vetustum Mentem solicitet nimis nimisque, Et suetum nemus, hinc opaca mitis Umbrae frigora, et hinc aprica puri 15 Solis fulgura, patriaeque sylvae Nunquam muta quies; ubi illa dudum Totum per nemus, arborem per omnem, Hospes libera liberis querelis Cognatum bene provocabat agmen: 20 Quanquam ipsum nemus arboresque alumnam Implorant profugam, atque amata multum Quaerant murmura lubricumque carmen Blandi gutturis et melos serenum. Illa autem, tamen, illa jam relictae, 25 Simplex! haud meminit domus, nec ultra Sylvas cogitat; at brevi sub antro, Ah penna nimium brevis recisa, Ah ritu vidua sibique sola, Privata heu fidicen! canit, vagoque 30 Exercens querulam domum susurro Fallit vincula, carceremque mulcet; Nec pugnans placidae procax quieti Luctatur gravis, orbe sed reducto Discursu vaga saltitans tenello, 35 Metitur spatia invidae cavernae. Sic in se pia mens reposta, secum Alte tuta sedet, nec ardet extra, Aut ullo solet aestuare fato: Quamvis cuncta tumultuentur, atrae 40 Sortis turbine non movetur illa. Fortunae furias onusque triste Non tergo minus accipit quieto, Quam vectrix Veneris columba blando Admittat juga delicata collo. 45 Torvae si quid inhorruit procellae, Si quid saeviat et minetur, illa Spernit, nescit, et obviis furorem Fallit blanditiis, amatque et ambit Ipsum, quo male vulneratur, ictum. 50 Curas murmure non fatetur ullo; Non lambit lacrymas dolor, nec atrae Mentis nubila frons iniqua prodit. Quod si lacryma pervicax rebelli Erumpit tamen evolatque gutta, 55 Invitis lacrymis, negante luctu, Ludunt perspicui per ora risus.
TRANSLATION. PEACE OF MIND:[98]
UNDER THE SIMILITUDE OF A CAPTIVE SONG-BIRD.
The time of the singing of birds is come; I will away i' the greenwood to roam; I will away; and thou azure-ey'd Muse Deign with thy gifts my mind to suffuse.-- So o'erheard I one say, as he withdrew To a fairy scene that well I knew, Light lac'd with shadow, shadow with light, Leaves playing bo-peep from morn unto night. But, ah, what is this? Alas, and alas, A sweet bird flutters upon the grass; Flutters and struggles with quivering wing! Tempted and snar'd--gentle, guileless thing. Vain, vain thy struggles; for, lo, a hand Hollow'd above, makes thee captive stand. Home hies the Captor, loud singing his joy; He has got a pet song-bird for his boy. Now twining and twisting, a cage he makes Wire-wrought and fast'n'd. Ah, my heart aches! It is a prison, for the poor bird prepar'd; Shut close and netted, netted and barr'd. Comes the flutter and gleam of forest-leaves Through the trellis'd window under the eaves; Comes the breath and stir of the vernal wind, Comes the goldening sunshine--to remind Of all that is lost; comes now and again Far off a song from the blading grain; Calling, still calling the Songster to come Back--once more back--to its woodland home. I mark eyelids rise; mark the lifting wing; Mark the swelling throat, as if it would sing; Mark the weary 'chirp, chirp,' like infant's cry, Yearning after the free and boundless sky; For the grand old woods; once more to sit On the swinging bough into blossom smit. Vain, vain, poor bird! thou'rt captive still; Thou must bend thee to thy Captor's will: Thy wing is cut; from thy mate thou'rt taken; All alone thou abidest, sad, forsaken. The days pass on; and I look in once more On the captive bird 'bove the ivied door. Sweetly it sings, as if all by itself, A short, quiet song. O thou silly elf, Hast forgot the greenwood, the forest hoar, The flash of the sky, the wind's soften'd roar? Hast forgot that thou still a captive art, Prison'd in wire-work? hast forgot thy smart? 'Tis even so: for now down, and now up, Now hopping on perch, now sipping from cup, I mark it sullen and pining no more, But keeping within, though open the door. List ye, now list--from its swelling throat, Of its woodland song you miss never a note. Alone, it is true, and in a wir'd cage; But kindness has melted the captive's rage. Behold a sweet meaning in this bird's story-- How the child of God is ripen'd for glory: For it is thus with the child of God, Smitten and bleeding 'neath His rod: Thus 'tis with him; for, tranquil and calm 'Mid dangers and insults, he singeth his psalm: Alone, all alone, deserted of man, Slander'd and trampl'd and plac'd under ban, He frets not, he pines not, he plains not still, But sees clear in all his dear Father's will: Come loss, come cross, come bereavement, come wrong, He sets all to music, turns all to song; Come terror, come trial, come dark day, come bright, Still upward he looks, and knows all is right: Wounded, he sees the Hand gives the stroke, Bending his neck to bear his Lord's yoke, And finds it grow light, by grace from Above, As love's slender collars o' the Queen of Love; Comes the starting tear, 'tis dried with a smile; Comes a cloud, as you look 'tis gone the while; Stirs the 'old Adam' to tempt and to dare, He thinks Who was tempted and knows what we are; Gentle and meek, murmurs not nor rebels, But serene as in heaven and tranquil dwells: And so the Believer has 'songs in the night,' And so every cloud has a lining of light. Thus, even thus, the captive bird's story Tells how a soul is ripen'd for glory. G.
DAMNO AFFICI SAEPE FIT LUCRUM.
Damna adsunt multis taciti compendia lucri, Felicique docent plus properare mora. Luxuriem annorum posita sic pelle redemit, Atque sagax serpens in nova saecla subit. Cernis ut ipsa sibi replicato suppetat aevo, Seque iteret multa morte perennis avis? Succrescit generosa sibi, facilesque per ignes Perque suos cineres, per sua fata ferax. Quae sollers jactura sui? quis funeris usus? Flammarumque fides ingeniumque rogi? Siccine fraude subis? pretiosaque funera ludis? Siccine tu mortem, ne moriaris, adis? Felix cui medicae tanta experientia mortis, Cui tam Parcarum est officiosa manus.
TRANSLATION.
GAIN OUT OF LOSS.
Losses are often source of secret gain, Delays good-speed, and ease the child of pain. The subtle snake, laying aside her fears, Casts off her slough, and heals the waste of years. The phoenix thus her waning pride supplies, And, to be ever-living, often dies; Bold for her good, she makes the fires her friend, And to begin anew, will plot her end. What skilful losing! what wise use of dying! What trust in flames! and what a craft in plying That trick of immolation! Canst thou so Compound with griefs? canst wisely undergo Life's losses, crosses? play with gainful doom? Canst, to be quicken'd, gladly seek the tomb? Thrice-happy he thus touch'd with healing sorrow, For whom night's strife plots but a gracious morrow. A.
ANOTHER RENDERING (_more freely_).
Suff'ring is not always loss; Often underneath the cross-- Heavy, crushing, wearing, slow, Causing us in dread to go-- All unsuspected lieth gain, Like sunshine in vernal rain. Lo, the serpent's mottled skin Cast, new lease of years doth win: Lo, the phoenix in the fire Leaps immortal from its pyre, The mystic plumage mewing, And life by death renewing. What a wise loss thus to lose!-- Who will gainsay or abuse? What strange end to fun'ral pile, Thus in Death's gaunt face to smile! Faith still strong within the fire, Faith triumphant o'er its ire. How stands it, fellow-man, with thee? What meaning in this myth dost see? Happy thou, if when thou'rt lying On thy sick-bed slow a-dying, Cometh vision of the Eternal, Cometh strength for the supernal, Cometh triumph o'er the infernal; And thou canst the Last Enemy Calmly meet, serenely die; The hard Sisters life's web snipping, But thy spirit never gripping; Good, not evil, to thee bringing; Hushing not thy upward singing, To the Golden City winging. Even so to die is gain, Like the Harvest's tawnied grain: Suffering is not always loss; The Crown succeeds the Cross. G.
HUMANAE VITAE DESCRIPTIO.
O vita, tantum lubricus quidam furor Spoliumque vitae! scilicet longi brevis Erroris hospes! Error o mortalium! O certus error! qui sub incerto vagum Suspendit aevum, mille per dolos viae 5 Fugacis, et proterva per volumina Fluidi laboris, ebrios lactat gradus; Et irretitos ducit in nihilum dies. O fata! quantum perfidae vitae fugit Umbris quod imputemus atque auris, ibi 10 Et umbra et aura serias partes agunt Miscentque scenam, volvimur ludibrio Procacis aestus, ut per incertum mare Fragilis protervo cymba cum nutat freto; Et ipsa vitae fila, queis nentes Deae 15 Aevi severa texta producunt manu, Haec ipsa nobis implicant vestigia, Retrahunt trahuntque, donec everso gradu Ruina lassos alta deducat pedes. Felix, fugaces quisquis excipiens dies 20 Gressus serenos fixit, insidiis sui Nec servit aevi, vita inoffensis huic Feretur auris, atque clauda rarius Titubabit hora: vortices anni vagi Hic extricabit, sanus assertor sui. 25
TRANSLATION.
DESCRIPTION OF HUMAN LIFE.
O Life, or but some evanescent madness And glittering spoil of life snatch'd with blind gladness! Of endless Error, transitory guest; Sad human Error, which would fain find rest. O certain Error, 'neath uncertain sky Suspending here our frail mortality; Leading us through a thousand devious ways And intricacies of a treacherous maze! Our staggering footsteps how dost thou beguile Through wanton rounds of unavailing toil, And our entangl'd days to nothing bring! O fates, how much of our poor life takes wing, Wasted on winds and shadows! On life's stage Shadows and winds a serious part engage, The scene confusing. On life's billow tost, The sport of changeful tide, we're well-nigh lost, And, like a frail boat on a stormy sea, We waver up and down uncertainly. Nay, e'en the threads spun by the Fates on high, As with stern fingers they divinely ply The web of life, twine round us as we go, And draw us backwards, forwards, to and fro; Till Ruin trips us up, and we are found Helpless and weary, stretched along the ground. Happy the man who, welcoming each day With smiles that answer to its fleeting ray, Pursues with step serene his purpos'd way; The alluring snares peculiar to the age _His_ soul enslave not, nor his mind engage; His life with peaceful tenor glides along, By fav'ring breezes fann'd, and sooth'd with song; Inspir'd by Heaven with soul-sustaining force, Seldom he falls, or falters in his course; But ever, as the eddying years roll round, Bursting through all the perils that abound, A wise assertor of himself is found. R. WI.
IN PYGMALIONA.
Poenitet artis Pygmaliona suae, Quod felix opus esset, Infelix erat artifex; Sentit vulnera, nec videt ictum. Quis credit? gelido veniunt de marmore flammae: Marmor ingratum nimis Incendit autorem suum. Concepit hic vanos furores, Opus suum miratur atque adorat. Prius creavit, ecce nunc colit manus; Tentantes digitos molliter applicat; Decipit molles caro dura tactus. An virgo vera est, an sit eburnea; Reddat an oscula quae dabantur, Nescit; sed dubitat, sed metuit, munere supplicat, Blanditiasque miscet. Te, miser, poenas dare vult, hos Venus, hos triumphos Capit a te, quod amorem fugis omnem. Cur fugis heu vivos? mortua te necat puella. Non erit innocua haec, quamvis tua fingas manu; Ipsa heu nocens erit nimis, cujus imago nocet.
TRANSLATION.
ON PYGMALION.
Grief for work his hands have done Harroweth Pygmalion; Happy reach of art! yet he The artificer, unhappily, He feels the wounds: what deals the blow? Can it be true? can flames from gelid marble flow?
Marble, treacherous and to blame To burn your Sculptor with such flame! What madness in his heart is hid? He wonders at, he adores the work he did. First he made, and next his hand With wandering fingers softly tries The mystery to understand. Ah, surely now the hard flesh lies! Is it a living maiden, see! O treacherous blisses! Is it no marble? can it frail flesh be? Does it return his kisses? He knows not, he.
He doubts, he fears, he prays; what mean All these sweet blandishments between? Venus, wretched Sculptor, wills You should suffer these sad ills; This is her triumph over you, Because at love your lips would curl; Your will not living overthrows yet this dead girl.
Weep, ah, weep, Pygmalion! Though you shap'd her with your hands, With your chisel, out of stone, Not innocuous here she stands. O image of a maiden! If you so strangely baneful prove, With what despair will you come laden, Coming alive to claim his love! A.
ANOTHER VERSION (_more freely_).
Pygmalion mourns his own success; Was ever such strange wretchedness? His work itself, a work of Art, Perfect in its every part; But himself? Alas, artist he Of his own utmost misery. He feels his wounds, but who shall tell Whence come the drops that downward steal? Flames leap out from the marble, cold As ice itself by storm-wind roll'd: And he, contriver of that fire, Burns self-immolate on his own pyre; Furies of his own genius born Cast him, adoring and forlorn, Into a strange captivity Before his own hands' work; and he Clings to the shapely form, until, In ecstasy of love a-thrill, He burning lips to cold lips sets, And wild with passion her cheek wets; Strains to his breast insensate stone, As 'twere a breathing thing; with moan, With clasp and grasp and tingling touch, As though he ne'er could grip too much; And wilder'd cry of agony, That she respond would; by him lie A virgin pure as drifted snow, Or lilies that i' the meadows blow. Is it ivory? is it stone? Lives it? or is it clay alone? O that to flesh the stone would melt, And show a soul within it dwelt! He looks, he yearns, he sighs, he sobs, Convulsive his whole body throbs; He doubts, he fears, he supplicates With wistful gaze; he on her waits; Gifts lavish he lays at her feet, And, stung to passion, will entreat, As though the image he has made Were thing of life he might persuade-- Persuade and woo, and on her stake His future, all. O sad mistake! For thee, Pygmalion, Venus sends These triumphs which thy chisel lends, To punish thee, for that no love Erewhile thy obstinate heart might move. Why flee'st thou the living, say, When this image thee doth slay? Thee doth--ay, slay! Why dost thou stand Entranc'd before the work o' thy hand, None the less hurtful that it is Thine own genius yields the bliss? Venus must thee still deny; The sculptured maid must breathless lie. G.
ARION.
Squammea vivae Lubrica terga ratis Jam conscendet Arion. Merces tam nova solvitur Navis quam nova scanditur. Illa Aerea est merces, haec est et aquatica navis. Perdidere illum viri Mercede magna, servat hic Mercede nulla piscis: et sic Salute plus ruina constat illi; Minoris et servatur hinc quam perditur. Hic dum findit aquas, findit hic aera: Cursibus, piscis; digitis, Arion: Et sternit undas, sternit et aera: Carminis hoc placido Tridente Abjurat sua jam murmura, ventusque modestior Auribus ora mutat: Ora dediscit, minimos et metuit susurros; Sonus alter restat, ut fit sonus illis Aura strepens circum muta sit lateri adjacente penna, Ambit et ora viri, nec vela ventis hic egent; Attendit hanc ventus ratem: non trahit, at trahitur.
TRANSLATION (_full_).
ARION.
Never since ship was set a-float Have men seen so strange a boat: Alive it is from deck to keel, Having the gray gleam of steel; Slippery as wave-wash'd wreck, Or as a war-ship's bloody deck. A Dolphin, lo, its huge back bending, Safety to Arion lending From the sailors of Sicily, Covetous of his golden monie; Money that as prize he had won Before all Singers aneath the sun; Playing and singing so famouslie, Singing and playing so wondrouslie, That there went up from ev'ry throat The verdict, 'for Arion I vote:' Vote the prize; and gifts as well, Crowns of gold and of asphodel; Lyres all a-glow with gems, Robes bejewell'd to their hems; A thousand golden pieces and one For the gifted son of Poseidon: And, hark, as 'twere the bellowing thunder, In clang'rous shouts men tell their wonder. Arion now homeward takes his way In a fair ship steer'd for Corinth Bay; Proud of his prizes, proud of his skill, Proud that soon Periander will Welcome him fondly, and call him friend, With words such as no money can send. Alas and alas, such crime to tell! The ship-captain and sailors fell Covet his gold, and have it must, Though Arion they murder by blow or thrust. But Apollo at midnight hour Sendeth a dream in mystic power; It showeth the men, it showeth their crime. Arion awakes with the morning's chime; Awakes, and planneth how to escape. Vain, vain all; on him they gape, Thirsting alike for gold and life, Murder and covetousness at strife. 'Suffer me, then,' Arion said, 'That I may play as I have play'd; Here is my poor Lyre, and, ere I die, Let me prove its minstrelsy.' He has donn'd him now in gay attire, Festal robes; in his hand his Lyre. List ye, list ye; above, below, Sounds such as only the angels know; Sounds that are born of rapture and bliss, Of the throbbing heart and the burning love-kiss. Now it is soft, pathetic, low, Then 'gins to change to cry of woe; Now it comes rushing as if the thunder Came booming from the deep earth under; Pulsing along each quivering string As though the Lyre were a living thing, And Arion's hand had so cunning a spell As should win all heaven--ay and hell. O, came there never such melodie From mortal earth or mortal sky. He mounted to the good ship's prow, And mingling with his song a vow To the gods, he himself threw Out 'mid the waves from that damnable crew. Up through the waves the Dolphins bound, A hundred bended backs are found, Each one more eager than the rest To upbear the sweet Player on Ocean's breast. Arion ascends; and, lo, he stands, His Lyre unwet within his hands: Onward and onward careering they go; O soft and true the notes that flow! Rising, falling, swelling, dying, Near and nearer, far-off flying; Pulsing along each quivering string As though the Lyre were a living thing. New is the ship, as new the freight; The Dolphin feels never the weight; New is the ship, and new the fare, That of the water, this of the air: The sailors in their greed him lost, The Dolphin bears him withouten cost. Away and away with a shim'ring track Arion goes on the Dolphin's back; Away and away, still softly playing, Each string his lightest touch obeying. Under the spell the Sea grows calm, Listing attent his witching psalm; Under the spell the air grows mild, Breathing soft as sleeping child. But who may seek all the tale to tell? It is a tale unspeakable. Onward and onward careering they go, Silence above and silence below: The Storm-gale shuts its mouth and lists, The Wind folds its pinions and desists, Following, not blowing, drawing not, but drawn, From early ev'ning to breaking dawn. Tenarus at last Arion beheld; Tenarus, his own dear home that held; And as together they swiftly come, He claps hands loud and thinks of home. The Dolphin seeks a quiet cove; The Dolphin arching its back above The azure waters, leaves him there, A-list'ning still his Lyre to hear. Homeward to Corinth Arion proceeds: Periander a tale of suff'ring reads In the thinned cheek and the dreamy eye, In the tremulous words and the laden sigh. The story is told. O story of wrong! The ship returns; and it is not long Ere captain and crew, at bar arraign'd, Must tell where Arion they detain'd. 'He tarries,' quoth they, 'in Sicily, Winning all men by his minstrelsie.' Lies were proven in their throat. Periander his hands together smote, Swearing a solemn oath that they-- One, all--should drown'd be in the Bay. Tied hand and foot, pallor'd and grim, 'Tis done as they would ha' done to him. A plunge as of a plunging stone, A few bubbles--Vengeance is done! G.
IN
APOLLINEA DEPEREUNTEM DAPHNEN.
Stulte Cupido, Quid tua flamma parat? Annos sole sub ipso Accensae pereunt faces? Sed fax nostra potentior istis, Flammas inflammare potest, ipse uritur ignis, Ecce flammarum potens Majore sub flamma gemit. Eheu, quid hoc est? En Apollo Lyra tacente, ni sonet dolores, Coma jacente squallet aeternus decor Oris, en, dominae quo placeat magis, Languido tardum jubar igne promit. Pallente vultu territat aethera. Mundi oculus lacrymis senescit, Et solvit pelago debita, quodque hauserat ignibus, His lacrymis rependit. Noctis adventu properans se latebris recondit, Et opacas tenebrarum colit umbras, Namque suos odit damnans radios nocensque lumen. An lateat tenebris dubitat, an educat diem, Hinc suadet hoc luctus furens, inde repugnat amor.
TRANSLATION (_full_).
ON APOLLO PINING FOR DAPHNE.
Cupid, foolishest of pets, What woe thy swift-sent flame begets! Surely before the flashing Sun Torches pale to extinction? But our torch is mightier far; It able is 'gainst fire to war, Yea, fire itself to burn and char. The igni-potent in amaze, Lo, groans, his huge heart all a-blaze With keener flame than his own rays. Ah, what is this? Apollo burns, And as distraught in anguish mourns. Lo, see his lyre mute and unstrung, Or only grief-notes from it wrung: Lo, his golden locks neglected, And his radiant face dejected; Beauty eterne distain'd, rejected. The great Sun-god is in love, And seeks in vain his Fair to move: Hence his weird pallor, and those cries That the sky shudd'ring terrifies; Hence the world's day-bringing eye Tears dim, such as in mortals' lie; Hence those showers often falling, The Sea her erst gifts recalling; Hence welcome the approaching night, That mourning he may veil his light-- Veil his light, and in shadows deep His great anguish in secret weep. Nor, when vermeil-draped Morning, With her smile the East adorning, Touches with her rosy finger Eyes that 'neath their lashes linger, Seeking to wake the God of Day, That round the world his beams may play, Does he haste at all to rise To his 'fulgent throne i' the skies; But rather would abide within The clouds whereon he rests his chin; Hating his own beams' splendour now, Since Daphne scorns to list his vow: Thus he lingers, and still weighs Whether Day or Night to raise. Raging grief he cannot smother, Says the one; and Love the other. Cupid, tricksiest of pets, What woe thy swift-sent flame begets![99] G.
AENEAS PATRIS SUI BAJULUS.
Moenia Trojae, hostis et ignis, Hostes inter et ignes, Aeneas spolium pium Atque humeris venerabile pondus Excipit, et 'Saevae nunc o nunc parcite flammae; Parcite haud, clamat, mihi; Sacrae favete sarcinae: Quod si negatis, nec licebit Vitam juvare, sed juvabo funus Rogusque fiam patris ac bustum mei.' His dictis, acies pervolat hostium, Gestit, et partis veluti trophaeis Ducit triumphos. Nam furor hostium Jam stupet, et pietate tanta Victor vincitur; imo et moritur Troja libenter, funeribusque gaudet, Ac faces admittit ovans, ne lateat tenebras Per opacas opus ingens pietatis. Debita sic patri solvis tua, sic pari rependis Officio. Dederat vitam tibi, tu reddis huic: Felix, parentis qui pater diceris esse tui.
TRANSLATION (_full_).
AENEAS THE BEARER OF HIS FATHER.
The walls of Troy--the walls of Troy! 'Tis an old tale you will enjoy: A foe is there amid the fire, A foe 'twixt foemen in their ire. Aeneas takes a pious load With upward prayer to his god; E'en his old father, whose gray head Lay 'mong the dying and the dead: O venerable spoil in truth, Fit from the demons to fetch ruth. Fierce roar the flames, and fiercer still Rages the fight on plain and hill. 'Spare the old man,' Aeneas cries; 'Spare the white hairs; or if he dies, Be mine the privilege of his pyre; Be mine with him at once t'expire.' Scarcely are the true words spoken, When through line of battle broken Swift he passes; and this brave son His father bears in triumph on; Reck'ning that he a trophy has That the conquerors' doth surpass. He safely goes: for, lo, amaz'd, The foe upon them wistful gaz'd: The conquerors the conquer'd are By filial love so strong, so fair. The flames Troy willingly receives, Jubilant that the old man lives; Welcomes the torches, that the night May not conceal this deed of light. All praise to thee, high-hearted son! Thou an undying name hast won: The debt of love thou hast repaid Unto thy father, who is made Thy debtor now; for life he gave, And thou in turn his life dost save. Happy the son whom thus we see Father of his own sire to be. G.
PHOENICIS GENETHLIACON ET EPICEDION.
Phoenix alumna mortis, Quam mira tua puerpera! Tu scandis haud nidos, sed ignes. Non parere sed perire ceu parata: Mors obstetrix; atque ipsa tu teipsam paris, Tu tuique mater ipsa es, Tu tuique filia. Tu sic odora messis Surgis tuorum funerum; Tibique per tuam ruinam Reparata, te succedis ipsa. Mors o Faecunda; sancta o lucra pretiosae necis! Vive, monstrum dulce, vive, Tu tibique suffice.
TRANSLATION.
OF THE GENERATION AND REGENERATION OF THE PHOENIX.
Phoenix, nursling of Death, How wondrous is thy birth! Thou gainest not thy breath I' nest, like birds of Earth: 'Mid fire all flaming hot Thou strangely art begot; The leaping flames thee cherish When thou seem'st to perish. Lo, Death thy midwife is; Lo, thyself thou bearest. O tell me how is this, That mystery thou preparest? Thou mother of thyself! Thou daughter of thyself! When thy 'pointed hour is done, Thou an od'rous nest entwinest; And, as for thy destruction, Thou 'midst its fires reclinest. Most surely thou'rt consum'd; Most surely thou'rt relum'd. O fruitful Death! O gainful Death! Live then, self-contained bird; Most pleasing wonder. The old legend is absurd; But truth lies under. G.
EPITAPHIUM.
Quisquis nectareo serenus aevo Et spe lucidus aureae juventae, Nescis purpureos abire soles, Nescis vincula ferreamque noctem Imi careris horridumque Ditem, 5 Et spectas tremulam procul senectam, Hinc disces lacrymas, et huc repones. Hic, o scilicet hic brevi sub antro Spes et gaudia mille, mille, longam, Heu longam nimis! induere noctem. 10 Flammantem nitidae facem juventae Submersit Stygiae paludis unda. Ergo, si lacrymas neges doloris, Huc certo lacrymas feres timoris.
NOTE.
I correct, in l. 6, 'tremulam' for 'tremulum;' l. 7, 'disces' for 'discas,' and 'huc' for 'hinc.' G.
TRANSLATION.
EPITAPH.
Ye that still, serene in peace, Lying in the lap of ease, Believe the hopes of golden youth, And have not heard the bitter truth, How shining suns fade at a breath; Ye, with little dread of death, Or fear of chains and iron night Of man's last prison, or the sight Of gloomy Dis; that think to keep Old age away,--look here, and weep. Here, to this one narrow room, A thousand joys and hopes have come; Here bright minutes many a one Have a lasting night put on: Youth's torch, that flash'd such light about, Is in the Stygian wave put out. Then, if you grudge poor grief a tear, Heave, at least, a sigh for fear. A.
ANOTHER RENDERING (_more freely_).
Whoe'er ye be, upgazing here, Calm, unruffl'd, without tear; Joyous in your golden prime, And unwitting of the time When shall pale Life's glowing sun, And the web of years be spun; Thinking not o' the iron night Where grim Pluto reigns in might; Thinking not of the nether world, With its clanking chains; Whither damned souls are hurl'd When the Judge arraigns; Seeing old age far away; Making Life one holiday;-- Here perceive that Grief shall yet Your ruddy cheeks with sorrow wet; Here musing upon this poor stone, Ye may learn prevention. This Earth, what is it but a home Fugitive as sea-wave's foam? Mark where breaks the whit'n'd wave 'Mid the cliffs--an arched cave; Light and shadow play within, Flick'ring o'er its walls; In the gloom--with Hell akin-- A dull stream slowly crawls. E'en such is Life, how bright soe'er, Hope and Joy lure to Despair; And Life's stream goes plunging down Into dark drear Acheron; Youth's bright torch extinguish'd quite; Golden Day exchang'd for Night: To long night of changeless woe Swift the Christless souls shall go. Shun not therefore in thy prime, Shun not whilst thou art in Time, Tears of penitence over sin; Or bitterly shalt thou rue, When Death shall fling his javelin, And Hell's prison thee immew. Bethink thee in thy golden prime; Bethink thee whilst thou'rt yet in Time. G.
ELEGIA.[100]
Ite, meae lacrymae, nec enim moror, ite; sed oro Tantum ne miserae claudite vocis iter. O liceat querulos verbis animare dolores, Et saltem 'Ah periit!' dicere noster amor. Ecce negant tamen; ecce negant, lacrymaeque rebelles Pergunt indomita praecipitantque via. Visne, o care, igitur te nostra silentia dicant? Vis fleat assiduo murmure mutus amor? Flebit, et urna suos semper bibet humida rores, Et fidas semper semper habebit aquas. Interea, quicunque estis, ne credite mirum Si verae lacrymae non didicere loqui.
TRANSLATION.
ELEGY.
Flow, flow, my tears; I stay you not; but pray To my unhappy voice close not the way. My plaintive griefs with words, O let me move; To say, 'Alas, he died!' allow my love. Lo, they say, no--the rebel tears say, no! And with unconquer'd headlong torrent flow. Wouldst thou, O dear one, that our silence speak? Mute love with ceaseless sob moisten our cheek? It shall; and still thine urn drink its own dews, And never its own faithful waters lose. Meanwhile let no one think a wonder wrought, If real tears to speak could not be taught. R. WI.
THESAURUS MALORUM FOEMINA.
Quis deus, o quis erat, qui te, mala foemina, finxit? Proh, crimen superum, noxa pudenda deum! Quae divum manus est adeo non dextera mundo? In nostras clades ingeniosa manus: Parcite; peccavi: nec enim pia numina possunt Tam crudele semel vel voluisse nefas. Vestrum opus est pietas; opus est concordia vestrum; Vos equidem tales haud reor artifices. Heus, inferna cohors, foetus cognoscite vestros. Num pudet hanc vestrum vincere posse scelus? Plaudite Tartarei proceres Erebique potentes, Nae mirum est tantum vos potuisse malum; Jam vestras laudate manus. Si forte tacetis, Artificum laudes grande loquetur opus. Quam bene vos omnes speculo contemplor in isto? Pectus in angustum cogitur omne malum. Quin dormi, Pluto; rabidas compesce sorores; Jam non poscit opem nostra ruina tuam. Haec satis in nostros fabricata est machina muros, Mortales furias Tartara nostra dabunt.
TRANSLATION.
WOMAN A TREASURY OF EVILS.
What god? or who was it? I ask, contriv'd Thee, O Woman, evil Woman? who conniv'd Together--who--in this supremest crime Of the divinities, before old Time Was born? Alas, most dire calamity As e'er has come upon humanity! Whence was the hand, ye Powers, so evil-skill'd In sin and mischief, so perversely will'd To curse this world of ours? But hold! I blunder; I must to the dark regions lying under, Ev'n Hell, descend. Not Thee, O God above, For Thou art pitiful, for Thou art Love: Not one of all the gracious Pow'rs supernal; But ye, O Furies, from the pit infernal, Ye, ye the work devis'd, matur'd, achiev'd, And brought to Man; to Man--frail Man! deceiv'd: Ho, hosts of evil! ho! on you I call: Behold your offspring diabolical. Does it a blush raise?--Spirits of evil, speak!-- Such as expos'd crime brings to mortal cheek? Lo, these your works yourselves surpass, I wis; Clap hands, ye potentates of the Abyss. Rulers of Erebus, is it not a wonder, Worthy of Hell's most resonant swift thunder, That ye such thing contrived have as Heaven Never cast out, nor e'er to Hell was driven? Take ye your praise, your praise; this work o' your hands Absolute in mischief 'bove compar'son stands. Or if ye silent be, your work will speak Your praise. Ha, ha! what mean ye that ye shriek Thus as I meditate with pulse of fear Upon this monster, Woman? Ah, 'tis clear; I see your guile and skill. The gods above Would have all ills within one scant breast move! To bed, Pluto, king of the nether world; Sleep on in peace; be every banner furl'd; Ye fires, go out; Man's ruin is complete; No need of you--in Woman all woes meet: In her, ye devils, ye have so contriv'd That Tempter, who--better than had ye div'd To furthest Tartarus--Man's protecting wall Shall breach. Earth's fury--Woman--passes all! G.
Latin Poems.
PART SECOND. SECULAR.
II.
MISCELLANEOUS AND COMMEMORATIVE.
NEVER BEFORE PRINTED.
NOTE.
Once more the Sancroft MS. furnishes the Poems of this division, all hitherto unprinted. In this section I have again been largely and finely aided in the translations by my already-named friend the Rev. Richard Wilton, as before. G.
PULCHRA NON DIUTURNA.
EHEU, ver breve et invidum! Eheu, floriduli dies! Ergo curritis improba, Et quae nunc face fulgurat, Dulcis forma tenacibus Immiscebitur infimae: Heu, noctis nebulis; amor Fallax, umbraque somnii. Quin incumbitis; invida Sic dictat colus, et rota Cani temporis incito Currens orbe volubilis. O deprendite lubricos Annos; et liquidum jubar Verni sideris, ac novi Floris fulgura, mollibus Quae debetis amoribus, Non impendite luridos In manes avidum et Chaos. Quanquam sidereis genis, Quae semper nive sobria Sinceris spatiis vigent, Floris germine simplicis, Flagrant ingenuae rosae: Quanquam perpetua fide Illic mille Cupidines, Centum mille Cupidines, Pastos nectarea dape, Blandis sumptibus educas; Istis qui spatiis vagi, Plenis lusibus ebrii, Udo rore beatuli, Uno plus decies die Istis ex oculis tuis, Istis ex oculis suas Sopitas animant faces, Et languentia recreant Succo spicula melleo: Tum flammis agiles novis Lasciva volitant face, Tum plenis tumidi minis, Tum vel sidera territant, Et coelum et fragilem Jovem: Quanquam fronte sub ardua Majestas gravis excubans, Dulces fortiter improbis Leges dictat amoribus: Quanquam tota, per omnia, Coelum machina praeferat, Tanquam pagina multiplex Vivo scripta volumine, Terris indigitans polos. Et compendia siderum: Istis heu tamen heu genis, Istis purpureis genis, Oris sidere florido, Regno frontis amabili; Mors heu crastina forsitan Crudeles faciet notas, Naturaeque superbiam Damnabit tumuli specu.
TRANSLATION.
THE BEAUTIFUL NOT LASTING.
Alas, how brief and grudg'd our Spring! Ah, flow'ry days how vanishing! E'en so ye hasten on and on With an unceasing motion. And thou, sweet Beauty, brightly flashing, But all too soon thy fairness dashing, To depths of lowest Night must go: Ah, losing there thy hasty glow; Dark'ning mists around thee clinging, And thy loveliness swift-winging: A love that brightens to deceive; A dream-shadow, fugitive. Ye therefore o'er whom Life's young Day Shineth still with golden ray, Seize--Fate's harsh distaff makes appeal, And hoary Time's quick-whirling wheel, As round and round the circle spins, And to furthest distance wins-- Seize ye the gliding seasons fleet, And dews of vernal Phosphor sweet, And new-blown flowers' brightness meet. O, what to tender loves ye owe, Waste not on Chaos dark below, Where pallid ghosts dim-gleaming go. Though, Beauty, on thy starry cheeks, Where snow's white pureness ever breaks, And where gazing, we see born Roses fresh without all thorn, Buds intertwining undefil'd, Spotless as e'er a grace-born child: Though thou with everlasting faith Fosterest with thy nectar'd breath Myriad Loves, and dost them feed With honey'd feast of heavenly mead In gentle draughts; and they roam round In thy realms, and aye are found Surfeiting themselves with play In one amorous holiday; Happy in the drenching dew, And seeking ever to renew Their torch-flames at thy fair eyes, And whet blunt arrows' ecstasies With sweet juice that in honey lies: And so, with their flame relumed, Deftly hover, airy-plumed; Waving higher still and higher Their torches that raise soft desire; Menacing the very stars, Yea the old heavens i' their wars: Although beneath thy high-arch'd brow Sits Majesty, nor doth allow To wanton loves such liberty As mocks the Ruler of the sky; But in their wild career gives pause, Imposing on them Love's sweet laws: Though thy whole frame in every part Sets forth the sky as in a chart; Though thy fair face in every look Shows heaven in page of living book; To Earth reveals the starry skies In the bright glances of thine eyes: Yet, alas, on these fair cheeks, Where the rose all-blushing speaks, There shall come the snow's sad whiteness, And the red, heart-breaking brightness: On the 'human face divine,' That as a star doth radiant shine, There shall come the deep'ning shadow, As clouds across the dappl'd meadow. On the high state of the brow To-morrow Death may make his blow; And all of Nature's bravery Gone, in the Grave's cavern lie. Alas, the fairest is the fleetest! Alas, how short-liv'd is the sweetest! Alas, the richest is the rarest! Alas, that Death doth spoil the fairest! G.
HYMNUS VENERI,
DUM IN ILLIUS TUTELAM TRANSEUNT VIRGINES.
Tu tuis adsis, Venus alme, sacris: Rideas blandum, Venus, et benignum, Quale cum Martem premis, aureoque Frangis ocello. Rideas o tum neque flamma Phoebum, Nec juvent Phoeben sua tela; gestat Te satis contra tuus ille tantum Tela Cupido. Saepe in ipsius pharetra Dianae Hic suas ridens posuit sagittas, Ausus et flammae Dominum magistris Urere flammis. Virginum te orat chorus--esse longum Virgines nollent--modo servientum Tot columbarum tibi passerumque augere catervam. Dedicant quicquid labra vel rosarum Colla, vel servant tibi liliorum; Dedicant totum tibi ver genarum, Ver oculorum. Hinc tuo sumas licet arma nato, Seu novas his ex oculis sagittas; Seu faces flamma velit acriori Flave comatas. Sume, et o discant quid amica, quid nox, Quid bene et blande vigilata nox sit; Quid sibi dulcis furor, et protervus Poscat amator. Sume per quae tot tibi corda flagrant, Per quod arcanum tua cestus halat, Per tuus quicquid tibi dixit olim aut Fecit Adonis.
TRANSLATION.
A HYMN TO VENUS,
WHILE THE VIRGINS PASS UNDER HER PROTECTION.
Be thou, sweet Venus, present now, Whilst at thy sacred rites we vow; Smile, Venus, with the smile that charms When Mars enfolds thee in his arms, O'ercome with glance as sunshine golden, Renowned from the ages olden. Smile; then Phoebus' flame shall fail, Nor Phoebe her own darts avail. Thy Cupid only against thee Wields successful weaponry. Oft and oft the laughing Boy In the wildness of his joy Has slipt into Diana's quiver His keen arrows, that a shiver Pleasant-painful send through all, When he, trickster, doth enthral. Yea, he has dar'd the Lord of Fire With flames more burning, in his ire. The arm-link'd Virgins to thee pray, Seeking thou wouldst near them stay; Were it but to offer here, In the flock that hovers near, More doves and sparrows lightly-flying: To their prayer there's no denying. Lo, they dedicate in posies All their lips supply of roses; All their necks, of lilies, white As the dewy stainless light; Yea, the whole Spring of each cheek, And that which from their eyes doth break. Hence, Venus, arms thou mayest take For thy wanton Boy to make Arrows from their fire-darting eyes, Or torches flame-tipp'd that surprise With Love's delicious agonies. Take them, and see thou lett'st them know What means a 'mistress;' and then show What the Night all-wakeful is In the rapture of its bliss; What the bold lover shall demand When all charms he doth command. Take them: by all the hearts that burn, And passionate unto thee turn! By all the mysteries that are breath'd, Or in thine own girdle sheath'd! By all to thee Adonis e'er Or said or did, when he would swear, Ne'er i' the world was one so fair! G.
VERIS DESCRIPTIO.
Tempus adest, placidis quo sol novus auctior horis Purpureos mulcere dies, et sidere verno Floridus, augusto solet ire per aethera vultu, Naturae communis amor; spes aurea mundi; Virgineum decus, et dulcis lascivia rerum, Ver tenerum, ver molle subit; jam pulchrior annus Pube nova, roseaeque recens in flore juventae Felici fragrat gremio, et laxatur odora Prole parens; per aquas, perque arva, per omnia late Ipse suas miratur opes, miratur honores. Jam Zephyro resoluta suo tumet ebria tellus, Et crebro bibit imbre Jovem, sub frondibus altis Flora sedens, audit, felix! quo murmure lapsis Fons patrius minitetur aquis, quae vertice crispo Respiciunt tantum, et strepero procul agmine pergunt. Audit, et arboreis siquid gemebunda recurrens Garriat aura comis, audit, quibus ipsa susurris Annuit, et facili cervice remurmurat arbor. Quin audit querulas, audit quodcunque per umbras Flebilibus Philomela modis miserabile narrat. Tum quoque praecipue blandis Cytherea per orbem Spargitur imperiis; molles tum major habenas Incutit increpitans, cestus magis ignea rores Ingeminat, tumidosque sinus flagrantior ambit; Nympharum incedit late, Charitumque corona Amplior, et plures curru jam nectit olores: Quin ipsos quoque tum campis emittit apricis Laeta parens gremioque omnes effundit Amores. _Venus_ Mille ruunt equites blandi, peditumque protervae Mille ruunt acies: levium pars terga ferarum Insiliunt, gaudentque suis stimulare sagittis; Pars optans gemino multum properare volatu Aerios conscendit equos; hic passere blando Subsiliens leve ludit iter; micat huc, micat illuc Hospitio levis incerto, et vagus omnibus umbris: Verum alter gravidis insurgens major habenis Maternas molitur aves: illi improbus acrem Versat apem similis, seseque agnoscit in illo. Et brevibus miscere vias ac frangere gyris: Pars leviter per prata vagi sua lilia dignis Contendunt sociare rosis; tum floreus ordo Consilio fragrante venit; lascivit in omni Germine laeta manus; nitidis nova gloria pennis Additur; illustri gremio sedet aurea messis; Gaudet odoratas coma blandior ire sub umbras. Excutiunt solitas, immitia tela, sagittas, Ridentesque aliis pharetrae spectantur in armis. Flore manus, et flore sinus, flore omnia lucent. Undique jam flos est. Vitreas hic pronus ad undas Ingenium illudentis aquae, fluitantiaque ora, Et vaga miratur tremulae mendacia formae. Inde suos probat explorans, et judice nympha Informat radios, ne non satis igne protervo Ora tremant, agilesque docet nova fulgura vultus, Atque suo vibrare jubet petulantius astro.
TRANSLATION.
A DESCRIPTION OF SPRING.
The time is come, when, lord of milder hours, The Sun, ascending fresh with larger powers, Is wont to woo and soothe the purple Day, And, brilliant with its beaming vernal ray, To climb with face august the heavenly way; All Nature's love, Earth's hope and glory golden, To which for garlands virgins are beholden. With a glad plenty of all living things Sweet tender Spring approaches on soft wings. The Year, more beauteous now with offspring new, And crown'd with Youth's fresh flowers of every hue, Delicious odours pours from happy breast, Of fragrant progeny the parent blest: O'er verdant fields, blue waters, everywhere, At his own wealth he wonders, large and fair. By her own Zephyr thirsty Earth unbound Drinks eagerly the showers which fall all round; While Flora, sitting where tall trees appear, Lists, O how happily! as, murmuring near, A father-fountain chides its gliding waters, Which with curl'd head--alas, unduteous daughters-- Only look back, and then a garrulous band Pursue their laughing way o'er all the land; Lists how the sighing, oft-returning air Soft prattles to the leafy tresses fair; With what sweet whispers it accosts the tree, Which with bow'd head makes answer murmuringly; Lists, lists again, while through the mournful shade Sad Philomel's pathetic plaint is made. Now chiefly Venus spreads her empire sweet, And calls the world to worship at her feet; Now mightier her soft reins shakes to and fro, Chiding, and makes her chariot faster go; More fiery bids her cestus' powers abound, And her warm swelling bosom girds around; More glorious now, circl'd by Nymphs and Graces, She marches forth, and to her chariot-traces She yokes more swans. Nay, freer than before, Her Loves themselves, the sunny meadows o'er, From her maternal bosom see her pour; A thousand horsemen sweet career around, Ten thousand wanton footmen scour the ground; Part mount the backs of wild beasts as they run, And their own goad-like arrows ply in fun; Part seek wing'd flight to urge with double speed, And so ascend each one an airy steed; One, vaulting on a sparrow, flits away; Here see him lightly shine, there brightly play, In no place long; now resting here, now yonder, Wherever shadows woo them, lo, they wander. One, rising mightier than her heavy reins, His Mother's birds attempts with lighter chains. One, bee-like, brave o'erthrows an angry bee, Only another self in him to see; In tiny circles they awhile revolve, But soon their interlacing flight dissolve. Part, lightly flitting o'er the meadows fair, Strive their own lilies with meet rose to pair. Now flowery tribes in fragrant counsel stand, Amid the buds wantons the joyous band. New glory on their shining pinions rests, A golden harvest settles on their breasts; With sweeten'd locks to odorous shades they go, Their arrows, weapons harsh, away they throw, While other arms their smiling quivers show. Flowers in their hand, flowers in their breast, are seen, On every side appears a flowery sheen. One Love, reclin'd beside a glassy stream, Admires the nature of the illusive gleam, The liquid likeness of his wavering face, And tremulous deceit of imag'd grace. Thence, his own rays examining, he tries And fashions, as the Nymph may chance advise, That braver fires may tremble in his eyes; His mobile face new lightnings flashes far, With rays more wanton, bickering like a star. R. WI.
PRISCIANUS VERBERANS ET VAPULANS.
The two following poems--somewhat out of character, so to say, with Crashaw--were probably prepared for a tractate, which it has been our good fortune to hap on in the Bodleian. It is a Latin burlesque Poem, filling a small 4to of 20 pages, with this title:
EN PRISCIANUS VERBERANS ET VAPULANS.
Jam publicato verberans aures stylo Qua penis iterum vapulet, metuit crisin.
Londini
Excudebat Augustinus Mathewes impensis Roberti Mulbourne ad insigne Canis venatici in coemeterio Paulino. 1632.
The words 'Priscianus Verberans et Vapulans' remind us of the once-famous 'Comoedia' of Nicodemus Freschlin; but the later poem shows no reminiscence of the earlier. These details will doubtless interest and amuse in relation to Crashaw's pieces. Priscianus, otherwise Nisus, a schoolmaster, whips a boy who broke and dirtied his whipping-horse, and the boy's parents bring an action against him for assault. The place is evidently Aldborough in Suffolk--illumined by the genius of Crabbe--and the name of the boy's family Coleman. The poem thus begins and proceeds--the marginal notes being placed at the bottom of our pages:
Pinguibus in populi, qui dicitur Austricus,[101] arvis Praeturam, fasces, lictores nuper adepta Villa[102] antiqua, novo jam Burgi turget honore.
He describes the school:
Vicinae senior Carbonius[3] incola villae, 'Lingua vernacula idem quod {anthrakandros},
sends his son as a scholar: the stipend 20_s._ a year:
De stipe[103] consentit genitor: Carbunculus intrat.
He describes the whipping-block, the judicious use of which saves boys from the gallows:
Iste caballus Non in perniciem, non urbis ut ille ruinam _the Trojan_ Sed curam imberbis populi, regimenque salubre: A triplici ligno[104] lignum hoc penate tuetur Praecipitem aetatem.
Young Coleman plays truant from school, and one day, when the school is empty, breaks and defiles the horse. He openly boasts of his feat, and returning another day to repeat his misdeed, is caught by Nisus, who mounts him on the injured horse, which, by poetical license, is made to whinny with content. The youth expects twenty cuts, and receives four:
Quattuor[105] inflixit tantum mediocriter ictus, Plures optet equus, plures daret arbiter aequus.
Coleman senior calls on the Schoolmaster, who remarks that payment for his son's schooling is in arrear. Coleman returns with Mrs. Coleman, and demands a receipt for the payment, which he makes, as Nisus discovers, lest a counter-action be brought against him:
Vult sibi ut absolvens[106] accepti latio detur Consignata manu Nisi, atque a teste probata.
Then Mrs. Coleman shows herself deserving of the cucking-stool:
..... bona Carbonissa Inque caput Nisi cumulata opprobria plaustro Digna et rixivomas sub aquis mersante[107] cathedra, Quinetiam manibus quasi pugnatura lacessit.
They bring their action for assault. (The English words in the marginal notes, placed below, are in black-letter:)
Nulla mora est, juristam adhibent, de fonte dicarum Qui populo Placita ad Communia[108] panditur, exit Schedula quod vulgo[109] Regis Breve dicitur: illo Mox capitur Nisus, geminoque sub obside spondet In responsurum praescripto tempore: tempus Cunctarum[110] lux est animarum crastini. Verum Actor quis?[111] Puer ipse, virum qui provocat, annos Nondum bis-senos superans. Sed et actio quaenam? Quid crimen? Pravus atque atrox injuria, tristes Et tragicae ambages, ampullae sesquipedales, Quod[112] Regis contra pacem vi Nisus, et armis Insultum fecit, male tractans verbere saevo Verberibus diris adeo, plenisque pericli De pueri vita ut desperaretur.
The poem ends, leaving poor Nisus in the midst of his first law-suit:
Ecce Nisus, jam primum Nisus miser ambulat in jus:
and the marginal note is 'In causis litigiosis sive casibus inscriptionum stylus Johannes de Stiles versus Johannem de Nokes.' A concluding chronogram gives the year 1629:
LVDI MagIster LIte VeXatVr forI.
The Schoolmaster's friends have written him complimentary epigrams, which are prefixed to his poem. One is worth reproducing, ae it has an echo of Crashaw's:
Ad {koprochrysounta} Suavia nonnulli lutulento carmine narrant: Turpia tu nitido, Nise poeta, places.
In black-letter, as follows:
Some cloath faire tales in sluttish eloquence: Thy tale is foule, thy verse is frankincense.
T. Lovering Artium Ludiq. Magister.
There seems little doubt that Crashaw's two poems were born of this anonymous tractate. Cf. 'rixivomas' (p. 310) with 'vomitivam' and 'rixosa volumina linguae.' Biographically they and others secular have a special interest and value. My good friend Rev. Richard Wilton, as before, has very happily translated these playthings. G.
Quid facis? ah, tam perversa quid volvitur ira? Quid parat iste tuus, posterus iste furor? Ah, truculente puer, tam foedo parce furori. Nec rapiat tragicas tam gravis ira nates. Ecce fremit, fremit ecce indignabundus Apollo. Castalides fugiunt, et procul ora tegunt. Sic igitur sacrum, sic insedisse caballum Quaeris? et, ah, fieri tam male notus eques? Ille igitur phaleris nitidus lucebit in istis? Haec erit ad solidum turpis habena latus? His ille, haud nimium rigidis, dabit ora lupatis? Haec fluet in miseris sordida vitta jubis? Sic erit ista tui, sic aurea pompa triumphi? Ille sub imperiis ibit olentis heri? Ille tamen neque terribili stat spumeus ira; Ungula nec celso fervida calce tonat. O merito spectatur equi patientia nostri! Dicite Io, tantum quis toleravit equus? Pegasus iste ferox, mortales spretus habenas. Bellerophontaea non tulit ire manu. Noster equus tamen exemplo non turget in isto: Stat bonus, et solito se pede certus habet. Imo licet tantos de te tulit ille pudores, Te tulit ille iterum, sed meliore modo. Tunc rubor in scapulas O quam bene transiit iste, Qui satis in vultus noluit ire tuos! At mater centum in furias abit, et vomit iram Mille modis rabidam jura, forumque fremit. Quin fera tu taceas; aut jura forumque tacebunt: Tu legi vocem non sinis esse suam. O male vibratae rixosa volumina linguae, Et satis in nullo verba tonanda foro! Causidicos, vesana! tuos tua fulmina terrent. Ecce stupent miseri, ah, nec meminere loqui. Hinc tua, foede puer, foedati hinc terga caballi Exercent querulo jurgia lenta foro. Obscaenas lites, et olentia jurgia ridet Turpiter in causam sollicitata Themis. Juridicus lites quisquis tractaverit istas, O satis emuncta nare sit ille, precor, At tu de misero quid vis, truculente, caballo? Cur premis insultans, saeve, tyranne puer! Tene igitur fugiet? fugiet sacer iste caballus? Non fugiet, sed, si vis, tibi terga dabit.[113]
TRANSLATION.
PRISCIANUS BEATING AND BEING BEATEN.
What wouldest thou? why rolls thy wayward ire? What means that rage of thine dirty and dire? Ah, savage boy, such fury foul forbear, Nor let thy wrath those tragic buttocks tear. Apollo, all indignant, groans and sighs; The Muses flee, and hide them from thine eyes. Thus dost thou seek to sit the sacred steed? Thus to become a horseman fam'd indeed! In such adornment shall he brightly shine? His firm flank lash'd by this base whip of thine? His mouth to this loose bit shall he deliver? O'er his poor mane this filthy fillet quiver? In golden triumph thus shalt thou proceed, So rank a lord bestriding such a steed? Yet foaming with dire rage he does not stand, Nor with hot hoof go thundering o'er the land. Our horse's patience is a wond'rous sight! O, say, what horse before endur'd such wight? Old Pegasus, despising mortal sway, Bellerophon's strong hand disdain'd to obey: And yet with no such rage swells this our horse; Quiet he stands, and holds his wonted course. Nay, though he bore such shame from thee that day, Again he bore thee--in a better way! Then to thy shoulders fitly pass'd the blush, Which to thy countenance refus'd to rush. His mother furious raves and wildly splutters A thousand spites, and of the law-courts mutters. Peace, woman! or the law-courts thou wilt awe; Thou dost not leave its own voice to the Law. O fractious eddies of the brandish'd tongue, Such words as in no law-court ever rung. Thy very lawyers from thy thunders hide: Lo, they forget to speak, as stupefied. Thus, thus, foul boy, thy fouled horse's hide By wrangling law-court's tedious strife is plied. While Justice, summon'd to a cause so vile, Views the rank strife obscene with scornful smile. Whatever judge such nasty action tries, See that he blow his nose well, I advise. But why wouldst thou, cruel, tyrannic boy, With thy insulting weight that horse annoy? That sacred steed, will it, then, from thee flee?-- 'Twill not turn tail, but lend its back to thee! R. WI.
AD LIBRUM
SUPER HAC RE AB IPSO LUDI MAGISTRO EDITUM, QUI DICITUR 'PRISCIANUS VERBERANS ET VAPULANS.'
Sordes o tibi gratulamur istas, O Musa aurea, blanda, delicata; O Musa, o tibi candidas, suoque Jam nec nomine, jam nec ore notas: Sacro carmine quippe delinitae Se nunc, o bene nesciunt, novaque Mirantur facie novum nitorem. Ipsas tu facis o nitere sordes. Sordes o tibi gratulamur ipsas. Si non hic natibus procax malignis Foedo fulmine turpis intonasset, Unde insurgeret haec querela vindex, Docto et murmure carminis severi Dulces fortiter aggregaret iras? Ipsae o te faciunt nitere sordes: Sordes o tibi gratulamur ipsas. Quam pulchre tua migrat Hippocrene! Turpi quam bene degener parenti! Foedi filia tam serena fontis. Has de stercore quis putaret undas? Sic o lactea surge, Musa, surge; Surge inter medias serena sordes. Spumis qualiter in suis Dione, Cum prompsit latus aureum, atque primas Ortu purpureo movebat undas. Sic o lactea surge, Musa, surge: Enni stercus erit Maronis aurum.
TRANSLATION.
TO A TRACTATE ON THIS SUBJECT
PUBLISHED BY THE MASTER OF THE SCHOOL HIMSELF, WHICH IS CALLED 'PRISCIANUS VERBERANS ET VAPULANS.'
On this vile theme thee we congratulate, O golden Muse, pleasing and delicate; This fair white vileness, Muse, which by its own Or name or face is now no longer known. For, charm'd by thy poetic sacred strain, It knows not, happily, itself again; But with new face wonders at its new splendour-- For splendid e'en a vile theme thou canst render: Congratulations for vile theme we tender. For had not _he_,[114] with headlong buttocks base, Gone flashing foully on with thunderous pace, From whence would this avenging plant have sprung, This solemn strain with polish'd music rung? And whence had gather'd these brave angers tender? O Muse, the vilest theme can bring thee splendour, For which congratulations now we render. Thy Hippocrene comes with a fair face, Finely unworthy of its father base; Of a foul fountain so serene a daughter: From dunghill, who would dream such crystal water? Thus rise, O Muse, O rise, a milk-white queen, Out of the midst of vileness rise serene. Even as Venus rising from her spray, When she discover'd to the light of day Her golden limbs, the billowy waves surprising With the first glory of her purple rising; So rise, O Muse, thy milk-white grace unfold; Ennius' dunghill will be Virgil's gold! R. WI.
MELIUS PURGATUR STOMACHUS PER
VOMITUM QUAM PER SECESSUM.
Dum vires refero vomitus et nobile munus, Da mini de vomitu, grandis Homere, tuo. Nempe olim, multi cum carminis anxia moles Vexabat stomachum, magne Poeta, tuum; Aegraque jejuno tenuebat pectora morsu, Jussit et in crudam semper hiare famem: Phoebus, ut est medicus, vomitoria pocula praebens, Morbum omnem longos expulit in vomitus. Protinus et centum incumbunt toto ore Poetae, Certantes sacras lambere relliquias. Quod vix fecissent, scio, si medicamen ineptum Venisset misere posteriore via. Quippe per anfractus caecique volumina ventris Sacra, putas, hostem vult medicina sequi? Tam turpes tenebras haec non dignatur, at ipsum Sedibus ex imis imperiosa trahit.
ERGO:
Per vomitum stomachus melius purgabitur, alvus Quam qua secretis exit opaca viis.
NOTE.
While we do not deem it expedient to translate this somewhat coarse _jeu d'esprit_, its sentiment and allusions will be found anticipated in the lines 'To the Reader, upon the Author his Kins-man,' prefixed to 'Follie's Anatomie; or Satyres and Satyricall Epigrams; with a compendious History of Ixion's Wheele. Compiled by Henry Hutton, Dunelmensis.' London, 1619 (pp. 3-4)--which we give here:
Old Homer in his time made a great feast, And every Poet was thereat a guest: All had their welcome, yet not all one fare; To them above the salt (his chiefest care) He spread a banquet of choice Poesie, Whereon they fed even to satietie. The lower end had from that end their cates; For Homer, setting open his dung-gates, Delivered from that dresser excrement, Whereon they glutted, and returned in print. Let no man wonder that I this rehearse; Nought came from Homer but it turned to verse. Now where our Author was, at this good cheere, Where was his place, or whether he were there; Whether he waited, or he tooke away, Of this same point I cannot soothly say. But this I ghesse: being then a dandiprat, Some witty Poet took him on his lap, And fed him, from above, with some choice bit. Hence his acumen, and a ready wit. But prayers from a friendly pen ill thrive, And truth's scarce truth, spoke by a relative. Let envy, therefore, give her vote herein: Envy and th' Author sure are nought akin. He personate bad Envy; yet say so, He lickt at Homer's mouth, not from below. R[ALPH] H[UTTON].
Percy Society edit. (Rimbault), 1842. Both Hutton and Crashaw remind us of the like sportiveness (rough) in Dryden and Byron. G.
CUM HORUM ALIQUA DEDICARAM
PRAECEPTORI MEO COLENDISSIMO, AMICO AMICISSIMO, R. BROOKE.[115]
En tibi Musam, Praeceptor colendissime, quas ex tuis modo scholis, quasi ex Apollinis officina, accepit alas timide adhuc, nec aliter quam sub oculis tuis jactitantem.
Qualiter e nido multa jam floridus ala Astra sibi meditatur avis, pulchrosque meatus Aerios inter proceres, licet aethera nunquam Expertus, rudibusque illi sit in ardua pennis Prima fides, micat ire tamen, quatiensque decora Veste leves humeros, querulumque per aera ludens Nil dubitat vel in astra vagos suspendere nisus, At vero simul immensum per inane profundis Exhaustus spatiis, vacuoque sub aethere pendens, Arva procul sylvasque suas, procul omnia cernit, Cernere quae solitus: tum vero victa cadit mens, Spesque suas, et tanta timens conamina, totus Respicit ad matrem, pronisque revertitur auris.
Quod tibi enim haec feram, vir ornatissime, non ambitio dantis est, sed justitia reddentis; neque te libelli mei tam elegi patronum, quam dominum agnosco. Tua sane sunt haec et mea; neque tamen ita mea sunt, quin si quid in illis boni est, tuum hoc sit totum, neque interim in tantum tua, ut quantumcumque est in illis mali, illud non sit ex integro meum. Ita medio quodam et misto jure utriusque sunt, ne vel mihi, dum me in societatem tuarum laudum elevarem, invidiam facerem; vel injuriam tibi, ut qui te in tenuitatis meae consortium deducere conarer. Ego enim de meo nihil ausim boni mecum agnoscere, nedum profiteri palam, praeter hoc unum, quo tamen nihil melius, animum nempe non ingratum tuorum beneficiorum historiam religiosissima fide in se reponentem. Hoc quibuscumque testibus coram, hoc palam in os coeli meaeque conscientiae meum jacto effero me in hoc ultra aemuli patientiam. Enim vero elegantiore obsequio venerentur te, et venerantur scio, tuorum alii: nemo me sincero magis vel ingenuo poterit. Horum denique rivulorum, tenuium utcunque nulliusque nominis, haec saltem laus erit propria, quod suum nempe norint Oceanum.
TRANSLATION.
WHEN I HAD DEDICATED CERTAIN OF MY POEMS
TO MY MOST ESTIMABLE PRECEPTOR AND MOST FRIENDLY FRIEND, R. BROOKE.
'Well done, Muse!' was thy encouraging word, most estimable Praeceptor; 'Well done, Muse!' fluttering its wings, which it received from thy School of late, as from Apollo's workshop, timidly as yet, nor otherwise than beneath thine eyes.
Like as a nestling, feather'd gaily o'er, Is meditating towards the stars to soar, And in ambitious flights already vies With the wing'd chiefs that skim along the skies: What though he never has essay'd the air, And needs must trust in plumes untried to bear Unwonted burden heavenward? yet he quivers To stretch his wings, and his fair plumage shivers Round his light shoulders till he flits away, While whispering airs against his pinions play; Nor dreams he will suspend his wandering flight Anywhere short of regions starry bright. But when exhausted by the spaces high And the immeasurable void of sky, Hovering in empty air, far off he sees The fields and hedges and familiar trees-- O, how far off!--which used his sight to please; Then sudden overpower'd behold him sink, And from his hopes and lofty soarings shrink: To his dear mother his whole soul looks back, And down he flutters on the homeward track.
That I offer thee these poems, most honourable Sir, is not the ambitious desire to give, but the righteous wish to restore what is due. And I have not chosen thee so much the patron of my little book, as I recognise thee to be its owner. Thine indeed these things are, and mine: nor yet are they so much mine, but that if there is anything good in them, this is wholly thine; nor at the same time are they so far thine, that everything bad in them is not entirely mine. Thus, by a sort of common and joint right, they belong to each of us; lest either I should bring envy to myself, while I presumed to a share of thy praises, or injury to thee, by endeavouring to drag thee down to association with my feebleness. For concerning anything belonging to me, I should not venture even to myself to admit any merit, much less to proclaim it openly, except this one thing, than which there is nothing more excellent--namely, a mind not ungrateful, and cherishing in itself with most punctilious fidelity the record of thy kindnesses.
This in the presence of any witnesses, this openly in the face of heaven and to my own conscience, I boast of as my own. I proclaim myself in this particular incapable of enduring a rival; for others of thy admirers [pupils] may venerate thee, and do venerate thee, with more polite attention, but none will be able to do so with observance more sincere and felt. In conclusion; of these rivulets, however slender they may be and of no name, this at least will be the fitting praise--that at all events they know their own Ocean. R. WI.
IN OBITUM REV. V. D^{ris} MANSELL,
COLL. REGIN. M^{ri} QUI VEN. D^{s} BROOKE [M^{ri} COLL. TRIN.], INTERITUM PROXIME SECUTUS EST.[116]
Ergo iterum in lacrymas et saevi murmura planctus Ire jubet tragica mors iterata manu; Scilicet illa novas quae jam fert dextra sagittas, Dextra priore recens sanguine stillat adhuc. Vos o, quos socia Lachesis prope miscuit urna, Et vicina colus vix sinit esse duos; Ite o, quos nostri jungunt consortia damni; Per nostras lacrymas o nimis ite pares; Ite per Elysias felici tramite valles, Et sociis animos conciliate viis. Illic ingentes ultro confundite manes, Noscat et aeternam mutua dextra fidem. Communes eadem spargantur in otia curae, Atque idem felix poscat utrumque labor. Nectarae simul ite vagis sermonibus horae; Nox trahat alternas continuata vices. Una cibos ferat, una suas vocet arbor in umbras; Ambobus faciles herba det una toros. Certum erit interea quanto sit major habenda Quam quae per vitam est, mortis amicitia.
TRANSLATION.
ON THE DEATH OF REV. DR. MANSELL,
MASTER OF QUEEN'S COLLEGE, WHICH FOLLOWED VERY CLOSELY THE DECEASE OF REV. DR. BROOKE.[117]
In tears once more and sighs of cruel woe Death's tragic stroke repeated bids us go; That fatal hand, which now bears arrows new, Still freshly drips with former crimson dew. Ye whom Fate almost mingl'd in one urn, Whom to be two, close threads forbid discern; Go ye, who equally our sorrows share, By reason of our tears too much a pair; Go where Elysian vales your steps invite, In social paths your happy souls unite; There mix your mighty shades with willing mind, Eternal faith your blended right-hands find. Let common cares be lost in the same joys, While the same happy labour both employs; Through nectar'd hours in talk together range, And night continue the sweet interchange: One tree bear fruit for both, one tree yield shade, On the same turf your pleasant couch be made; Thus how much better will be plainly seen Friendship of Death than that of life, I ween. R. WI.
HONORATISSIMO DR. ROBERTO HEATH,
SUMMO JUSTIT. DE COM. BANCO, GRATULATIO.[118]
Ignitum latus et sacrum tibi gratulor ostrum, O amor atque tuae gloria magna togae: Nam video Themis ecce humeris, Themis ardet in istis, Inque tuos gaudet tota venire sinus. O ibi purpureo quam se bene porrigit astro, Et docet hic radios luxuriare suos. Imo eat aeterna sic o Themis aurea pompa; Hic velit o sidus semper habere suum. Sic flagret, et nunquam tua purpura palleat intus; O nunquam in vultus digna sit ire tuos. Sanguine ab innocuo nullos bibat illa rubores; Nec tam crudeli murice proficiat. Quaeque tibi est (nam quae non est tibi?) candida virtus Fortunam placide ducat in alta tuam. Nullius viduae lacrymas tua marmora sudent; Nec sit, quae inclamet te, tibi facta domus. Non gemat ulla suam pinus tibi scissa ruinam, Ceu cadat in domini murmure maesta sui. Fama suas subter pennas tibi sternat eunti; Illa tubae faciat te melioris opus. Thura tuo, quacunque meat, cum nomine migrent; Quaeque vehit felix te, vehat aura rosas. Vive tuis, nec enim non sunt aequissima, votis Aequalis, quae te sidera cunque vocant. Haec donec niveae cedat tua purpura pallae, Lilium ibi fuerit, quae rosa vestis erat.
TRANSLATION.
TO THE RIGHT HON. LORD ROBERT HEATH,
ON HIS BEING MADE A JUDGE: A CONGRATULATION.[119]
Upon thy sacred purple, barr'd with fire, I gratulate thee--glorious, lov'd attire! For on those shoulders I see Justice shine, And glad to hide within those folds of thine. O finely there she shoots her purple beam, And teaches here her rays brightly to gleam. May Justice thus in pomp eternal go, Here always wish her golden star to glow! Thus blaze, and ne'er thy purple pale its blush, And never need into thy face to flush. From innocent blood ne'er drink a deeper dye, And turn more crimson from such cruelty. Let all fair virtues--for thou ownest all-- Calmly to heaven above thy footsteps call. No widows' tears thy marble halls distil, No house cry out against thee, built by ill; No timber cut for thee its downfall groan, 'Mid its lord's murmurs sadly overthrown. May Fame spread out her wings beneath thy feet, And thee with loud applause her trumpet greet! May incense waft thy name where'er it goes, The happy gale which bears thee bear the rose! Live equal to thy prayers, most just are they, Whatever stars direct thee on thy way, Till this thy purple turn to robe of snow, And where the rose had been, the lily glow! R. WI.
HORATII ODE,
Ille et nefasto te posuit die, &c. Lib. ii. 13.
{hellenisti.}
{Hora se keinos theken apophradi Ho protos hostis cheiri te bomaki Ethrepse, dendron, tes te komes Aition, essomenon t' elenchos. Keinos tokeos thrypse kai auchena, Keinos ge, phaien, haimati xeinio Mychotaton koitona rhaine Nyktios, amphaphaase keinos Ta deta Kolchon pharmaka, kai kakou Pan chrema, dosas moi epichorion Se stygnon ernos, despotou se Empeson es kephalen aeikos. Pases men hores pan epikindynon Tis oide pheugein? deidie Bosphoron Libys ho ploten, oud' anaiker Ten kryphien heterothen oknei. Parthon machemon Rhomaikos phygen, Kai toxa; Parthos Rhomaiken bian, Kai desma; laous alla moiras Balle, balei t' adoketos horme. Schedon schedon pos Persephones idon Aulen melainen, kai krisin Aiakou, Kalen t' apostasin makairon Aioliais kinyren te chordais Sappho patridos memphomenen korais, Echounta kai se pleion epichryso, Alkaie, plektro sklera neos, Sklera phyges, polemou te sklera Euphemeousai d' amphoteron skiai Klyousi thambei, tas de machas pleon, Anastatous te men tyrannous Omias ekpien osi laos. Ti thaum'? ekeinais ther hote trikranos Aken aoidais, ouata kabbale, Erinnyon th' hedypathousi Bostryches, hesychion echidnon. Kai de Prometheus, kai Pelopos pater Heudousin echei to lathikedei; Agein leontas Orion de Ou phileei, phoberas te lynkas.}
Latin Poems.
PART SECOND. SECULAR.
III.
ROYAL AND ACADEMICAL.
NOTE.
In our Preface to the present Volume we give the title-pages of the original publications wherein appeared the Royal and Academical Poems of this section; in the translation of which I owe again thanks to the friends of the former divisions, as their initials show; and another, Professor Sole, of St. Mary's College, Oscott, Birmingham, to whom I am indebted for that bearing his initials. One to the 'Princess,' celebrated before, is here printed as well as translated for the first time, as noted in the place. It was deemed preferable to include it with the others rather than among those hitherto unprinted. For brief notices of the various Royal and Academical celebrities of these poems, see Memorial-Introduction and related English poems in Vol. I. and notes in their places in the present Volume.
Once more I note here the chief errors of Turnbull's text: 'Ad Carolum,' &c. l. 11, 'perrerati' for 'pererrati;' l. 26, 'discere' for 'dicere:' in 'In Serenissimae Reginae' &c. the heading is 'Senerissimae;' l. 14, 'tuos' for 'tuus;' l. 41, 'Namque' for 'Nam quae;' l. 43, 'Junus' for 'Janus:' in 'Principi recens' &c. l. 4, 'eum' for 'cum;' l. 10, 'lato' for 'late;' l. 22, 'imperiosus' for 'imperiosior;' l. 26, 'quoque' for 'quoquo;' l. 30, 'melle' for 'molle:' in 'Ad Reginam,' l. 35, 'aure' for 'auree:' in 'Votiva Domus' &c. l. 20, 'tenerae' for 'tremulae;' l. 25, 'jam' for 'bene;' l. 26, 'mulcent' for 'mulceat;' l. 29, 'minium' for 'nimium;' l. 40, 'ora' for 'ara;' l. 45, 'volvit' for 'volvat;' l. 50, 'motus ad oras' for 'nidus ad aras:' in 'Ejusdem caeterorum' &c. l. 5, 'natalis' for 'natales;' l. 15, 'qua' for 'quo;' l. 31, 'longe' for 'longo:' in 'Venerabili viro magistro Tournay' &c. l. 8, 'vixerit' for 'vexerit;' l. 21, 'tuos est' for 'tuas eat;' ll. 24, 27, and 28, 'est' for 'eat:' in 'Or. viro praeceptori' &c. l. 6, 'metuendas' for 'metuendus;' l. 20, 'est' for 'eat.' G.
AD CAROLUM PRIMUM:
REX REDUX.[120]
Ille redit, redit. Hoc populi bona murmura volvunt; Publicus hoc, audin'? plausus ad astra refert: Hoc omni sedet in vultu commune serenum; Omnibus hinc una est laetitiae facies. Rex noster, lux nostra redit; redeuntis ad ora Arridet totis Anglia laeta genis: Quisque suos oculos oculis accendit ab istis; Atque novum sacro sumit ab ore diem. Forte roges tanto quae digna pericula plausu Evadat Carolus, quae mala quosve metus: Anne pererrati male fida volumina ponti Ausa illum terris pene negare suis: Hospitis an nimii rursus sibi conscia tellus Vix bene speratum reddat Ibera caput. Nil horum; nec enim male fida volumina ponti Aut sacrum tellus vidit Ibera caput. Verus amor tamen haec sibi falsa pericula fingit-- Falsa peric'la solet fingere verus amor; At Carolo qui falsa timet, nec vera timeret-- Vera peric'la solet temnere verus amor; Illi falsa timens, sibi vera pericula temnens, Non solum est fidus, sed quoque fortis amor. Interea nostri satis ille est causa triumphi: Et satis, ah, nostri causa doloris erat. Causa doloris erat Carolus, sospes licet esset; Anglia quod saltem dicere posset, abest. Et satis est nostri Carolus nunc causa triumphi: Dicere quod saltem possumus: Ille redit.
TRANSLATION.
THE RETURN OF THE KING.
'The King returns!' the people cry; And shouts of greeting scale the sky. The news sits in each look serene; In each a common joy is seen. Our King! our light! she laughs once more, Glad Anglia, as he gains her shore. Each at the King's eyes lights his eyes; Sees new day with his face arise. You'll ask, what fears beset his way, What ills, what dangers,--we're so gay: If 'gainst his bark, that sail'd for home, The faithless billows dar'd to foam; Or if, so seldom blest, you plann'd To keep him still, Iberian land. Nor waves have wrong'd his saintly head, Nor green Iberia felt his tread. Yet think such fancies true love will-- True love, that feigns false perils still: Us such fears vex, whose hearts are stout-- True perils still true love will scout: Thus fear false perils, scorn the true, Will trusty love and brave in you. O fitly we kept cloudy brow, Because of him, as laughter now. When we could say, 'Our King's not here,' We griev'd for him, no danger near: Now our hearts can no least joy lack, When we say, laughing, 'He's come back.' A.
AD PRINCIPEM NONDUM NATUM,
REGINA GRAVIDA.[121]
Nascere nunc, o nunc; quid enim, puer alme, moraris? Nulla tibi dederit dulcior hora diem. Ergone tot tardos, o lente, morabere menses? Rex redit; ipse veni, et dic, bone, gratus ades. Nam quid ave nostrum? quid nostri verba triumphi? Vagitu melius dixeris ista tuo. At maneas tamen, et nobis nova causa triumphi: Sic demum fueris; nec nova causa tamen: Nam quoties Carolo novus aut nova nascitur infans, Revera toties Carolus ipse redit.
TRANSLATION.
TO THE ROYAL INFANT NOT YET BORN,
THE QUEEN BEING WITH CHILD.
Be born, O, now; for why, fair child, delay? No sweeter hour will bring to thee the day. So many months wilt linger on the wing? The King returns; come thou, and welcome bring. What is our hail? our voice of triumph high? Thou wilt have said these better with thy cry. But stay; and soon new cause of triumph be; And yet in thee no new cause shall we see: Oft as to Charles is born new girl, new boy, Sure Charles himself returns, and brings us joy. R. WI.
IN FACIEM AUGUSTISSIMI REGIS
A MORBILLIS INTEGRAM.[122]
Musa redi, vocat alma parens Aeademia: noster En redit, ore suo noster Apollo redit; Vultus adhuc suus, et vultu sua purpura tantum Vivit, et admixtas pergit amare nives. Tune illas violare genas? tune illa profanis, Morbe ferox, tentas ire per ora notis? Tu Phoebi faciem tentas, vanissime? Nostra Nec Phoebe maculas novit habere suas. Ipsa sui vindex facies morbum indignatur; Ipsa sedet radiis o bene tuta suis: Quippe illic Deus est. coelumque et sanctius astrum: Quippe sub his totus ridet Apollo genis. Quod facie Rex tutus erat, quod caetera tactus: Hinc hominem Rex est fassus, et inde Deum.
TRANSLATION.
TO THE FACE OF THE MOST AUGUST KING.
UNINJURED BY SMALL-POX.
Come, Muse, at call of thy Academy: With his own face our Phoebus here we see; His face his own yet, with its own red dyed, Which with its whiteness loves to be allied. O fierce disease, dost thou, with marks profane, Attempt these cheeks, that countenance, to stain? Most futile! Dost attempt our Phoebus' face? Not in our Phoebe her own spots canst trace. His self-asserting face disdains disease; 'Mid its own rays it sits, O well at ease. Sure God and heaven and holiest star are here; Sure 'neath these cheeks smiles Phoebus full and clear. Our King being safe in face, but touch'd elsewhere, Proves he was here a god, though a man there. R. WI.
IN SERENISSIMAE REGINAE
PARTUM HIEMALEM.[123]
Serta, puer; quis nunc flores non praebeat hortus? Texe mihi facili pollice serta puer. Quid tu nescio quos narras mihi; stulte, Decembres Quid mihi cum nivibus? da mihi serta, puer. Nix et hiems? non est nostras quid tale per oras; Non est, vel si sit, non tamen esse potest. Ver agitur: quaecunque trucem dat larva Decembrem, Quid fera cunque fremant frigora, ver agitur. Nonne vides quali se palmite regia vitis Prodit, et in sacris quae sedet uva jugis? Tam laetis quae bruma solet ridere racemis? Quas hiemis pingit purpure tanta genas? O Maria, o divum soboles, genitrixque deorum, Siccine nostra tuus tempora ludus erunt? Siccine tu cum vere tuo nihil horrida brumae Sidera, nil madidos sola morare notos? Siccine sub media poterunt tua surgere bruma, Atque suas solum lilia nosse nives? Ergo vel invitis nivibus frendentibus Austris, Nostra novis poterunt regna tumere rosis? O bona turbatrix anni, quae limite noto Tempora sub signis non sinis ire suis; O pia praedatrix hiemis, quae tristia mundi Murmura tam dulci sub ditione tenes; Perge, precor, nostris vim pulchram ferre calendis; Perge, precor, menses sic numerare tuos. Perge intempestiva atque importuna videri; Inque uteri titulos sic rape cuncta tui. Sit nobis sit saepe hiemes sic cernere nostras Exhaeredatas floribus ire tuis. Saepe sit has vernas hiemes Maiosque Decembres, Has per te roseas saepe videre nives. Altera gens varium per sidera computet annum, Atque suos ducant per vaga signa dies: Nos deceat nimiis tantum permittere nimbis? Tempora tam tetricas ferre Britanna vices? Quin nostrum tibi nos omnem donabimus annum: In partus omnem expende, Maria, tuos. Sic tuus ille uterus nostri bonus arbiter anni: Tempus et in titulos transeat omne tuos. Namque alia indueret tam dulcia nomina mensis? Aut qua tam posset candidus ire toga? Hanc laurum Janus sibi vertice vellet utroque: Hanc sibi vel tota Chloride Maius emet. Tota suam, vere expulso, respublica florum Reginam cuperent te sobolemve tuam. O bona sors anni, cum cuncti ex ordine menses Hic mihi Carolides, hic Marianus erit!
TRANSLATION.
TO HER SERENE MAJESTY, CHILD-BEARING IN WINTER.
Garlands! bring garlands, boy! what garden now Would not give flowers? with ready hand do thou Weave garlands. What! December, sayst thou,--snow? Fool! hold thy blabbing, speak of what we know. Winter upon our shores, and snow? the thing Is not, and cannot be. It is the Spring: Whatever ghost threatens us with the drear Beatings of wild December, Spring is here. See'st thou not with what leaves the royal vine Spreads forth, what clusters on her boughs incline? Say, when like this was Winter ever seen To laugh and glow in purple? O great Queen, Offspring of gods, and mother! do we see The seasons thus a plaything made for thee? Thus with thy Spring mayst thou the stars restrain, That Winter sting not, nor the South bring rain. And do the lilies by thy grace alone Spring up, and know no snows except their own? In spite of all that Winter may oppose, Are thus our kingdoms blooming with the rose? O thou most blest disturber of the year, Who sufferest not the bounded seasons here To keep i' their own signs! destroyer kind Of Winter, whose sweet influence can bind All harsher murmurs of the world, still dare We pray thee, thus to force our calendar With thy fair violence; continue still The months to number at thine own sweet will; Still thus untimely, still thus burdensome, Make all things subject to thy royal womb. So, by thy grace, may it be often ours To see dethroned Winter deck'd in flowers; On snow that falls i' roses still to gaze, Sweet vernal Winters and December Mays! Let others by the stars compute their year, And count their days as wandering signs appear: Not so we Britons; not for us shall storm With cruel change our seasons dare deform; To thee, great Queen, our whole year we resign, O spend it all i' those rich births of thine! So the whole year shall own thy womb to be Its sovereign arbitress of good; in thee Merge all its titles. Where's the month could bear A more delicious name, or ever wear More whiteness? Janus, for his double crown, Covets this laurel; Maius for his own Would buy it, though his Chloris were the cost. Thee or thine infant, now that Spring has lost His ancient throne, the flow'ry states invite To take their empire. O blest year, how bright Thy fortunes, where each month in turn may claim From Mary or from Charles its mighty name! G.
AD REGINAM
ET SIBI ET ACADEMIAE PARTURIENTEM.[124]
Huc o sacris circumflua coetibus, Huc o frequentem, Musa, choris pedem Fer, annuo doctum labore Purpureas agitare cunas. Foecunditatem provocat, en, tuam Maria partu nobilis altero, Prolemque Musarum ministram Egregius sibi poscit infans. Nempe illa nunquam pignore simplici Sibive soli facta puerpera est: Partu repercusso, vel absens, Perpetuos procreat gemellos. Hos ipsa partus scilicet efficit, Inque ipsa vires carmina suggerit, Quae spiritum vitamque donat Principibus simul et Camaenis. Possit Camaenas, non sine numine, Lassare nostras diva puerpera, Et gaudiis siccare totam Perpetuis Heliconis undam. Quin experiri pergat, et in vices Certare sanctis conditionibus: Lis dulcis est, nec indecoro Pulvere, sic potuisse vinci. Alternis Natura diem meditatur et umbras, Hinc atro, hinc albo pignore facta parens. Tu melior Natura tuas, dulcissima, servas-- Sed quam dissimili sub ratione!--vices. Candida tu, et partu semper tibi concolor omni: Hinc natam, hinc natum das; sed utrinque diem.
TRANSLATION.
TO THE QUEEN.
Hither, Muse, and bring again Thy august surrounding train; With measur'd tread of practis'd feet Come, for thou hast learn'd to greet With the voice of loyal cheer A princely cradle year by year. Lo, our noble Queen on thee Calls in fruitful rivalry By another birth; and he, Illustrious infant, needs must have The Muses' offspring for his slave. Never has she yet been known A mother for herself alone, But by a reflected might Even in absence doth delight In twins ever, and while she Thus augments her progeny, And gives vigour to the lyre, She doth at once with life inspire Young princes, and the Muses' quire. These, though not untouch'd they be With the sacred flame, may she Tire in her fruitful deity, And with joys that theirs outrun, Dry at last all Helicon! Sweet is the strife wherein, to prove Her powers, she deigns by rule to move; Nor an unbecoming stain Is the dust that they must gain, Who in such contest can but fight in vain. Nature, o'er day and night alternate dreaming, Brings forth a swart child now, and now a fair: On thee attends, O Queen in beauty beaming, A better Nature, with a rule how rare! Bright as thyself, thine own tend all the selfsame way; A daughter now, and now a son; but each a child of Day. CL.
SERENISSIMAE REGINAE LIBRUM SUUM
COMMENDAT ACADEMIA.
Hunc quoque materna, nimium nisi magna rogamus, Aut aviae saltem sume, Maria, manu. Est Musa de matre recens rubicundulus infans, Cui pater est partus--quis putet?--ille tuus. Usque adeo impatiens amor est in virgine Musa: Jam nunc ex illo non negat esse parens. De nato quot habes olim sperare nepotes, Qui simul et pater est, et facit esse patrem!
TRANSLATION.
TO HER MOST SERENE MAJESTY
THE UNIVERSITY COMMENDS ITS BOOK.
Deign, Queen, to this, unless we ask too much, A mother's, or at least grandmother's, touch. It is the Muse's rosy infant fine; Its father--who would think?--this Child of thine. So unrestrain'd the love of virgin Muse, To be a mother thus she can't refuse. From _him_ what grandsons round thee soon will gather, Who at once father is, and makes a father! R. WI.
PRINCIPI RECENS NATAE
OMEN MATERNAE INDOLIS.[125]
Cresce, o dulcibus imputanda divis; O cresce, et propera, puella princeps, In matris propera venire partes. Et cum par breve fulminum minorum, Illinc Carolus, et Jacobus inde, In patris faciles subire famam, Ducent fata furoribus decoris; Cum terror sacer Anglicique magnum Murmur nominis increpabit omnem Late Bosporon Ottomanicasque Non picto quatiet tremore Lunas; Te tunc altera nec timenda paci Poscent praelia; tu potens pudici Vibratrix oculi, pios in hostes Late dulcia fata dissipabis. O eum flos tener ille, qui recenti Pressus sidere jam sub ora ludit, Olim fortior omne cuspidatos Evolvet latus aureum per ignes; Quique imbellis adhuc, adultus olim, Puris expatiabitur genarum Campis imperiosior Cupido; O quam certa superbiore penna Ibunt spicula melleaeque mortes, Exultantibus hinc et inde turmis, Quoquo jusseris, impigre volabunt! O quot corda calentium deorum De te vulnera delicata discent! O quot pectora principum magistris Fient molle negotium sagittis! Nam quae non poteris per arma ferri, Cui matris sinus atque utrumque sidus Magnorum patet officina amorum? Hinc sumas licet, o puella princeps, Quantacunque opus est tibi pharetra. Centum sume Cupidines ab uno Matris lumine Gratiasque centum Et centum Veneres: adhuc manebunt Centum mille Cupidines; manebunt Tercentum Veneresque Gratiaeque Puro fonte superstites per aevum.
TRANSLATION.
OF THE PRINCESS MARY.
Grow, maiden Princess, and increase, Thou who with the sweet goddesses Thy place shalt have; O haste to be Thy mother's own epitome; And when that pair of minor flames, Thy princely brothers Charles and James, Apt in the footsteps of their sire, Lead on the Fates in glorious ire; When o'er the Bosphorus shall creep A thrill of dread, as rolls full deep The murmur of the British name, And with no feign'd alarm shall shame The Turkish Crescent--other wars, And such as bring sweet Peace no tears Shall call thee forth; and from on high The flashing of thy modest eye Shall scatter o'er adoring foes Thick volleys of delicious woes. O, when that tender bloom which now Plays, lately born, beneath thy brow, In time to come with mightier blaze Shall dart around its pointed rays; When he, the Cupid now so mild, No longer but a harmless child, Shall range in youth's imperious pride Thy cheeks' fair pastures far and wide,-- O then with what unerring skill, Borne on proud wings, thy shafts shall kill, While, where thou bid'st, the honey'd blow Falls ceaseless midst the exulting foe! How many god-like breasts shall learn From thee with Love's rich wounds to burn! How often shall thy mastering darts Work their sweet will on princely hearts! For what may she not do in war, Whose mother's breast--with each bright star That rul'd her birth--to her but proves A storehouse of all-conquering loves? Hence for thy quiver, Princess Maid, Take what thou wilt, nor be afraid. A hundred Cupids be thy prize, From one of thy bright mother's eyes; A hundred graces add to these, And then a hundred Venuses: A hundred-thousand Cupids still Are hers; three hundred Graces will, With Venuses in equal store, Haunt that pure fount for evermore. CL.
IN NATALES MARIAE PRINCIPIS.[126]
Parce tuo jam, bruma ferox, o parce furori, Pone animos; o pacatae da spiritus aurae, Afflatu leniore gravem demulceat annum. Res certe et tempus meruit. Licet improbus Auster Saeviat, et rabido multum se murmure volvat; Imbriferis licet impatiens Notus ardeat alis; Hic tamen, hic certe, modo tu non, saeva, negares, Nec Notus impatiens jam, nec foret improbus Auster. Scilicet hoc decuit? dum nos tam lucida rerum Attollit series, adeo commune serenum Laetitiae vernisque animis micat alta voluptas; Jam torvas acies, jam squallida bella per auras Volvere, et hibernis annum corrumpere nimbis? Ah melius, quin luce novae reparata juventae Ipsa hodie vernaret hiems, pulchroque tumultu Purpureas properaret opes, effunderet omnes Laeta sinus, nitidumque diem fragrantibus horis Aeternum migrare velit, florumque beata Luxurie, tanta o circum cunabula surgat, Excipiatque novos et molliter ambiat artus. Quippe venit, sacris iterum vagitibus ingens Aula sonat, venit en roseo decus addita fratri Blanda soror. Tibi se brevibus, tibi porrigit ulnis, Magne puer, facili tibi torquet hiantia risu Ora; tibi molles lacrymas et nobile murmur Temperat, inque tuo ponit se pendula collo. Tale decus juncto veluti sub stemmate cum quis Dat sociis lucere rosis sua lilia. Talis Fulget honos medio cum se duo sidera mundo Dulcibus intexunt radiis: nec dignior olim Flagrabat nitidae felix consortio formae, Tunc cum sidereos inter pulcherrima fratres Erubuit primum, et Laedaeo cortice rupto Tyndarida explicuit tenerae nova gaudia frontis. Sic socium o miscete jubar, tu candide frater, Tuque serena soror. Sic o date gaudia patri, Sic matri cumque ille olim subeuntibus annis, Ire inter proprios magna cervice triumphos. Egregius volet, atque sua se discere dextra; Te quoque tum pleno mulcebit sidere, et alto Flore tui dulcesque oculos maturior ignis Indole divina, et radiis intinget honoris. Tunc o te quoties, nisi quod tu pulchrior illa, Esse suam Phoeben fulsus jurabit Apollo; Tunc o te quoties, nisi quod tu castior illa, Esse suam Venerem Mavors jurabit inanis. Felix, ah, et cui se non Mars, non aureus ipse Credet Apollo parem; tanta cui conjuge celsus In pulchros properare sinus, et carpere sacras Delicias oculosque tuos, tua basia solus Tum poterit dixisse sua; et se nectare tanto Dum probat esse Deum, superas contemnere mensas.
TRANSLATION.
ON THE BIRTHDAY OF THE PRINCESS MARY.
Forbear thy fury, Winter fierce, forbear; Lay down thy wrath, and let the tranquil air With inspiration mild soothe the stern year: This time deserves it, and occasion dear. The wild North-wind may rage and wildly bluster; The gusty South its rainy clouds may muster; Yet here at least, if thou but will it so, Neither wild North nor gusty South will blow. For were it seemly, when events so bright Exalt us, and the universal light Of joy and vernal pleasure thrills the soul, Grim lines of battling tempest-clouds should roll Through all the air, and drown the year with rain? Better old Winter should bright youth regain, And turn at once to Spring; with tumult sweet Hasten his purple stores, and joyful greet With all his outpour'd heart this shining Day, And bid its fragrant hours for ever stay; Making a radiant wealth of flowers abound Where in her cradle that sweet Child is found, Her tender limbs caress and softly compass round. She comes! Once more are heard those blessed cries Within the palace. See a glory rise-- A star-like glory added to the other, A charming sister to a rosy brother! To this she stretches out her tiny arms, Fair Boy--for thee displays the winsome charms Of her sweet smiles, and checks her gentle tears, And coos and prattles to delight thine ears, Or fondly hangs upon thy neck. Such grace Pleases the eye, when, their stalks joined, you place Lilies with roses to combine their splendour. And then appears such lustrous glory tender, When in the midst of heaven, at dewy eve, Two stars their gentle radiance interweave. Nor loftier grace that beauteous union show'd When from her egg the fairest Helen glow'd Betwixt her starry brothers, and display'd Her tender brow with new delights array'd. So mix your common beam, thou brother fair And sister mild. Such joys your father share And mother dear! And when, as seasons roll, He moves with head erect and princely soul Amid his proper triumphs, and shall learn Himself by his own deeds, thou shalt discern A riper flame within thee, heavenly dower, And star full-orb'd shalt shine, and full-grown flower; While a soft beauty bathes thy lustrous eyes, And rays of majesty the world surprise. Then O how oft, but that thou art more fair, Will some imaginary Phoebus swear That thou art his own Phoebe! or again But that thou art more chaste, some Mars in vain Will swear thou art his Venus, love's soft strain! Ah, happy he, to whom nor Mars will dream Nor golden Phoebus he can equal seem, Who with a wife so sweet, so fair is blest, And all the fond affection of thy breast, And tender, pure endearments; who alone Can call thy eyes and kisses all his own; And while he quaffs such nectar'd wine of love, Feels like a god, and scorns the feasts above. R. WI.
AD REGINAM.[127]
Et vero jam tempus erat tibi, maxima mater, Dulcibus his oculis accelerare diem: Tempus erat, ne qua tibi basia blanda vacarent; Sarcina ne collo sit minus apta tuo. Scilicet ille tuus, timor et spes ille suorum, 5 Quo primum es felix pignore facta parens, Ille ferox iras jam nunc meditatur et enses, Jam patris magis est, jam magis ille suus. Indolis o stimulos; vix dum illi transiit infans, Jamque sibi impatiens arripit ille virum. 10 Improbus ille suis adeo negat ire sub annis: Jam nondum puer est, major et est puero. Si quis in aulaeis pictas animatus in iras Stat leo, quem docta cuspide lusit acus, Hostis, io, est; neque enim ille alium dignabitur hostem; 15 Nempe decet tantas non minor ira manus. Tunc hasta gravis adversum furit; hasta bacillum est; Mox falsum vero vulnere pectus hiat. Stat leo, ceu stupeat tali bene fixus ab hoste, Ceu quid in his oculis vel timeat vel amet, 20 Tam torvum, tam dulce micant: nescire fatetur Mars ne sub his oculis esset, an esset amor. Quippe illic Mars est, sed qui bene possit amari; Est et amor certe, sed metuendus amor: Talis amor, talis Mars est ibi cernere; qualis 25 Seu puer hic esset, sive vir ille Deus. Hic tibi jam scitus succedit in oscula fratris; Res, ecce, in lusus non operosa tuos. Basia jam veniant tua quantacunque caterva; Jam quocunque tuus murmure ludat amor. 30 En, tibi materies tenera et tractabilis hic est; Hic ad blanditias est tibi cera satis. Salve infans, tot basiolis, molle argumentum, Maternis labiis dulce negotiolum; O salve; nam te nato, puer auree, natus 35 Et Carolo et Mariae tertius est oculus.
TRANSLATION.
TO THE QUEEN.
'Twas now the time for thee, Mother most great, With these sweet eyes the day to accelerate; Time thy soft kisses should not idle be, Or from fit burden thy fair neck be free. For he, his parents' fear and hope confest, With whom thou first wast made a mother blest, He wraths and swords designs, courageous grown; Now more his father's is, and more his own. O spurs of nature! yet an infant, see He catches at the man impatiently, The rogue declines to keep in his own years; Not yet a child, he more than child appears. If on the tapestry, with feign'd anger fraught, A lion stands, by skilful needle wrought, A foe behold; such foe to fight he deigns; A lesser wrath his mighty hand disdains. Fierce spear he brandishes; a wand his spear: Soon in false breast behold true wound appear. The lion stands, maz'd by such enemy, Fearing or loving something in his eye, So sternly, sweetly bright; nor can he tell Whether beneath that eye Mars or Love dwell. In sooth, a Mars who may be lov'd is here; And Love indeed, but Love deserving fear. Such Love, such Mars, 'tis easy here to scan; This god or that, as he is boy or man. Thy babe now comes to take the endearing place, A creature not beyond thy fond embrace. Now let thy troops of kisses have their way, Now let thy love with brooding murmur play; Here is material tractable and tender, Which waxen surface to soft touch shall render. Hail, infant! gentle subject for caresses, Employment sweet a mother's lips which blesses; O hail; for with thy birth, thou golden boy, Lo, to thy parents a third eye brings joy! R. WI.
VOTIVA DOMUS PETRENSIS
PRO DOMO DEI.[128]
Ut magis in mundi votis aviumque querelis Jam veniens solet esse dies, ubi cuspide prima Palpitat, et roseo lux praevia ludit ab ortu; Cum nec abest Phoebus, nec Eois laetus habenis Totus adest, volucrumque procul vaga murmura mulcet: Nos ita; quos nuper radiis afflavit honestis 6 Relligiosa dies; nostrique per atria coeli-- Sacra domus nostrum est coelum--jam luce tenella Libat adhuc trepidae fax nondum firma diei: Nos ita jam exercet nimii impatientia voti, 10 Speque sui propiore premit. Quis pectora tanti Tendit amor coepti, desiderio quam longo Lentae spes inhiant, domus o dulcissima rerum, Plena Deo domus! Ah, quis erit, quis, dicimus, ille-- O bonus, o ingens meritis, o proximus ipsi, 16 Quem vocat in sua dona, Deo--quo vindice totas Excutiant tenebras haec sancta crepuscula? Quando, Quando erit, ut tremulae flos heu tener ille diei, 20 Qui velut ex oriente suo jam altaria circum Lambit, et ambiguo nobis procul anuit astro, Plenis se pandat foliis, et lampade tota Laetus, ut e medio cum sol micat aureus axe, Attonitam penetrare domum bene possit adulto 25 Sidere, nec dubio pia moenia mulceat ore? Quando erit, ut convexa suo quoque pulchra sereno Florescant, roseoque tremant laquearia risu? Quae nimium informis tanquam sibi conscia frontis Perpetuis jam se lustrant lacrymantia guttis? 30 Quando erit, ut claris meliori luce fenestris Plurima per vitreos vivat pia pagina vultus? Quando erit, ut sacrum nobis celebrantibus hymnum Organicos facili et nunquam fallente susurro Nobile murmur agat nervos; pulmonis iniqui 35 Fistula nec monitus faciat malefida sinistros? Denique, quicquid id est quod res hic sacra requirit, Fausta illa et felix--sitque o tua--dextra, suam cui Debeat haec Aurora diem. Tibi supplicat ipsa, Ipsa tibi facit ara preces. Tu jam illius audi, 40 Audiet illa tuas. Dubium est, modo porrige dextram, Des magis, an capias: audi tantum esse beatus, Et damnum hoc lucrare tibi. Scis ipse volucres Quae rota volvat opes; has ergo, hic fige perennis 45 Fundamenta Domus Petrensi in rupe, suamque Fortunae sic deme rotam. Scis ipse procaces Divitias quam prona vagos vehat ala per Euros; Divitiis illas, age, deme volucribus alas, Facque suus nostras illis sit nidus ad aras: 50 Remigii ut tandem pennas melioris adeptae, Se rapiant, dominumque suum super aethera secum. Felix o qui sic potuit bene providus uti Fortunae pennis et opum levitate suarum, Divitiisque suis aquilae sic addidit alas. 55
TRANSLATION.
THE PRAYER OF PETERHOUSE FOR THE HOUSE OF GOD [=ITS CHAPEL].
As bids the Day a keener longing stir The waking world, and warblings cheerier To birds inspires, when comes she o'er the hills, As quivering dart the streaks of Morn, and thrills Through lattic'd sky from roseate East the light Presaging his approach; nor absent quite, Nor glorying in his slacken'd reins, the Sun Is present all; and birds, to music won By gentle touch, are murmuring far and near,-- So we, on whom with radiance severe A solemn day begins to dawn; whose eye Now sees glide through the heavenly courts which lie, With portals wide--God's house is heaven, we say-- The flame unsteady of still wavering Day Slenderly stealing in; the prospect nigher, Our hearts too labour with extreme desire, And throb with hopes impatient of their end. How love of such a work our heart doth rend! How long desire makes hopes in leash restrain'd To pant! O sweetest House, on which has rain'd The torrent of God's fulness. Ah, who is he, Ah, who--O good, O huge in charity, O nigh to God Himself,--Whom to descend On His own gracious gifts he prays--shall lend This sacred twilight power to drive away All gloom, and shake her raiment into day? Ah, when, thou pitifully trem'lous bloom Of glimmering Day, that as from bridal room In the Orient cam'st to kiss our altar-stone, And beckonest to us from a star alone, In yonder distance shining doubtfully,-- Ah, when wilt thou expand to Day, and, free In conscious joy of thy full splendour, pour A flood of light, as when the Sun doth soar In golden mid-day, and, to full age grown, Shine through and through the pile, and make it own With awe thy sway, nor let the sacred walls Doubt thy embrace? Blest he to whom befalls To see the vaulted roofs span their fair sky, And break in flowers, while fretted ceilings lie Trembling with rosy laughter; which do now, As wearing of their shame a conscious brow, Bedew their formless face with dropping tear. When shall it be? the window growing clear With better light, that many a page devout May live, and life from glassy face breathe out. Ah, when, as hymn of praise we celebrate, Shall solemn-breathing murmur make vibrate The organ's nerves with graceful ceaseless hum; Nor pipe of lung unjust intruding come, Each harsh, uncertain note for ever dumb? Whatever else, in fine, this Sanctuary May need, that right-hand bless'd and happy be, And be it thine! to which the Dawn shall owe Its day. The altar kneels to thee. Do thou List to her prayer, and she will thine allow; Stretch out thy laden hand, and doubtful live Whether thou dost not more receive than give; That thou art happy do thou only hear, And turn thy loss to gain in yonder sphere. Thou know'st what wheel makes riches fly away; These riches therefore here securely lay, Fountains of a House perennial, On the Petrensian rock; from Fortune shall Her own wheel thus be wrench'd. Thou knowest how prone A wing bears up unconstant riches, blown On vagrant, veering winds. Come, take away These wings from fleeting riches, make them stay At these our altars, and build here their nest; Till arm'd with wings to better flight redress'd, They may transport themselves to the home of rest, Bearing their master with them. Blest that man Who knowing prudently the times to scan, The airiness of wealth to profit brings, And him on Fortune's pinions deftly flings, And to his riches adds an eagle's wings. S.S.
IN CAETERORUM OPERUM
DIFFICILI PARTURITIONE GEMITUS.[129]
O felix nimis illa, et nostrae nobile nomen Invidiae volucris, facili quae funere surgens Mater odora sui, nitidae nova fila juventae, Et festinatos peragit sibi fata per ignes. Illa, haud natales tot tardis mensibus horas 5 Tam miseris tenuata moris, saltu velut uno In nova secla rapit sese, et caput omne decoras Explicat in frondes, roseoque repullulat ortu. Cinnameos simul illa rogos conscenderit, omnem Laeta bibit Phoebum, et jam jam victricibus alis 10 Plaudit humum cineresque suos. Heu, dispare fato Nos ferimur; seniorque suo sub Apolline phoenix Petrensis mater, dubias librata per auras Pendet adhuc, quaeritque sinum in quo ponat inertes 15 Exuvias, spoliisque suae reparata senectae Ore pari surgat, similique per omnia vultu. At nunc heu nixu secli melioris in ipso Deliquium patitur! At nunc heu lentae longo in molimine vitae 20 Interea moritur! Dubio stant moenia vultu Parte sui pulchra, et fratres in foedera muros Invitant frustra, nec respondentia saxis Saxa suis; moerent opera intermissa, manusque Implorant. 25 Succurre piae, succurre parenti, O quisquis pius es. Illi succurre parenti, Quam sibi tot sanctae matres habuere parentem. Quisquis es, o tibi, crede, tibi tot hiantia ruptis Moenibus ora loqui. Matrem tibi, crede verendam 30 Muros tam longo laceros senioque situque Ceu canos monstrare suos. Succurre roganti. Per tibi plena olim, per jam sibi sicca precatur Ubera, ne desis senio. Sic longa juventus Te foveat, querulae nunquam cessura senectae. 35
TRANSLATION.
A GROAN
ON OCCASION OF THE DIFFICULT PARTURITION OF THE REMAINING WORKS OF PETERHOUSE.
O bird too fortunate, whose glorious name Fills us with envy of her happy fame, Which by an easy death on soaring wing, Sweet mother of herself, doth upwards spring, Assumes afresh her shining youth's attire, And wins new lease of life through hasten'd fire! She--not through slow-revolving natal days To a thin shadow worn by sad delays-- Transports herself into another round Of centuries, as by a single bound; With beauteous leaves her head she covers o'er, And with a rosy birth shoots forth once more. Soon as she climbs the spicy funeral pyre Joyful she drinks the sun, and mounting higher, Now, now the ground her wings victorious strike, And her own ashes. But, alas, we follow No such example. 'Neath her own Apollo, Our Mother Peterhouse, now ancient grown, Our aged Phoenix, hither, thither blown, And balancing herself on doubtful air, Hovers with wing uncertain, seeking where Her relics she may lay, worn out with toils, As in a nest, and from the very spoils Of her own age renew'd, she may arise In perfect comeliness of face and eyes, As in the days of old, to mount the skies. But now, alas, e'en in the very throes Of her reviving age our Phoenix knows And keenly feels a sad deficiency. Alas, in life's long lingering effort she Now in the mean while dies. Of doubtful face, Her buildings seem in part bedeck'd with grace; But elsewhere, heedless of inviting calls To union, stand the unfinish'd brother walls. On unresponsive ears the summons falls; As stones to fellow-stones appealing turn, The interrupted works together mourn, And beg a helping hand. O, succour bring, Whoe'er is pious, to the parent wing Which shelter'd thee beneath its holy shade, And gave so many mother churches[130] aid Parental; O, be now thy help display'd. Whoe'er thou art, the ruin'd courts to thee With gaping mouths are speaking audibly. Thy reverend mother would thine eyes engage To view thy walls, dismantled long with age And base neglect, and ponder her gray hair. By the full breasts which once she offer'd thee, By the dry breasts which she is doom'd to see Now for herself, she cries imploringly: 'My age to help, O fail not to appear; So may long-lasting youth thy bosom cheer, Youth which complaining age shall never fear.' R. WI.
TRANSLATION (_more freely_).
A LAMENT
OVER THE SLOW RESTORATION OF PETERHOUSE-COLLEGE BUILDINGS.
O Phoenix, all-too-happy bird, Who enviless thy fame has heard? Thou, thine own mother, from the pyre-- Spices mix'd with flickering fire-- Sweetly didst thy breath suspire; Then rose again, and thy age gone In a swift resurrection-- Gone! by wondrous mystic skill Wearing a richer plumage still, Youth renew'd from feet to bill,-- Thou didst not linger in thine age, Nor a slow weary struggle wage, With changing cures and long delay Searching for life in every way. No; but a quick fate self-choosing, All hindering self-ruth refusing, Thou didst raise thy funeral pyre, Thou didst hovering i' the fire, From amidst the perfum'd flame Spring up, immortal as thy fame. Thou didst lift thy comely head, Ev'ry moulting feather shed; Thou didst raise thy radiant breast Blazing to the blazing West. O Phoenix, thou'rt an awful bird; Who enviless thy fame has heard? Climbing to thy funeral pyre, Climbing self-martyr'd to the fire, Sweetly there to bear thine ire; Fetching down from the great sun To piled nest of cinnamon Rays intense; then upward winging, Sudden from thine ashes springing; Victorious by this quaint mewing, Life strangely out of death renewing; Now i' the red fire consuming, Next at the sun thine eyes reluming. Alas, how different is the fate In this our later age, ingrate, Of her, my mother-college, lying All desolate and slowly dying; Lifting but a feeble wing, Though once, as Phoenix of the fire, Springing immortal from its pyre; When Apollo and the Graces Reign'd where Ruin now defaces, Gave her, when she shone in splendour, Orator, sage, and poet tender; Gave her sons, noble and good, Better than the bluest blood: O how chang'd, since those days olden Such as in the ages golden, I behold her, smitten, lorn, And by every Fury torn, Hanging in uncertain strife As it were 'twixt death and life; Doubting whether e'en she shall Have so much as funeral; Her corpse laid in some quiet bay, Where the sea-waves softly play; Willing they should take her bones-- Her time-stain'd, rent, and shatter'd stones; If only thus but once again Rebuilded, she might yet attain To something of her old renown By such resurrection, And, phoenix-like, herself out-do In her best days when she was new. O ye sons, your mother own In her desolation; Own her, though in aging years She shows few and thin gray hairs, Where once,--ah--in brave times of old-- Flash'd her proud locks with sheen of gold. Ah, Peter nam'd, thou art denied, Thus is thy name verified. 'Tis a spectacle for tears; 'Tis a spectacle for fears; 'Tis a spectacle for wonder; 'Tis a crime deserves the thunder, That from base to gold-touch'd ceiling Day by day her halls are reeling; Mullion'd window torn and rent, And destruction imminent; Everywhere such gaping wounds As a stranger e'en astounds; And what was in faith begun Left in desolation; Stone to stone in mute appealing, Cold neglect and scorn revealing, And the font of tears unsealing. Sons of my Mother-College lying All in ruins and slow dying, If ye have aught of piety Or least touch of charity, Look on these broken walls, and see Your mother in her misery; Holding up, in vain appealing, Wither'd hands, her woes revealing; And in the rank growths tangled there See her dishonoured gray hair. Woe is me, her genial breast, Which so many sons has blest, Each all welcoming that came, Drawn by her renowned name, Wither'd, shrunk, can quench no thirst, Ah, my heart with grief will burst. To my dim eye there rises clear The full tide that once roll'd here; Now shingle, sand, and fest'ring mud Tell of the far-refluent flood. O, pity her, ye sons, and vow Once more to crown your mother's brow; Once more to rear her crumbling walls; Once more to gather in her halls The young, the brave, the true, the good, The wise, the noble; and the Rood Over all shall bless and keep; So in old age ye shall not weep, Nor ever shall your fair fame sleep. G.
VENERABILI VIRO MAGISTRO TOURNAY,
TUTORI SUO SUMME OBSERVANDO.
Messis inauravit Cereri jam quarta capillos, Vitis habet Bacchum quarta corona suae, Nostra ex quo, primis plumae vix alba pruinis, Ausa tuo Musa est nidificare sinu. Hic nemus, hic soles, et coelum mitius illi; 5 Hic sua quod Musis umbra vel aura dedit. Sedit ibi secura malus quid moverit Auster, Quae gravis hibernum vexerit ala Jovem. Nescio quo interea multum tibi murmure nota est: Nempe sed hoc poteras murmur amare tamen. 10 Tandem ecce, heu simili de prole puerpera! tandem Hoc tenero tenera est pignore facta parens. Jamque meam hanc sobolem, rogo, quis sinus alter haberet? Quis mihi tam noti nempe teporis erat? Sed quoque et ipsa meus, de te, meus, improba, tutor, 15 Quam primum potuit dicere, dixit, erit. Has ego legitimae, nec laevo sidere natae Non puto degeneres indolis esse notas; Nempe quod illa suo patri tam semper apertos, Tam semper faciles norit adire sinus. 20 Ergo tuam tibi sume: tuas eat illa sub alas: Hoc quoque de nostro, quod tuearis, habe. Sic quae Suada tuo fontem sibi fecit in ore, Sancto et securo melle perennis eat. Sic tua, sic nullas Siren non mulceat aures, 25 Aula cui plausus et sua serta dedit. Sic tuus ille, precor, Tagus aut eat obice nullo, Aut omni, quod adhuc, obice major eat.
TRANSLATION.
TO THE VENERABLE MAN MASTER TOURNAY,
MY TUTOR MOST REVERED.[131]
A fourth time now our glebe for Ceres bears The golden locks of harvest; Bacchus wears Now the fourth season his bright vine-leaf crown, Since, scant'ly hoar as yet with the soft down Of her first plumage, in thy gentle breast My young Muse dar'd to build herself a nest. Here found she sun and shade and gentler heaven, And what with these is by the Muses given Were hers. Here sat she careless how the skies Might darken, or the blasts of winter rise; And here her voice reach'd thee, but by what move Of fate I know not, only that thy love Her voice did win; and now at length behold-- And ah, how much the child her arms enfold Is like the mother!--she in tender years The parent of a tender babe appears. What lap, then, for this infant shall I find Fitter than thine, or known by me so kind? Yea, soon as she could speak, the wanton, she Said, 'He shall be my guardian,' meaning thee; And no ill forecast I would deem is this Of Genius true and favouring deities, That she so early should a sire divine Always so open, always so benign. Take, then, thine own--she is beneath thy wing-- And of this gift accept the offering. So may Persuasion, who her fount has made Upon thy lips, still pour from thence unstay'd Her sacred honey; so be at the Court, Whereto with plausive wreaths she doth resort, No ears thy Siren move not; so, I pray, No hindering bar thy Tagus strive to stay, Or only such as erst thy stream has swept away. CL.
ORNATISSIMO VIRO PRAECEPTORI SUO
COLENDISSIMO MAGISTRO BROOK.
O mihi qui nunquam nomen non dulce fuisti, Tunc quoque cum domini fronte timendus eras; Ille ego pars vestri quondam intactissima regni, De nullo virgae nota labore tuae, Do tibi quod de te per secula longa queretur, Quod de me nimium non metuendus eras: Quod tibi turpis ego torpentis inertia sceptri Tam ferulae tulerim mitia jura tuae. Scilicet in foliis quicquid peccabitur istis, Quod tua virga statim vapulet, illud erit; Ergo tibi haec poenas pro me mea pagina pendat. Hic agitur virgae res tibi multa tuae. In me igitur quicquid nimis illa pepercerit olim, Id licet in foetu vindicet omne meo. Hic tuus inveniet satis in quo saeviat unguis, Quodque veru docto trans obeliscus eat: Scilicet haec mea sunt; haec quas mala scilicet: o si, Quae tua nempe forent, hic meliora forent! Qualiacunque, suum norunt haec flumina fontem-- Nilus ab ignoto fonte superbus eat-- Nec certe nihil est qua quis sit origine. Fontes Esse solent fluvii nomen honorque sui. Hic quoque tam parvus, de me mea secula dicant, Non parvi soboles hic quoque fontis erat. Hoc modo et ipse velis de me dixisse: Meorum Ille fuit minimus--sed fuit ille meus.
TRANSLATION.
TO THAT MOST CULTURED MAN,
HIS MOST ESTIMABLE TUTOR MASTER BROOK.[132]
O thou, whose name to me was still endear'd E'en when the master's brow was justly fear'd; I, of thy realm the most inviolate part, By touch of thy birch-rod ne'er taught to smart, Give thee what through long years complains of thee That thou wast not enough a fear to me; That I, base subject of thy sceptre slow, Thy ferule's milder sway should only know. Sooth, in these leaves what faults soe'er thou see, Thy rod in every case should punish'd be. Then let this page for me the suffering pay; Here certainly thy rod may have full play; Howe'er that rod to me was once too mild, It may revenge it all on this my child; Here will thy nail discover where to rage, And scratch a learned blot across the page. These which are bad, forsooth, these things are mine; Would they were better, that they might be thine! Whate'er they are, these streams their fountain know, Nile from an unknown fount may proudly go. Not lightly what one's source may be we deem; Fountains give name and honour to their stream. So small--my times perhaps may say of me-- An offspring of no fountain small was he. Only to say of me may it be thine: 'He was my least indeed--but he was mine!' R. WI.
IN REV. DRE. BROOKE EPITAPHIUM.[133]
Posuit sub ista, non gravi, caput terra Ille, ipsa quem mors arrogare vix ausa Didicit vereri, plurimumque suspenso Dubitavit ictu, lucidos procul vultus, Et sidus oris acre procul prospectans. Cui literarum fama cum dedit lumen, Accepit, atque est ditior suis donis. Cujus serena gravitas faciles mores Muliere novit; cujus in senectute Famaeque riguit, et juventa fortunae. Ita brevis aevi, ut nec videri festinus; Ita longus, ut nec fessus. Et hunc mori credis?
TRANSLATION.
EPITAPH ON REV. DR. BROOK.
Beneath this earth, strew'd lightly, lies the head Of one whom Death himself had learnt to dread, Scarce venturing to claim; and falter'd much Ere he allow'd his threatening stroke to touch That sacred presence. These bright eyes from far He view'd; from far that face ray'd like a star. On whom when fame of letters lustre drew, He took it as his right, and richer grew By his own gifts to learning; whose serene Severity of manners seem'd to have been Temper'd by woman's softness; whose good name, In later as in early years the same, Stood firm; his fortune equal to his fame. His life so short, that not in haste he seem'd; So long, that weary he might not be deem'd: That such a one is dead, can it be dream'd? R. WI.
EPITAPHIUM IN GULIELMUM HERRISIUM.[134]
Siste te paulum, viator, ubi longum sisti Necesse erit, huc nempe properare te scias quocunque properas. Morae pretium erit Et lacrymae, Si jacere hic scias Gulielmum Splendidae Herrisiorum familiae Splendorem maximum: Quem cum talem vixisse intellexeris, Et vixisse tantum; Discas licet In quantas spes possit Assurgere mortalitas, De quantis cadere. { Infantem Essexia } Quem { Juvenem Cantabrigia } vidit Senem, ah infelix utraque Quod non vidit. Qui Collegii Christi Alumnus Aulae Pembrokianae socius, Utrique ingens amoris certamen fuit, Donec Dulciss. lites elusit Deus, Eumque coelestis collegii, Cujus semper alumnus fuit, socium fecit; Qui et ipse collegium fuit, In quo Musae omnes et Gratiae, Nullibi magis sorores, Sub praeside religione, In tenacissimum sodalitium coaluere. { Oratoria Oratorem } { Poetica Poetam } Quem { Utraque Philosophum } agnovere. { Christianum Omnes }
{ Fide Mundum } { Spe Coelum } Qui { Charitate Proximum } superavit. { Humilitate Seipsum } Cujus Sub verna fronte senilis animus, Sub morum facilitate, severitas virtutis; Sub plurima indole, pauci anni; Sub majore modestia, maxima indoles adeo se occuluerunt ut vitam ejus Pulchram dixeris et pudicam dissimulationem: Imo vero et mortem, Ecce enim in ipso funere Dissimulari se passus est, Sub tantillo marmore tantum hospitem, Eo nimirum majore monumento quo minore tumulo. Eo ipso die occubuit quo Ecclesia Anglicana ad vesperas legit, Raptus est ne malitia mutaret intellectum ejus; Scilicet Id. Octobris anno S. 1631.
TRANSLATION.
EPITAPH FOR WILLIAM HARRIS.
Stay thee a short space here, good passer-by, Upon thy way; Wherein a little while thou too must lie, Haste as thou may. Certes thou knowest that thy life-long quest Leads hither--to the long, long sleep and rest: Grudge thee not, then, the tribute of a tear, Whilst, ling'ring, to this stone thou drawest near. It will reward thy stay, It will thy tears repay, To know Below lies William, Of the family of Harris, The most splendid name Where all have fame. Knowing that such an one did live, And how he liv'd--great, noble, wise-- Know how all mortal hopes are fugitive; Height gauging depth with 'Here he lies.' { As infant Essex } Whom { As youth Cambridge } saw. Ah, miserable and lamenting both, that they See not his golden locks in years grow gray! He was A student of Christ College, A fellow of Pembroke Hall: To have him The two Colleges did strive In rivalry of love: But the great God put in His negative, Calling him Above, To gain ampler knowledge In the Heavenly College, Of which he was on earth a student consecrate; So, when Death summon'd him, he went elate. So wise his wit, By genius lit, In himself alone Many in one, You had a College, where Graces and Muses fair With Religion, you might see Twin'd hand in hand in amity.
{ Eloquence as an Orator } { Poetry as a Poet } Whom { Each as a Philosopher } owned: { All as a Christian }
{ By faith the world } { By hope Heaven } Who { By love his fellow-men } conquered; { By himself himself }
Of whom The ripen'd mind under a youthful face; Severest virtue under courtliest grace; Few years his, yet mellow'd as in age; A modesty that did all hearts engage: These self-reveal'd and self-revealing, That all his life seem'd but a fine concealing.
Yea, ev'n in his death 'twas so; For being thus at length laid low, He chose no boastful tomb to tell How good the life that in him fell: By so much greater is the guest, Smaller the mound where he doth rest: Yea, in his death there was diminution: Great was the guest, but see how small the stone. On that very day he died in which the Church of England reads its even-song: He was snatch'd away, lest the wickedness of the times should contaminate his understanding, viz. 15th October A.S. 1631.[135]
IN EUNDEM SCAZON.[136]
Huc, hospes, oculos flecte, sed lacrimis caecos, Legit optime haec, quem legere non sinit fletus. Ars nuper et natura, forma, virtusque Aemulatione fervidae, paciscuntur Probare uno juvene quid queant omnes, Fuere tantae terra nuper fuit liti, Ergo huc ab ipso Judicem manent coelo.
TRANSLATION.
Stranger, bend here thine eyes, but dim with tears; Whom weeping blinds, best reader here appears. Art, Nature, Beauty, Virtue, all agree, Contending late with a warm rivalry, To show what in one youth all join'd would be. So great the strife they caus'd on earth of late, That here from heaven itself the Judge they wait. R. WI.
IN PICTURAM REVERENDISSIMI EPISCOPI
D. ANDREWS.[137]
Haec charta monstrat, fama quem monstrat magis, Sed et ipsa necdum fama quem monstrat satis; Ille, ille totam solus implevit tubam, Tot ora solus domuit, et famam quoque Fecit modestam: mentis igneae pater Agilique radio lucis aeternae vigil, Per alta rerum pondera indomito vagus Cucurrit animo, quippe naturam ferox Exhausit ipsam mille foetus artibus, Et mille linguis ipse se in gentes procul Variavit omnes, fuitque toti simul Cognatus orbi, sic sacrum et solidum jubar Saturumque coelo pectus ad patrios libens Porrexit ignes: hac eum, lector, vides Hac, ecce, charta o utinam et audires quoque.
GLOSSARIAL INDEX.
As in the other Worthies, this Index is intended to guide to Notes and Illustrations of the several words in the places; but mainly in Vol. I., as Vol. II. consists wholly of the Latin and Greek and their translations. G.
A.
Acidalian, ii. 22.
Adult'rous, ii. 144.
Alas, i. 181.
All-Hallow, ii. 59.
All-mischiefe, ii. 59.
Alps, ii. 32.
Ambush, i. 90.
Apricockes, i. 269.
Archer [badly misprinted 'anchor'], i. 176.
Assyrian, ii. 30.
B.
Baal-zebub, i. 133.
Bilbilician, ii. 26.
Black-fac'd, ii. 41.
Blossome, i. 28, 207.
Bottles, i. 15.
Brag, ii. 35.
Breakfast, i. 15.
Brisk, i. 15.
Bud, i. 93.
Bulla, ii. 245, 251.
Buried, ii. 72.
C.
Cadence, i. 17.
Calls 't, i. 16.
Canary scribblers, i. xlviii.
Case, i. 15.
Cast, ii. 184.
Cast away, ii. 43.
Ceaze, i. 214.
Chaplaine [of Virgin], i. xv.
Cherrimock, i. 267.
Child, ii. 28-9.
Clouds [mortal], i. 90.
Crawles, i. 14.
Cruzzle, i. 15.
D.
Deaw, i. 15.
Deliquium, i. 89.
Devil, speaking and dumbe, ii. 140.
Divident, i. 24.
Doome, i. xvi.
E.
Ease, i. 15.
Epigram, sacred, ii. 13.
F.
Faithful, i. 16.
Fides, ii. 101.
Flight, i. 258.
Fly, i. 175.
Food, ii. 41.
Forlorne, ii. 41.
Forswearing, i. 133.
Fragrant, i. 157.
Fries, i. 118.
Frighted, ii. 144.
Froward, ii. 137.
Full-fac't, ii. 53.
G.
Gaie, ii. 43.
Gloomy, ii. 41.
Gold, i. 16.
Golden, ii. 45.
Groves, i. 93.
H.
Heaven-burthen'd, ii. 36.
Horn [guilded], i. 89.
Husband-showrs, i. 74.
I.
Illustrious, i. 239.
Indifferent, i. 89.
Ite, i. 169.
K.
Kist, i. 89.
L.
Laces, i. 78.
Large-look't, i. 233.
Least and last, i. 89.
Legible, i. 89.
Lightness, ii. 46.
Lin'age, i. 119.
Looke up, looke downe, ii. 69.
M.
May balsame, i. 15.
Med'cinable, i. 15.
Mint, i. 16.
N.
Negotiate, i. 90.
Nest, i. 78.
Nightening, i. 43.
Nuzzeld, i. 15.
O.
Oblique, i. 90.
Officious, i. 75.
One-mouth'd, ii. 46.
One, owne, i. 24.
P.
Paire, i. 17.
Paradise, bird of, i. xv.
Paramours, i. 78.
Pearle-tipt, ii. 79.
Pharian, i. 54.
Phosporos, i. 118.
Points, i. 75.
Posts, i. 123.
Precocious, ii. 12.
Price=prize, i. 90.
Prouoke, i. 16.
Purple, ii. 164.
Pyx, ii. 27.
R.
Rampart, i. 253.
Rape, ii. 144.
Rub, i. 68.
S.
Sages [sue], i. 92-3.
Sanite, i. 13.
Score, ii. 123.
Seized, i. xlv.
Send, ii. 35.
Seven shares and a half, i. xlvi.
Shadow ['brighter'], i. 91.
Shipwrack, ii. 49.
Silver-forded, footed, i. 14.
Silver-tipt, ii. 144.
Simpering, i. 17.
Sixpenny soule, suburb sinner, i. xlvii.
Sluttish, i. 18.
Staine, ii. 99.
Steely, i. 227.
Stooped, i. 240.
Strings, i. 140.
Subtracts, ii. 12.
Sugar, i. 179.
Sydnaean, i. 256.
T.
Then=than, i. 24, _et frequenter_.
Thinne, i. 177.
Threasure, i. 9.
Tree=cross, i. 24, 46.
Trims't, ii. 123.
Twin'd, i. 242.
U.
Uncontrouled, i. 242.
Unpearcht, i. 68.
Unwounded, ii. 49.
V.
Veronian, ii. 25.
Violls, i. 5. 15.
W.
Washt, ii. 81.
Wayd, i. 46.
Wee, i. 14.
White, i. 149; ii. 41, 165.
Wine, i. 28.
Worm, i. 119.
Wrack, ii. 137.
END OF VOL. II.
Finis.
LONDON:
ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Crashaw's version is inadvertently inserted here instead of at p. 201. G.
[2] See p. 261 (ll. 13-14 of the Poem) for the subject of the above vivid illustration of the captive Bird, by Mrs. Blackburn, as before, specially for us (in 4to).
[3] Not to be confounded with Handsworth in Staffordshire, or Hensworth near Doncaster.
[4] In his Will (as before) he leaves 'to my aunt Rowthe my owne works.' She was Dorothy, daughter of John Eyre, of Laughton, co. York.
[5] Mr. Hunter cannot have gone about his inquiries at Handsworth with his usual persistence, for he says (as _supra_), 'I conjecture that he may have been born about 1575, but I do not remember of his baptism in my extracts from the Parish Register of Hansworth, nor indeed any notice of the name of Crashaw,' &c. The Register, as shown above, abounds in the name of Crashaw. For the 'conjecture' of 1575 it is gratifying to be able to substitute the baptism-record in 1572. Later, indeed, Mr. Hunter discovered his mistake. It is not very creditable to the Rev. Dr. Gatty that in his edition of Hunter's 'Hallamshire'--a district which includes Handsworth--he has left the interesting facts laid to his hand unused. Surely it was worth while to claim Crashaw as sprung of Handsworth.
[6] I have very specially to thank Dr. Henry Hunter, of Taunton, the Rector of Handsworth (Rev. John Hand, M.A.), and Mr. Henry Cadman, of Ballifield Hall, for continued help in these local searches and recoveries. Dugdale's 'Visitation of Yorkshire' (under Strafford and Tickhill Wapentake) has other Crashaws.
[7] His Will, as before.
[8] Communicated by W. Aldis Wright, Esq. M.A., as before. The remainder of the note refers to after-matters not necessary to be recorded here.
[9] Communicated to me by Professor Mayor, of Cambridge.
[10] On Alvey, see Brook's Puritans, ii. 85-6.
[11] From the 'Honovr of Vertve' we also learn that Usher had baptised our Richard; another very interesting fact. We give the opening words, after the monumental inscription: 'The Funerall Sermon was made by Doctor Vsher of Ireland, then in England, and now Lord Bishop of Meath, in Ireland. It was her owne earnest request to him, that he would preach at the baptisme of her sonne, as he had eight yeares afore, being then also in England, at the baptisme _of her husband's elder sonne_. Now because it proued to be both the baptisme of the sonne and buriall of the mother, as she often said it would, he therefore spake out of this text, 1 Sam. iv. 2.' It will be noticed that 'eight years' from 1620 take us back to 1612-13, our Crashaw's birth-year. I add farther this on Mrs. Crashaw: 'Being yong, faire, comely, brought vp as a gentlewoman, in musick, dancing, and like to be of great estate, and therefore much sought after by yong gallants and rich heires, and good joinctures offered, yet she chose a Divine twise her owne age.'
[12] The longest poem is anonymous. It commences with a curious enumeration of popular 'omens' supposed to precede death or misfortune. The lines onward put some of the sweet commonplaces of our Literature very well:
'Her time was short, the longer is her rest; God takes them soonest whom He loveth best; For he that's borne to-day and dyes to-morrow Looseth some dayes of ioy, but yeares of sorrow.'
A fragment of it is in the Dr. Farmer Chetham MS. (as edited by us).
[13] The title-page of the 'Iesvites' Gospell,' is extremely disingenuous, as there is no hint whatever of a prior publication, and the wording indeed is such as to make it seem that the Author, though dead well-nigh a quarter of a century at the time, was still living; for it thus runs: 'By W.C. And now presented to the Honourable the House of Commons in Parliament Assembled' (1641). Crashaw senior was Ultra-Protestant, but he is made insulting and offensive beyond his intention, as his own title-pages show. Any title-page after 1626 was not his.
[14] Robert Dixon, gent., proved the Will on 16th October 1626, and power was reserved for farther proof by Richard Crashaw, who, as under age, could not then act. Except that young Richard is named executor, there is no special provision made for him; and we must assume that as only son and child he necessarily inherited his portion over and above the (considerable) legacies. It was no uncommon thing at the period to name one young as Master Richard an executor; there are instances even of an unborn child being nominated.
[15] Yet is it notable that the elder Crashaw instituted 'a daily Morning Exercise'--reckoned High-churchly then and since. The 'Honour of Vertue' records that 'many hundred poore soules' had to bless God for the 'Exercise.'
[16] Thomas Baker's note in W. Crashaw's 'Romish Forgeries' (as partly quoted before) is utterly mistaken and misdirectedly strong: 'Erat ille [the elder Crashaw] acerrimus Propugnator Religionis Reformatae, quam Filius ejus Ric. Crashaw, injuriis vexatus, pressus inopia, Patria extorris, et complexu Matris Ecclesiae avulsus, abjuravit.'
[17] The passage occurs in his Sermon before 'Lord Lawarre' on setting out for Virginia (see its title-page _ante_). After disposing of (1) the divels, (2) the Papists, he comes, as follows, to (3) the Plaiers. 'As for the Plaiers: (pardon me, right honourable and beloued, for wronging this place and your patience with so base a subject), they play with Princes and Potentates, Magistrates and Ministers, nay with God and Religion and all holy things: nothing that is good, excellent, or holy can escape them: how then can this action? But this may suffice, that they are Players: they abuse Virginia, but they are Players: they disgrace it; true, but they are but Players, and they haue played with better things, and such as for which, if they speedily repent not, I dare say, vengeance waites for them. But let them play on; they make men laugh on earth, but "Hee that sits in heaven laughes them to scorne;" because like the flie, they so long play with the candle, till first it singe their wings, and at last burnes them altogether. But why are the Players enemies to this Plantation and doe abuse it? I will tell you the causes. First, for that they are so multiplied here, that one cannot liue by another, and they see that wee send of all trades to Virginia, but wee send no Players, which if wee would doe, they that remaine would gaine the more at home. Secondly, as the diuell hates vs because wee purpose not to suffer Heathens, and the Pope because wee have vowed to tolerate no Papists, so doe the Players, because wee resolue to suffer no idle persons in Virginia; which course, if it were taken in England, they know they might turne to new occupations' [sheet H 3, unpaged]. The 'Talk' in Selden's 'Table-Talk' is as follows: 'I never converted but two; the one was Mr. Crashaw, from writing against Plays, by telling him a way how to understand that place [of putting on women's apparel], which has nothing to do in the business [as neither has it]--that the Fathers speak against Plays in their time with reason enough, for they had real idolatries mixed with their Plays, having three altars perpetually upon the stage' ('Poetry,' Sec, 3). In confirmation farther of our correction of a long-continued error, I find the elder Crashaw in another of his sermons touching incidentally on the very point of 'women's apparel,' as follows: 'The ungodly playes and enterludes so rife in this nation: what are they but a bastard of Babylon, a daughter of error and confusion, a hellish device (the divel's own recreation to mock at holy things), by him delivered to the heathen, from them to the Papists, and from them to us?... They know all this, _and that God accounts it abomination for a man to put on woman's apparel_, and that the ancient Fathers expounded that place against them' (Sermon preached at the Crosse, Feb. 14, 1607 ... justified by the Author ... 1609, 4to, p. 169). Probably the preacher intimated his intention to pursue his condemnation farther, and so the great Scholar put him right on the well-known text.
[18] See Professor Mayor's 'Nicholas Ferrar' (1855), pp. vi. vii. 330. He has satisfied us that Crashaw was not the author of the Epitaph on Nicholas Ferrar, as Sancroft supposed. See p. 144.
[19] His reading included Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Italian, Spanish. His 'exercises' were 'Poetry, Drawing, Limming, Graving' ('exercises of his curious invention and sudden fancy'). See our vol. i. p. xlvii.
[20] 'Pope Alexander the Seventh and the College of Cardinals.' By John Bargrave, D.D., Canon of Canterbury [1662-1680]. With a Catalogue of Dr. Bargrave's Museum. Edited by J.C. Robertson, M.A., Canon of Canterbury. Camden Society, 1867, 4to. Todd, in his Milton (i. 250-1), first quoted the above from the MS.
[21] Crashaw's name is duly entered in the list of Converts of the 1648-9 edition of Dr. Carier's 'Missive to his Majesty of Great Britain ... containing the Motives of his Conversion to Catholike Religion'--thus: 'Mr. Richard Crashaw, Master of Arts of Peterhouse, Cambridge, now Secretary to a Cardinall in Rome, well known in England for his excellent and ingenious Poems.' The Countess of Denbigh is also in the list.
[22] In its place (vol. i. p. 234) an Epitaph is headed 'Vpon Doctor Brooke.' This may possibly have been Brook of the Charterhouse; but I had thought it the brother of Christopher Brook (or Brooke)--Dr. Samuel Brooke, the associate of Dr. Donne, and author of a dainty little poem on 'Tears.' I am not aware that the Master of the Charterhouse was 'Doctor.' But his name is spelled Brooks in 'Domus Carthusiana,' p. 139. With reference to 'Priscianus' and 'Stomachus' and 'Hymn to Venus,' &c., two things are noticeable: (1) that earlier Crashaw was of the 'earth earthy,' as much as any of his contemporary poets;--his 'Royal' and other early poetry (as above) is heathenish almost--in strange and suggestive contrast with his later, when every atom of him was religious: (2) that he was not without humour or power of satire. It is a man's loss to be without humour--he has a poorer nature if he be without it; and for myself, I relish the human-ness of some of Crashaw's earlier Verse, as distinguished from his after intensely-unearthly spiritual Poetry.
[23] The following entry from the Admission-Book of Pembroke College refers to Crashaw's Tournay: 'Mar. 1, 1620. Joannes Turney, Cantianus, annos habens [blank] admissus est sizator sub custodia Mri Duncon.' In another account of the Fellows of Pembroke by Attwood in continuation of Bishop Wren is this: 'Joannes Tourney, Cantianus, scholaris Collegii Mro Vaughan [_i.e._ 20 Oct. 1627] titulum obtinet eodem anno. An. 1632 Praedicator Academiae. An. 1634, Thesaurarius Junior et S. Theologiae Baccalaureus. Thesaurarius Senior an. 1635, et Attornatus Collegii cum Mro Vaughan in negotiis collegium quocunque modo spectantibus.'
[24] From the Admission-Book of Christ's College I get the following: 'Gulielmus Harris, Essexiensis, filius Gulielmi Equitis de Margret-Ing. institutus in rudimentis grammaticis sub Mro Plumtrae Scholae publicae de Brentwood Archididasculo, admissus Mar. 2, 1623, aetatis 16, sub Mro Siddall.' The family of Harris, lords of the manor of Shenfield in the parish of Margaret-Ing in Essex, occurs in Morant's 'Essex.' Sir William Herrys married Frances Astley. From Attwood (as before) I glean these farther entries: 'Gulielmus Herrys, Essexiensis, Colegii Christi alumnus, Artium Baccalaureus; electus et ille Jan. 8, an. 1630. An. 1631 incipit in Artibus. Monitor autem illo anno, Oct. 15. Optimae spei juvenis.' He may have died of the plague (cf. Cooper's 'Annals of Cambridge,' iii. 243). (From Mr. Wright, as before.)
[25] Stanynough has also verses in the Univ. Collections of 1625 and 1633. He was buried in Queen's College Chapel, 5 March 1634-5 (St. Bot. Regr.). I do not deem it necessary to record the college entries concerning him, from his admission as pensioner, 30 April 1622, to 'leave to forbear to take orders,' Sept. 1631: renewed 22 July 1633.
[26] The whole Sec,, pp. 34-37, is full of anecdote and of rare interest, and sorrowfully confirmatory of Crashaw's words.
[27] I find I cannot spare room for Cowley's own separate poem on Hope. It is in all the editions of his Poems.
[28] Bishop Laud, in his Defence, pleads that he had retained many in the Church of England, and names the Duke of Buckingham, spite of his mother's and sister's influence (Works, _s.n._). Buckingham's mother was a fervent Catholic, and here his 'sister,' _i.e._ Susan first Countess of Denbigh, is placed with her as Roman Catholic. Other references go to make the fact certain. I hope to be called on hereafter to give details (as _supra_).
[29] The poems entitled 'Prayer: an Ode which was prefixed to a little prayer-book given to a young gentlewoman,' and 'To the same Party: covncel concerning her choise' (vol. i. pp. 128-137), have much of the sentiment and turn of wording of the Verse-Letters to the Countess of Denbigh; but I have failed to discover who is designated by their 'M.R.' It is clear she was a 'gentle'-born Lady. 'Mrs.' does not necessarily designate a married person. She may have been a 'fair young Lady.'
[30] The 'Epiphanie' has some of the grandest things of Crashaw, and things so original in the thought and wording as not easily to be paralleled in other Poets: _e.g._ '_Dread Sweet_' (l. 236), and the superb 'Something a _brighter shadow_, Sweet, of thee' (l. 250). The most Crashaw-like of early 'Epiphany' or Christmas Hymns is that of Bishop Jeremy Taylor, from which I take these lines:
'Awake, my soul, and come away! Put on thy best array; Least if thou longer stay, Thou lose some minitts of so blest a day. Goe run, And bid good-morrow to the sun; Welcome his safe return To Capricorn; And that great Morne Wherein a God was borne, Whose story none can tell, But He whose every word's a miracle.'
(Our ed. of Bp. Taylor's Poems, pp. 22-3.)
_En passant_, since our edition of Bishop Taylor's Poems was issued we have discovered that a 'Christmas Anthem or Carol by T.P.,' which appeared in James Clifford's 'Divine Services and Anthems' (1663), is Bishop Taylor's Hymn. This we learn from 'The Musical Times,' Feb. 1st, 1871, in a paper on Clifford's book. Criticising the words as by an unknown T.P.--ignorant that he was really criticising Bp. Jeremy Taylor--the (I suppose) learned Writer thus appreciatively writes of the grand Hymn and these passionate yearning words: 'Who, for instance, could seriously sing in church such stuff as the following Christmas Anthem or Carol, by T.P.? which Mr. William Childe (not yet made Doctor) had set to music.' Ahem! And so on, in stone-eyed, stone-eared stupidity.--Of modern celebrations I name as worthy of higher recognition than it has received the following 'Hymn to the Week above every Week,' by Thomas H. Gill; Lon., Mudie, 1844 (pp. 24). There is no little of the rich quaint matter and manner of our elder Singers in this fine Poem.
[31] Cf. vol. i. p. 143.
[32] Like Macaulay in his History of England (1st edition), Dr. Macdonald by an oversight speaks of Crashaw as 'expelled from _Oxford_,' instead of Cambridge (cf. our vol. i. p. 32).
[33] The Letter of Pope to Mr. Henry Cromwell is in all the editions of his Correspondence. Willmott (as before) also gives it _in extenso_. Of The Weeper Pope says: 'To confirm what I have said, you need but look into his first poem of The Weeper, where the 2d, 4th, 6th, 14th, 21st stanzas are as sublimely dull as the 7th, 8th, 9th, 16th, 17th, 20th, and 23d stanzas of the same copy are soft and pleasing. And if these last want anything, it is an easier and more unaffected expression. The remaining thoughts in that poem might have been spared, being either but repetitions, or very trivial and mean. And by this example one may guess at all the rest to be like this; a mixture of tender gentle thoughts and suitable expressions, of forced and inextricable conceits, and of needless fillers-up of the rest,' &c. &c. 'Sweet' is the loftiest epithet Pope uses for Crashaw, and that in the knowledge of the 'Suspicion of Herod.' In The Weeper he passes some of the very finest things. In his Abelard and Eloisa he incorporates felicities from Crashaw's 'Alexias' within inverted commas; but elsewhere is not very careful to mark indebtedness.
[34] He also quotes, as complete in themselves and 'best alone,' these two lines from No. LI.:
'This new guest to her eyes new laws hath given; Twas once _look up_, 'tis now look down to heaven.'
Dr. Robert Wilde in his Epitaph upon E.T. has the same idea, and puts it quaintly:
'Reader, didst thou but know what sacred dust Thou tread'st upon, thou'dst judge thyself unjust Shouldst thou neglect a shower of tears to pay, To wash the sin of thy own feet away. That actor in the play, who, looking down When he should cry 'O heaven!' was thought a clown And guilty of a solecism, might have Applause for such an action o'er this grave. Here lies a piece of Heaven; and Heaven one day Will send the best in heaven to fetch't away.'
(Hunt's edition, p. 30.)
[35] The 'conceit' is found in Vida's Christiad, lib. ii. 431, iii. 984: also in a Hymn of St. Ambrose. Cf. too Psalm lxvii. 16. Victor Hugo has adapted it as follows: 'Here is a whimsical explanation of the miracle of the wedding at Cana in Galilee:
La nymphe de ces eaux apercut Jesus-Christ, Et son pudique front de rougeur se couvrit.'
The nymph of these waters perceived Jesus Christ, And her modest brow was dyed with shame.
(Victor Hugo: a Life, 1863, i. 269). Whence the brilliant Frenchman fetched his 'whimsical explanation' is not doubtful. In the last line of Crashaw's epigram the reading in Poemata Anglorum Latina is
'Vidit et erubuit nympha pudica Deum.'
'Lympha' is inferior, and a (mis)reading for 'nympha.'
[36] From _Prolusiones_ of Strada.
[37] Gifford here has one of his many singular notes, because he could think of no other meaning than 'merriment' for 'mirth,' which, as 'joy' or 'gladness,' is quite in place, and indeed accurately descriptive of the combined gladness and sadness of the pathetic contest.
[38] Professor M'Carthy, who finds the influence of Crashaw in Shelley, has suggested one line from the 'Suspicion' as a motto for Hood's 'Song of the Shirt,' viz. in st. xliii.
'They prick a bleeding heart at every stitch.'
(N. and Q. 2d S. v. 449-52.)
[39] I place here a copy of the document that had gone astray (Vol. I. p. xxxv.): 'It results from a Papal Bull dated 24th April 1649, that Richard Crashaw, an Englishman, was admitted to a benefice ('Beneficiato') of the Basilica-Church of our Lady of Loreto, through strong interest in his favour by Cardinal Pallotta, then Protector of the so-called Holy House of Loreto, and in whose service Richard Crashaw was. But as it appears from another Bull dated 25th August 1649, that a successor was named to Richard Crashaw, it is evident that he was a Beneficiary in Loreto for only about three months--too short a time to furnish sufficient materials for the illustration of his biography.--N.B. A Beneficiary in ecclesiastical hierarchy is a grade under a Canon, and his duty in church is more assiduous than that of the Canon; but it is not necessary to be a Beneficiary before becoming a Canon.'
[40] See our Essay for notice of Lany. G.
[41] See our Essay in the present volume for notices of Lany. G.
[42] Perhaps a virgin-priestess being dedicated is intended. G.
[43] Balaami asinus. CR.
[44] By a singular misprint Barksdale thus reads:
'The thief which bless'd upon the Cross with Me,' &c. G.
[45] Barksdale thus renders the first couplet:
'Magdalen! thou prevent'st the morning light; =anticipatest But thy Sun was already in thy sight.' G.
[46] Phil. i. 23, {ten epithymian echon eis to analysai}.
[47] Barksdale, as before, thus renders the latter couplet:
'All things subside by their own weight: I think Thy lightness only, Peter, makes thee sink.'
[48] Christi scilicet. C. [The reference is to a runaway slave, whose punishment would be crucifixion. G.]
[49] Barksdale, as before, thus renders the latter couplet:
'After so many miracles done well, He that believes not is a miracle.'
[50] Query: Is there a punning-play on Judas' 'All Hail' (_i.e._ All Hallow) before the Betrayal? G.
[51] Cf. Crashaw's own hitherto unpublished poem, amplifying the epigram, in 'Airelles,' vol. i. pp. 185-6. G.
[52] Barksdale, as before, thus renders the closing couplet:
'Thou receiv'st and receiv'st not Christ; for He Comes not into thy house, but into thee.'
[53] Barksdale, as before, translates the last couplet thus:
'Enough! I have seen, have seen my Saviour: Beside Thee, Christ, I would see nothing more.'
[54] Joan. vii. 46.
[55] Cf. our vol. i. pp. 50-1. G.
[56] See vol. i. pp. 47-8, for Crashaw's own poem enlarging the epigram. G.
[57] Barksdale thus renders the latter couplet:
'That Saul was blind, I will not say: Sure Saul was _captus lumine_.'
[58] Ver. 24. Non enim mortua est puella, sed dormit. CR.
[59] For Crashaw's own full rendering of this epigram, see our vol. i. pp. 48-9. G.
[60] Barksdale thus renders one couplet:
'See, O my guests, a Deity is here: The chast nymph saw a God, and blusht for fear.'
For Dryden's and others, see our Essay in this volume. G.
[61] Barksdale, as before, thus renders the last couplet:
'To see Christ was first in my desire: Next, having seen Thee, forthwith to expire.'
[62] Barksdale, as before, inserts an anonymous epigram on the same subject as _supra_, being the only one not by Crashaw in the volume. It is as follows: '40. Mulier Canaanitis. Matt. 15. _Femina tam fortis, &c._
'O woman, how great is that faith of thine! _Fides_ more than a grammar's feminine.'
In another application, quaint old Dr. Worship, in his 'Earth raining upon Heaven' (1614), in rebuking the unfeminine boldness of the sex, says, 'Harke yee grammarians: _Hic mulier_ ere long will be good Latin' (pp. 5, 6). G.
[63] For Crashaw's own rendering of this epigram or poem, see our vol. i. pp. 50-1. G.
[64] Cf. St. Matt. iv. 3. G.
[65] Joan. xix. 41. {en ho oudepo oudeis etethe} CR.
[66] Ver. 2. {seismos egeneto megas.} CR.
[67] Ver. 4. {eseisthesan hoi terountes, kai egenonto hosei nekroi.} CR.
[68] Barksdale, as before, renders the closing couplet thus:
'Is He the Christ? And the inquiry is Of Himself? Why, the dumb can answer this.'
[69] Barksdale, as before, renders the latter couplet. G.
[70]
Or--To the Jews it is not fire, Yet the name best tells Heav'n's ire. G.
[71] Barksdale, as before, thus renders the last couplet:
'Most worthy nest this for the Bird above; Most worthy of this nest is th' holy Dove.' G.
[72] Barksdale, as before, renders the latter couplet. G.
[73] Barksdale, as before, thus renders the latter couplet:
'These loaves of Christ are well bestow'd: if fed With these, they hunger after living bread.' G.
[74] Barksdale, as before, thus renders the latter couplet:
'By your opposing force, Greeks, what is meant? That you have no convincing argument.' G.
[75] Barksdale, as before, renders the latter couplet. G.
[76] Barksdale, as before, renders the opening couplet. G.
[77] = reckoning or debt to be paid. G.
[78] By an oversight Willmott renders _ora_ 'regions' instead of 'eyes.' G.
[79] Barksdale thus renders the second couplet:
'This house a stable! No: Thy blessed birth, Jesus, converts it to a heaven on earth.' G.
[80] Barksdale, as before, thus renders the closing couplet:
'John is Christ's flame; Domitian, in thine ire, Canst thou e'er hope with oil to extinguish fire?' G.
[81] Barksdale thus renders the latter couplet:
'Do, Dragon, do, thy snakes together call, That by Christ's virtue they may perish all.' G.
[82] Barksdale, as before, thus renders the closing couplet:
'Shine forth, my Sun: soon as Thy beams are felt, Thy gracious healing beams, my snow will melt.' G.
[83] Ver. 31. Sustulerunt lapides. CR.
[84] ... Et continuo exivit sanguis et aqua. CR.
[85] Act. i. Nubes susceptum eum abstulit. CR.
[86] Crashaw must have stopped short in his Greek version of the present and succeeding epigram. G.
[87] Rev. i. 16. CR.
[88] Is the allusion to Peter's following 'afar off,' and after-denial of the Lord? G.
[89] The allusion in l. 5 is to wrestlers anointing themselves to prevent their adversaries grasping them. R. WI.
[90] See the above Epigram, with only a few verbal changes, at pp. 160-1, with translation by Rev. Richard Wilton. I add my own, as the inadvertent repetition was not observed until too late. G.
[91] This was overlooked in its proper place as Crashaw's own rendering of Epigram VI. p. 39. G.
[92] LVI. and LVII. from Tanner MSS., as before. G.
[93] Ecclesia. CR.
[94] Cf. Wordsworth's 'A faculty for storms' ('Happy Warrior'). G.
[95] MS. has no stop here, and leaves a space nearly wide enough for a line. Mr. Wilton has excellently supplied it. Doubtless it was left blank by Sancroft in order to consult the Text, or as unable to decipher the MS. G.
[96] I have ventured to supply a connecting line in place of the pentameter here dropt out; which might have been something like this:
'Inque brevi vita splendida facta micent.' R. WI.
[97] From 'The Recommendation' illustration in 'Carmen D. nostro' (Paris, 1652). See vol. i. in 4to, p. 43. G.
[98] See Illustration (in 4to) by Mrs. Blackburn to ll. 13-14 as vignette in Essay. G.
[99] Query, in the heading (Latin), 'In Apolline_m_'? but 'Apolline_a_' is in all the texts. G.
[100] Appeared originally in 1648 edition (pp. 63-4), under the title of 'Elegia.' It was subsequently headed 'In eundem,' following the Epitaph-poem on Harris (see above). G.
[101] In agro Sudovolgorum.
[102] Nomen Elda (_Cancrorum idiomate_) [backwards].
[103] Pretium annuum haud invidendum, XX_s._
[104] Patibulo, quod tribus constat lignis, arrectariis binis, et trabe transversa.
[105] Quattuor, quia equus quadrupes videbatur in eam sententiam quasi pedibus ire.
[106] Vulgo acquietantia.
[107] Organum est librite hydrobapticum ad omnium ripas situm, linguae fervore refrigerando.
[108] The Common Pleas in Westminster Hall.
[109] A writ.
[110] The return of the writ [the morrow of All Souls].
[111] The plaintiff.
[112] Stylus curiae. Si quis alicui in jurgio pilum imminuerit, prodit tragica accusatio de insultu et vulnere, ita quod de ejus vita desperabatur. O forensem exaggerationem!
[113] It is not easy to bring-out the play on _terga dabit_--'terga dare' being equivalent to 'fugere'--and yet indicative of the boy's punishment on the back of the whipping-horse.
[114] Alluding to Pegasus, and the fountain caused by stroke of hoof.
[115] See Memorial-Introduction, vol. i., and our Essay in the present Volume, for notices of Brooke. G.
[116] See notice of Dr. Mansell in note to the translation. The present poem is printed by Mr. Searle in his 'History of the Queen's College &c.' 1871, pp. 448-9. G.
[117] 'John Mansel or Mansell was of the county of Lincoln, and was entered at the college (Queen's) as a sizar 29th March 1594, under Clement Smith, nephew of Sir Thomas Smith. He was B.A. 1597-8, was made scholar in 1598, and elected fellow of the college 31st June 1600. Romney and Bilsington, priories in Kent, were founded in 1257 by John Maunsell, provost of Beverley, treasurer of York, rector of Maidstone, Kent, and of Wigan, Lancashire; he was also Chief-justice of England. "I have seen a pedigree of the Mansels, from Philip de Mansel, who came in with the Conqueror, untill our times. Of this name and familie is that orthodoxall sound Divine and worthy Master of Queen's Colledge in Cambridge, _John Mansel_, Doctor of Divinitie, and a generall schollare in all good literature." (Weever, _Fun. Mon._ 273-4.) He commenced M.A. in 1601, and was B.D. in 1609. From the year 1604 to the year 1617 he seems to have been in residence, as he held various college offices and college lectureships in every year of that period. He was senior bursar for the two years 1609-10 and 1610-11. He was vicar of Hockington from 2d September 1614 to May 1616. He vacated his fellowship in the course of the year 1616-17, receiving his stipend for three and half weeks in the third quarter, so that he ceased to be fellow towards the end of July 1617. He became D.D. in 1622. He was elected president [of Queen's College] 29th April 1622.... Dr. Mansel died 7th October 1631.' (From Mr. Searle's 'History of the Queen's College &c.,' as before, pp. 447-8.) Agreeably to the heading, Dr. Samuel Brooke died September 1631 (MS. Baker xxvi. 167; Wood's Fasti (Bliss), pt. i. p. 400. Crashaw celebrated Brooke, as did Dr. Donne. See English Poems in vol. i., and Epitaphium onward. G.
[118] See notice of Heath in note to the translation. G.
[119] 'Lord' is titular, not of the peerage. Doubtless Crashaw celebrates Sir Robert Heath, Kt., who was successively Recorder of London, Solicitor-General, Attorney-General, and finally, 26th October 1631, Chief-Justice of the Common Pleas. From this post he appears to have been dismissed three years later; but in 1641 he was appointed a Judge of the King's Bench, and in 1643 Chief-Justice of that court, when he would be commonly called '_Lord_ Chief-Justice of England.' Being a Royalist, he fled into France in 1646, and died at Calais 30th August 1649. His remains were brought to England and buried at Brasted, Kent, in which church there is a fine monument. His age was seventy-five. G.
[120] That is, from the Scotch trip of 1663. This appeared in the University collection, 'Rex Redux' &c. (see Preface in present Volume), 1633. Among other contributors were Edward King ('Lycidas'), Thomas Randolph, Waller, and Henry More. G.
[121] The following is a note of Charles I.'s family:
Charles James, born May 13, 1628; died same day.
Charles, born May 29, 1630; afterwards Charles II.
Mary, born November 4, 1631; afterwards mother of William III.
James, born October 14, 1633; afterwards James II., probably the unborn child of this poem.
Elizabeth, born December 28, 1635; died of grief for her father 5th September 1650 (see Vaughan's fine poem to her memory, Works by us, _s.n._).
Anne, born March 17, 1636-7; died December 8, 1640.
Henry, born July 8, 1640; afterwards Duke of Gloucester and Earl of Cambridge.
Henrietta-Anne, born June 16, 1644. G.
[122] The King (Charles I.) had the small-pox in 1632. This appeared originally in the University Collection on the occasion, 'Anthologia in Regis,' &c. (see Preface to present volume). Henry More and Edward King ('Lycidas') contributed also. G.
[123] See note to preceding poem. From Voces Votivae &c. (see Preface to this volume). G.
[124] From 'Delights of the Muses,' 1648, pp. 47-8; not in Turnbull. G.
[125] Turnbull gives simply as the heading 'Natales Principis Mariae.' The date is Nov. 4, 1631. This Princess was born Nov. 4, 1631. G.
[126] From Tanner MS., as before; hitherto unprinted. See note to preceding poem. G.
[127] Originally headed 'Natalis Ducis Eboracensis;' but altered as above, as the English poem on this subject was so changed when other children were born, and the earlier title became inapplicable. Appeared originally in the University collection 'Ducis Eboracensis' &c. (see Preface in present volume). This was afterwards James II. G.
[128] On 'Peterhouse' see our Memorial-Introduction, vol. i. and Essay in the present volume. G.
[129] See Memorial-Introd. vol. i., and Essay in the present vol. as below. G.
[130] Apparently the churches in the gift of the College. W.
[131] John Tournay was of Kent: B.A. 1623; M.A. 1627; B.D. 1634; elected Fellow of Pembroke Hall 20th October 1627, and had the College title for orders the same year (Loder's Framlingham, p. 250). See our Essay in present volume on the group of College friends. G.
[132] See Memorial-Introduction, vol. i. and our Essay, for notices of Brooke; also present volume for other poems, &c. addressed to him. G.
[133] Dr. Samuel Brooke, brother of Christopher Brooke, author of sweet lines, as 'Tears,' and others. He died in September 1631. See note on Dr. Mansell _ante_. G.
[134] For notice of Herres or Harris, see Essay in the present volume. Curiously enough, in line 2, the original misprints 'tempe' for 'nempe,' as in the 'Bulla' is misprinted 'nempe' for 'tempe;' and onward 'morte' for 'mortem;' while 'Oratorem' and 'Poetam' are exchanged wrongly. In the heading too it is 'Dominum' for 'Gulielmum.' G.
[135] In 1648 (last four lines), l. 2 is misprinted 'Anglica nec' for 'Anglicana,' and l. 3 'militia' for 'malitia' of 1646 edition. There is some obscurity in the 'ad vesperas legit.' The intransitive use seems unusual, unless it means as above = the Anglican Church performs the evening service at the close of its day, or before it ceased to exist as the Church of the land. Laud was now commencing those innovations which led to the destruction of the Church of England. G.
[136] From 'Delights of the Muses,' after 'Upon the Death of Mr. Herrys' (of vol. i. pp. 220-1). Not given by Turnbull. G.
[137] For Crashaw's own translation of this see vol. i. p. 217. G.
# Project Gutenberg #61586
THE POETICAL WORKS OF
THOMAS TRAHERNE
[Illustration: Facsimile of the original MS. of one of Traherne's Poems]
THE POETICAL WORKS OF THOMAS TRAHERNE 1636?-1674
FROM THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPTS
EDITED BY BERTRAM DOBELL
_WITH A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR_
SECOND EDITION
"I give you the end of a golden string, Only wind it into a ball, It will lead you in at Heaven's gate Built in Jerusalem's wall."
_William Blake_
"Heaven lies about us in our infancy."
_William Wordsworth_
LONDON PUBLISHED BY THE EDITOR 77 CHARING CROSS ROAD, W.C. 1906
TO
G. THORN DRURY
My youth was ever constant to one dream, Though hope failed oft--so hopeless did it seem-- That in the ripeness of my days I might Something achieve that should the world requite For my existence; for it was a pain To think that I should live and live in vain: And most my thoughts were turned towards the Muse, Though long she did my earnest prayers refuse, And left me darkling and despairing; then By happy chance there came within my ken A hapless poet, whom--I thank kind fate!-- It was my privilege to help instate In that proud eminence wherein he shines Now that no more on earth he sadly pines. This was a fortune such as I must ever Be thankful for--yet still 'twas my endeavour, With what, I hope, was no unworthy zeal, My life-work with some other deed to seal, And lo! when such a dream might well seem vain, Propitious fate smiled on me once again, And through the mists of time's close-woven pall A glint of light on one dim form did fall, Which, as I gazed more earnestly, became A living soul, discovered by the flame Of glowing inspiration which possessed Even now, as when he lived, the poet's breast. Did I deceive myself? Could it be true A new poetic star was in my view, And shining with a lustre bright and clear, Where, constellated in the heavenly sphere, Herbert and Vaughan, Crashaw and Milton shine With varying brightness, yet alike divine? I gazed again, but still that star burned on, And ever with a deeper radiance shone, Until I knew no Will-o'-th'-Wisp's false light, No meteor delusive mocked my sight, But 'twas indeed a fulgent planet which Henceforth shall with its beams the heavens enrich.
Some vanity, I know, is in this strain, But men may be with reason sometimes vain: Shall he alone who does a worthy deed Not pay himself, if so he will, that meed Of self-applause from which all virtues spring,-- Without it who would do a noble thing? So let the world arraign me as it will, It cannot now my satisfaction chill, Since you, dear friend! and all whose praise I prize, Look on my labours with approving eyes.
This book to you 'tis fit I dedicate Since you, my friend, so well appreciate-- Nay, rather love, our poets of old time, Responding ever to their notes sublime: Who, though you treasure most those sons of light, Whose radiance glitters on the brow of night, Do not despise the faintest twinkling star That shines where Shakespeare, Spenser, Milton are: Who can, like Lamb, a brilliant flower descry Where all seems sterile to the common eye, Who, like Lamb, too, to no strait bounds confined, Have room for all fair fancies in your mind, And, with a taste that never errs, discover Faults like a censor, beauties like a lover.
Here is another offering for your store, Though not arrayed in that brown garb of yore Which, with quaint type and paper stained with age, Were for the Spirit of our Poet-Sage A fitter dwelling, more becoming page. I could not give him these, and so have sought To match his noble and exalted thought With the best raiment that our time affords Of comely type, fine paper, seemly boards, Which, centuries hence, to our children's children's eyes May have an antique look which they shall prize, When Traherne's name, familiar to their ears, Shall hold assured a place among his peers.
CONTENTS
PAGE
DEDICATION v
CONTENTS ix
INTRODUCTION xiii
THE SALUTATION 1
WONDER 4
EDEN 8
INNOCENCE 11
THE PREPARATIVE 15
THE INSTRUCTION 19
THE VISION 21
THE RAPTURE 24
THE IMPROVEMENT 26
THE APPROACH 31
DUMBNESS 34
SILENCE 38
MY SPIRIT 42
THE APPREHENSION 48
FULLNESS 49
NATURE 51
EASE 55
SPEED 58
THE CHOICE 60
THE PERSON 65
THE ESTATE 69
THE ENQUIRY 73
THE CIRCULATION 76
AMENDMENT 80
THE DEMONSTRATION 83
THE ANTICIPATION 88
THE RECOVERY 94
ANOTHER 98
LOVE 101
THOUGHTS.--I 104
THOUGHTS.--II 109
[THE INFLUX] 112
THOUGHTS.--III 115
DESIRE 119
THOUGHTS.--IV 123
GOODNESS 128
[THE SOUL'S GLORY] 132
[FINITE YET INFINITE] 134
ON NEWS 135
[THE TRIUMPH] 138
[THE ONLY ILL] 140
THE RECOVERY 142
[THE GLORY OF ISRAEL] 143
[ASPIRATION] 148
[SUPPLICATION] 152
AN HYMN UPON ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S DAY 153
POEMS FROM TRAHERNE'S "CHRISTIAN ETHICKS"--
"FOR MAN TO ACT AS IF HIS SOUL DID SEE" 156
"ALL MUSICK, SAWCES, FEASTS, DELIGHTS, AND PLEASURES" 157
"AS IN A CLOCK 'TIS HINDER'D FORCE DOTH BRING" 157
"WERE ALL THE WORLD A PARADISE OF EASE" 159
OF MEEKNESS 160
OF CONTENTMENT 166
"AND IF THE GLORY AND ESTEEM I HAVE" 167
APPENDIX--
BLISS 170
[LIFE'S BLESSEDNESS] 171
[THE RESURRECTION] 172
THE WAYS OF WISDOM 174
TRAHERNE'S "SERIOUS AND PATHETICALL CONTEMPLATION OF THE MERCIES OF GOD" 179
THE WILL OF THOMAS TRAHERNE 185
Note: The poems of which the titles are enclosed within brackets are without titles in the original manuscripts. It seemed better to give them names, in order to facilitate reference to them.
INTRODUCTION
It is with a more than ordinary degree of pleasure that I have undertaken the task of introducing to readers of the present day the writings of a hitherto unknown seventeenth-century poet. Centuries had drawn their curtains around him, and he had died utterly, as it seemed, out of the minds and memories of men; but the long night of his obscurity is at length over, and his light henceforth, if I am not much mistaken, is destined to shine with undiminished lustre as long as England or the English tongue shall endure.
The author of the poems contained in the present volume belongs to that small group of religious poets which includes Herbert, Vaughan, and Crashaw, though he is much more nearly allied to the authors of "The Temple" and "Silex Scintillans" than to the lyrist of Roman Catholicism. Yet he is neither a follower nor an imitator of any of these, but one who draws his inspiration from sources either peculiar to himself or made his own by the moulding force of his own fervent spirit. Of the inner life of the author of these poems we have abundant and satisfactory knowledge, for it is certain that no man's writings ever furnished a clearer or more faithful mirror of their author's personality than do those of Thomas Traherne. But of the outward incidents of his life little can be told, though that little is sufficient to show that he was a man of the finest and noblest character. Profession and practice in his case went together, and he was no less admirable as a man than he was as a poet and a minister of religion. That he was a person of great sweetness of disposition, of most happy temperament, and of singularly attractive character, is certain; and to know so much of a man is to know everything we really need to know. We cannot help, however, craving for more than this, and we would give much indeed for such a record of Traherne as Walton gave of Hooker, Herbert, Donne, and Sanderson. It is likely, indeed, that other particulars of Traherne's career will in time be discovered; but for the present the reader must be content with the scanty details which are given in the following pages.
I regret to say that the inquiries which I have made, or caused to be made, as to the time and place of Thomas Traherne's birth have been, so far, without result. Probably he was born at Hereford, since his father was a shoemaker in that town; but this is not certain. He may have been born at Ledbury, which is a village a few miles from Hereford, for it seems pretty certain that his family was in some way connected with that place. The earlier portion of the registers of that village has been printed by the Parish Registers Society, and from this it appears that there were "Trayernes" there in the sixteenth century. Unfortunately, the portion of the Ledbury registers which covers the period during which it is probable that our author was born is missing. That also seems to be the case as regards the Hereford registers of the same period. This is very disappointing; but we may hope that further inquiries will prove more successful.
That the family from which the poet sprang was Welsh by descent seems to be highly probable. It is true that the name is also found in a slightly different form in Cornwall; but no doubt both branches sprang from the same root at some distant period. The poet's character and temperament, as displayed in his writings, almost proclaim his nationality. Herbert and Vaughan, the two poets to whom he is most near akin, were both Welsh by descent, and though neither of them is deficient in warmth of feeling, Traherne certainly surpasses them in the passionate fervour which he infuses into his writings. It is hardly possible to think of them as having emanated from the cooler and less enthusiastic Anglo-Saxon temperament.
All that I am able to say, then, as to the time of Traherne's birth is that it was probably in the year 1636. Wood informs us that he became a commoner of Brazennose College, Oxford, in 1652; and as the age at which it was then usual for youths to commence their college career was about sixteen, the above date seems the most likely one, though it may, of course, have been a year earlier or later. His father was in all probability the "John Traherne, Shoemaker," who is recorded to have received, in conjunction with another person, "from Mistress Joyce Jefferies the sum of three pounds for the shipping money."[A] This lady is also recorded to have paid money to one John Traherne (who may or may not have been the same person) for training as the soldier whom she had to provide for the Trained-bands.
John Traherne, it seems likely, was related to a man of considerable note and influence in Hereford. This was Philip Traherne (the name is sometimes spelt Traheron), who was twice Mayor of Hereford. He was born in 1566, and was noted for his fidelity to the cause of King Charles I., and, to follow the eulogium upon his tombstone, "for his fervent zeal for the Established Church and clergy, and friendly and affectionate behaviour in conversation, which rendered him highly valuable to all the loyal party." He was mayor of Hereford at the time when the Scots attacked it. He died in 1645, aged 79. It would thus appear that the Traherne family was one which occupied a fairly good position in the middle class of the community. It would seem, however, from a passage in Traherne's "Centuries of Meditations" ("Sitting in a little obscure room in my father's poor house") that John Traherne's circumstances were not very flourishing.
Of the poet's infancy and youth, the only source of information we have is that which we find in his own writings. That the poems in which he dwells so lovingly, and with so much enthusiasm, upon the happiness and innocence of his infancy are somewhat coloured by the warmth of his imagination may, perhaps, be suspected, but not, I think, with justice. It is possible that he, to some extent, confused reflections of later date with those which he represents himself to have experienced in his infancy; but he was evidently a very precocious child, and the dawn of consciousness and thought was surely much earlier in him than it is in ordinary children. I think, therefore, we may trust the evidence of the poems, in which he speaks of his infancy and childhood, as affording a true, or but little idealised, picture of his early life. It might be unsafe to depend upon the evidence of the poems if they stood alone, but the earnestness with which he dwells upon the same topic, and repeats in prose (in his "Centuries of Meditations") what he asserts in his verse, is sufficiently convincing. I know of no author whose writings convey to the reader a stronger conviction of their author's entire sincerity and absolute truthfulness than do those of Thomas Traherne.
Traherne's "Centuries of Meditations" consists of a series of reflections on religious and moral subjects, divided into short numbered paragraphs. The manuscript (which was probably written in the last years of his life, and therefore contains his most mature thoughts) comprises four complete "Centuries," and ten numbers of a fifth "Century." From the fact that it was left unfinished it would seem that his labour upon it was cut short by his death. It was written for the benefit and instruction of a lady, a friend from whom he had received as a present the book in which it is written. It bears the following inscription on the first page:
"This book unto the friend of my best friend, As of the wisest love a mark, I send, That she may write my Maker's praise therein, And make herself thereby a cherubim."
In the third "Century" of the "Meditations" we find many details of the author's infancy and childhood. I cannot do better that give the greater part of these in the author's own words:
I
Will you see the infancy of this sublime and celestial greatness? Those pure and virgin apprehensions I had in my infancy, and that divine light wherewith I was born, are the best unto this day wherein I can see the universe. By the gift of God they attended me into the world, and by His special favour I remember them till now. Verily they form the greatest gift His wisdom could bestow, for without them all other gifts had been dead and vain. They are unattainable by books, and therefore I will teach them by experience. Pray for them earnestly, for they will make you angelical and wholly celestial. Certainly Adam in Paradise had not more sweet and curious apprehensions of the world than I when I was a child.
II
All appeared new and strange at first, inexpressibly rare and delightful and beautiful. I was a little stranger which at my entrance into the world was saluted and surrounded with innumerable joys. My knowledge was Divine; I knew by intuition those things which since my apostacy I collected again by the highest reason. My very ignorance was advantageous. I seemed as one brought into the estate of innocence. All things were spotless and pure and glorious; yea, and infinitely mine and joyful and precious. I knew not that there were any sins, or complaints or laws. I dreamed not of poverties, contentions, or vices. All tears and quarrels were hidden from mine eyes. Everything was at rest, free and immortal. I knew nothing of sickness or death or exaction. In the absence of these I was entertained like an angel with the works of God in their splendour and glory; I saw all in the peace of Eden; heaven and earth did sing my Creator's praises, and could not make more melody to Adam than to me. All Time was Eternity, and a perpetual Sabbath. Is it not strange that an infant should be heir of the whole world, and see those mysteries which the books of the learned never unfold?
III
The corn was orient and immortal wheat which never should be reaped nor was ever sown. I thought it had stood from everlasting to everlasting. The dust and stones of the street were as precious as gold: the gates were at first the end of the world. The green trees when I saw them first through one of the gates transported and ravished me; their sweetness and unusual beauty made my heart to leap, and almost mad with ecstacy, they were such strange and wonderful things. The Men! O what venerable and reverend creatures did the aged seem! Immortal Cherubims! And young men glittering and sparkling angels, and maids strange seraphic pieces of life and beauty! Boys and girls tumbling in the street were moving jewels: I knew not that they were born or should die. But all things abided eternally as they were in their proper places. Eternity was manifest in the Light of the Day, and something infinite behind everything appeared, which talked with my expectation and moved my desire. The City seemed to stand in Eden or to be built in Heaven. The streets were mine, the temple was mine, the people were mine, their clothes and gold and silver were mine, as much as their sparkling eyes, fair skins, and ruddy faces. The skies were mine, and so were the sun and moon and stars, and all the world was mine; and I the only spectator and enjoyer of it. I knew no churlish proprieties, nor bounds nor divisions; but all proprieties and divisions were mine, all treasures and the possessors of them. So that with much ado I was corrupted, and made to learn the dirty devices of this world, which now I unlearn, and become, as it were, a little child again that I may enter into the Kingdom of God.
These passages are succeeded in the MS. by the poem entitled "The Approach," which the reader will find at page 31 of the present volume.
In the following sections of the "Meditations" the author tells how these thoughts were first dimmed, and afterwards almost entirely lost owing to the evil influence of those around him. It is clear that his parents failed to appreciate the fact that their child was of a very uncommon type, and that the ordinary methods of dealing with children were inapplicable in his case. His early and innocent thoughts, he says, were quite obliterated by the influence of a bad education. He found that those around him were immersed in the trivial cares and vanities of common life; that they were wholly wrapped up in the outward shows of things, and were moved only by common and mercenary motives. Alas! this is the discovery that every poet makes, and it is this which constitutes the tragedy of life for him. Had any one, Traherne says, spoken to him on the great and sublime truths of God and Nature; had he been taught that God was good, and had made him the sole heir of a glorious universe; had he been assured that earth was better than gold, and water, every drop of it, a precious jewel, he would have thankfully received and gladly believed the lessons. But instead of this they tried to instil into his mind the lessons of selfishness and worldly wisdom.
IX
It was a difficult matter to persuade me that the tinseled ware upon a hobby horse was a fine thing. They did impose upon me and obtrude their gifts that made me believe a ribbon or a feather curious. I could not see where was the curiousness or fineness. And to teach me that a purse of gold was at any value seemed impossible, the art by which it becomes so, and the reasons for which it is accounted so were so deep and hidden to my inexperience. So that nature is still nearest to natural things, and farthest off from preternatural; and to esteem that the reproach of nature is an excuse in them only who are unacquainted with it. Natural things are glorious, and to know them glorious; but to call things preternatural natural monstrous. Yet all they do it who esteem gold, silver, houses, land, clothes, &c., the riches of nature, which are indeed the riches of invention. Nature knows no such riches, but art and error makes them. Not the God of Nature, but sin only was the parent of them. The riches of Nature are our souls and bodies, with all their faculties, senses, and endowments. And it had been the easiest thing in the whole world [to teach me] that all felicity consisted in the enjoyment of all the world, that it was prepared for me before I was born, and that nothing was more divine and beautiful.
Surely Traherne was here anticipating much which seems to belong to a far later date! The doctrine here urged is in essentials the same as that which was insisted upon by Rousseau and other philosophers of the eighteenth century. Shelley himself hardly enforced the idea of the return to nature more strenuously than Traherne does in this passage. "Natural things are glorious and to know them glorious"--is not this the whole burden of Walt Whitman's poetry? Nay, is it not the whole burden of all poetry worthy of the name?
X
Thoughts are the most present things to thoughts, and of the most powerful influence. My Soul was only apt and disposed to great things; but souls to souls are like apples, one being rotten rots another. When I began to speak and go, nothing began to be present to me but what was present to me in their thoughts. Nor was anything present to me any other way than it was so to them. The glass of imagination was the only mirror wherein anything was represented or appeared to me. All things were absent which they talked not of. So I began among my playfellow's to prize a drum, a fine coat, a penny, a gilded book, &c., who before never dreamed of any such wealth. Goodly objects to drown all the knowledge of Heaven and Earth! As for the Heavens and Sun and Stars, they disappeared, and were no more unto me than the bare walls. So that the strange riches of man's invention quite overcame the riches of nature, being learned more laboriously and in the second place.
By this, Traherne proceeds, parents and nurses should learn the right way of teaching children. Nothing is easier than to teach the truth because the nature of the thing confirms the teaching; whereas to teach children to value "gugaus," baubles, and rattles puts false ideas into their heads, and blots out all noble and divine thoughts, rendering them uncertain about everything, and dividing them from God. "Verily," he says, "there is no savage nation under the cope of Heaven that is more absurdly barbarous than the Christian World.... I am sure that those barbarous people that go naked come nearer to Adam, God, and Angels in the simplicity of their wealth, though not in knowledge."
XIV
Being swallowed up therefore in the miserable gulf of idle talk and worthless vanities, thenceforth I lived among shadows, like a prodigal son feeding upon husks with swine. A comfortless wilderness full of thorns and troubles the world was or worse: a waste place covered with idleness and play, and shops, and markets, and taverns. As for churches they were things I did not understand, and schools were a burden: so that there was nothing in the world worth the having or enjoying but my game and sport, which also was a dream, and being passed wholly forgotten. So that I had wholly forgotten all goodness, bounty, comfort, and glory; which things are the very brightness of the Glory of God, for lack of which therefore He was unknown.
XV
Yet sometimes in the midst of these dreams I should come a little to myself, so far as to feel I wanted something, secretly to expostulate with God for not giving me riches, to long after an unknown happiness, to grieve that the world was so empty and to be dissatisfied with my present state because it was vain and forlorn. I had heard of Angels and much admired that here upon earth nothing should be but dirt and streets and gutters. For as for the pleasures that were in great men's houses I had not seen them: and it was my real happiness they were unknown. For because nothing deluded me I was the more inquisitive.
XVI
Once I remember (I think I was about four years old) when I thus reasoned with myself. Sitting in a little obscure room in my father's poor house: If there be a God certainly He must be Infinite in Goodness, and that I was prompted to, by a real whispering instinct of nature. And if He be Infinite in Goodness and a perfect Being in Wisdom and Love, certainly He must do most glorious things and give us infinite riches; how comes it to pass, therefore, that I am so poor? Of so scanty and narrow a fortune, enjoying few and obscure comforts? I thought I could not believe Him a God to me unless all His power were employed to glorify me. I knew not then my Soul or Body, nor did I think of the Heavens and the Earth, the Rivers and the Stars, the Sun or the Seas: all those were lost and absent from me. But when I found them made out of nothing for me, then I had a God indeed whom I could praise and rejoice in.
XVII
Sometimes I should be alone and without employment, when suddenly my Soul would return to itself, and forgetting all things in the whole world which mine eyes had seen, would be carried away to the end of the earth, and my thoughts would be deeply engaged with inquiries--How the Earth did end? Whether walls did bound it or sudden precipices? Or whether the Heavens by degrees did come to touch it, so that the faces of the Earth and Heaven were so near that a man with difficulty could creep under? Whatever I could imagine was inconvenient, and my reason being posed was quickly wearied. What also upheld the Earth (because it was heavy) and kept it from falling; whether pillars or dark waters? And if any upheld these, what then upheld those, and what again those, of which I saw there would be no end? Little did I think that the Earth was round and the World so full of Beauty, Light, and Wisdom. When I saw that, I knew by the perfection of the work there was a God, and was satisfied and rejoiced. People underneath and fields and flowers, with another Sun and another Day pleased me mightily; but more when I knew it was the same Sun that served them by Night that served us by day.
XVIII
Sometimes I should soar above the stars, and inquire how the Heavens ended, and what was beyond them? Concerning which by no means could I receive satisfaction. Sometimes my thoughts would carry me to the Creation, for I had heard now that the World which at first I had thought was Eternal had a beginning: how therefore that beginning was, and why it was; why it was no sooner, and what was before, I mightily desired to know. By all which I easily perceived my Soul was made to live in communion with God in all places of His dominion, and to be satisfied with the highest reason in all things. After which it so eagerly aspired that I thought all the gold and silver in the world but dirt in comparison of satisfaction in any of these. Sometimes I wondered why men were made no bigger? I would have had a man as big as a giant, a giant as big as a castle, and a castle as big as the Heavens. Which yet would not serve, for there was infinite space beyond the Heavens, and all was defective and but little in comparison; and for man to be made infinite, I thought it would be to no purpose, and it would be inconvenient. Why also there was not a better Sun and better Stars, a better Sea, and better Creatures I much admired. Which thoughts produced that poem upon moderation which afterwards was written.
Following this the author quotes a part of the poem he refers to, which, as it is printed on page 132, need not be given here. The argument of his verses is that everything is for the best and in the best possible proportion:
"God made man greater while he made him less."
XXII
These liquid clear satisfactions were the emanations of the highest reason, but not achieved till a long time afterwards. In the meantime I was sometimes, though seldom, visited and inspired with new and more vigorous desires after that Bliss which Nature whispered and suggested to me. Every new thing quickened my curiosity, and raised my expectation. I remember once, the first time I came into a magnificent and noble dining-room and was left there alone, I rejoiced to see the gold and state and carved imagery, but when all was dead and there was no motion, I was weary of it and departed dissatisfied. But afterwards when I saw it full of lords and ladies and music and dancing, the place which once seemed not to differ from a solitary den had now entertainment and nothing of tediousness in it. By which I perceived (upon a reflection made long after) that men and women are, when well understood, a principal part of our true felicity. By this I found also that nothing that stood still could, by doing so, be a part of Happiness: and that affection, though it were invisible, was the best of motions. But the august and glorious exercise of virtue was more solemn and divine, which yet I saw not. And that all men and angels should appear in Heaven.
XXIII
Another time, in a lowering and sad evening, being alone in the field, when all things were dead and quiet, a certain want and horror fell upon me, beyond imagination. The unprofitableness and silence of the place dissatisfied me, its wildness terrified me; from the utmost ends of the earth fears surrounded me. How did I know but dangers might suddenly arise from the East, and invade me from the unknown regions beyond the seas? I was a weak and little child and had forgotten there was a man alive in the earth. Yet something also of hope and expectation comforted me from every border. This taught me that I was concerned in all the world: and that in the remotest borders the causes of peace delight me, and the beauties of the earth, when seen, were made to entertain me: that I was made to hold a communion with the secrets of Divine Providence in all the world: that a remembrance of all the joys I had from my birth ought always to be with me: that the presence of Cities, Temples, and Kingdoms ought to sustain me, and that to be alone in the world was to be desolate and miserable. The comfort of houses and friends, and the clear assurance of treasures everywhere, God's care and love, His Wisdom, Goodness, and Power, His Presence and watchfulness in all the ends of the earth were my strength and assurance for ever: and that those things being absent to my eye were my joys and consolations: as present to my understanding as the wideness and emptiness of the Universe which I saw before me.
XXIV
When I heard of any new Kingdom beyond the seas the light and glory of it entered into me, it rose up within me, and I was enlarged wonderfully. I entered into it, I saw its commodities, springs, meadows, riches, inhabitants, and became possessor of that new room as if it had been prepared for me, so much was I magnified and delighted in it. When the Bible was read my spirit was present in other ages. I saw the light and splendour of them, the Land of Canaan, the Israelites entering into it, the ancient glory of the Amorites, their peace and riches, their cities, houses, vines, and fig-trees, the long prosperity of their Kings, their milk and honey, their slaughter and destruction, with the joys and triumphs of God's people. All which entered into me, and God among them. I saw all and felt all in such a lively manner as if there had been no other way to those places but in spirit only. This shewed me the liveliness of interior presence, and that all ages were for most glorious ends accessible to my understanding, yea with it, yea within it. For without changing place in myself I could behold and enjoy all those. Anything, when it was proposed, though it was a thousand ages ago being always before me.
Some few other passages relating to Traherne's boyhood might be quoted; but as I hope soon to publish the "Centuries of Meditations" in complete form, it is hardly necessary to give further extracts here. I have quoted enough, I trust, to create a desire in the reader's mind to see the whole work in print. I have found the narrative so interesting myself that I would fain hope it will be not less so to others. It displays with a vividness seldom equalled the eager, enthusiastic, thoughtful, affectionate, and, above all, poetic character of its author. It was doubtless because he retained in his manhood so much of the fresh, unspoiled, and uncorrupted spirit of his youth that he was able to give such an engaging picture of his early years. It bears the stamp of veracity and sincerity in every line; and leaves no room in the reader's mind (as so many autobiographies do) for the suspicion that the author was posing himself in the most favourable light, and suppressing the darker shades of his portraiture. I do not think there is anything resembling it in English literature; nor could more than one or two other English poets have written such a narrative. It is fortunate indeed that the "Centuries of Meditations," which so narrowly escaped destruction or oblivion, should have been preserved to afford us this valuable record of the inner life of a spirit touched to such fine issues as was that of Thomas Traherne.
Turning from the brilliant illumination of our author's own account of his youthful experiences it is very disappointing to find that no information about him from external sources can be discovered before the time when he became an Oxford undergraduate. But we may, I think, conclude with little chance of error that the course of his early life was somewhat as follows: His parents, seeing the precocity and unusual promise of their child, determined to give him the best education within their power, and therefore sent him to the local Grammar School. This was founded by Bishop Gilbert in 1386. While there he must have distinguished himself so much by his good conduct and aptitude for learning that some patron--or perhaps some of his relatives who were in a better position than his father--furnished the means to enable him to proceed to Oxford and become a student there. His course at the University is thus related in the _Athenæ Oxonienses_:
Thomas Traherne, a shoemaker's son of Hereford, was entered a Commoner of Brasen-nose College on the first day of March, 1652, took one degree in Arts, left the House for a time, entered into the sacred function, and in 1661 he was actually created Master of Arts. About that time he became Rector of Credinhill, commonly called Crednell, near to the city of Hereford ... and in 1669 Bachelor of Divinity.
To the above it may perhaps be as well to add the exact dates of the degrees bestowed upon him at the University. He was made Bachelor of Arts on October 13, 1656; Master of Arts on November 6, 1661; and Bachelor of Divinity on December 11, 1669. Why or when he "left the House for a time" does not appear; possibly it was on account of the political troubles of the period.
When at the University we may be certain that Traherne's inclination and natural genius would lead him to study for the ministry; and he was undoubtedly an earnest and diligent student of the history and doctrines of the Christian faith, and more especially of those of the Church of England. He found in that communion his ideal Church. We have seen that Philip Traherne, the Mayor of Hereford, was noted for his "fervent zeal for the Established Church and clergy"--and probably we shall not be wrong in thinking that the Trahernes generally were members of the English Church. That circumstance doubtless had its influence in determining the faith of Thomas Traherne; but his own deeply fervent and religious nature found in the national faith, as George Herbert had found before him, the peace and satisfaction which he could find nowhere else. That the Anglican Church can boast of having attracted to its service such fine spirits as those of Herbert, Vaughan, Traherne, and the many others that might be mentioned, is surely one of its greatest honours.
We have the evidence of Antony à Wood and that of Traherne's book entitled "Roman Forgeries" to prove that he was an unwearied student of the antiquities of the Church, of its Fathers, Councils, and Doctrines. But the best evidence on this point is to be found in the "Advertisement to the Reader" prefixed to "Roman Forgeries." Herein the author gives us a lively account of a discussion which took place between himself and a Roman Catholic gentleman on the questions in dispute between the two Churches. This passage must be quoted in full, for the story is so vividly told that the reader becomes almost a spectator of the scene:
Before I stir further I shall add one passage which befell me in the _Schools_ as I was studying these things, and searching the most old and authentic records in pursuance of them. One evening as I came out of the Bodleian Library, which is the glory of Oxford, and this nation, at the stairs-foot I was saluted by a person that has deserved well of scholars and learning, who being an intimate friend of mine, told me there was a gentleman, his cousin, pointing to a grave person, in the quadrangle, a man that had spent many thousand pounds in promoting Popery, and that he had a desire to speak with me. The gentleman came up to us of his own accord: we agreed, for the greater liberty and privacy, to walk abroad into the New Parks. He was a notable man, of an eloquent tongue, and competent reading, bold, forward, talkative enough; he told me, that the Church of Rome had eleven millions of martyrs, seventeen Oecumenical Councils, above one hundred Provincial Councils, all the Doctors, all the Fathers, Unity, Antiquity, Consent, &c. I desired him to name _one_ of his eleven millions of martyrs, excepting those that died for treason in Queen Elizabeth's and King James his days: for the martyrs of the primitive times, were martyrs of the _Catholic_, but not of the _Roman_ Church: they only being martyrs of the Roman Church, that die for _transubstantiation_, the _Pope's Supremacy_, the doctrine of _Merits_, _Purgatory_, and the like. So many he told me they had, but I could not get him to name one. As for his Councils, Antiquities and Fathers, I asked him what he would say, if I could clearly prove that the Church of Rome was guilty of _forging_ them, so far that they had published _Canons_ in the _Apostles_ names, and invented _Councils_ that never were, forged _letters_ of Fathers, and _Decretal Epistles_, in the name of the first Bishops and Martyrs of Rome, made 5, 6, 700 years after they were dead, to the utter disguising and defacing of antiquity, for the first 480 years next after our Saviour? "Tush, these are nothing but lies," quoth he, "whereby the Protestants endeavour to disgrace the Papists." Sir, answered I, you are a scholar, and have heard of Isidore, Mercator, James Merlin, Peter Crabbe, Laurentius Surius, Severinus Binius Labbè, Cossartius, and the Collectio Regia, books of vast bulk and price, as well as of great majesty and magnificence: you met me this evening at the Library door; if you please to meet me there to-morrow morning at eight of the clock, I will take you in; and we will go from class to class, from book to book, and there I will first shew in your own authors, that you publish such instruments for good _Records_: and then prove, that those instruments are downright frauds and forgeries? "What hurt is that to the Church of Rome?" said he. No! (cried I, amazed) Is it no hurt to the Church of Rome, to be found guilty of _forging Canons_ in the _Apostles_ names, and _Epistles_ in the _Fathers'_ names, which they never made? Is it nothing in _Rome_ to be guilty of counterfeiting _Decrees_ and _Councils_, and _Records of Antiquity_? _I have done with you!_ whereupon I turned from him as an obdurate person. And with this I thought it meet to acquaint the Reader.
No other particulars of Traherne's University career are now available, but those which I have related are sufficient to show that it was not an unsuccessful one. It is plain that he made his way entirely by his own ability, for he could have had no other means of advancing himself.
It appears from a passage in our author's "Centuries of Meditations" that there was at one time a conflict in his mind as to his future course in life. He debated with himself as to whether he should pursue the path that might lead to worldly prosperity, at the cost of sacrificing or suppressing his higher aspirations, or whether he should, at the risk of poverty and obscurity, follow out the promptings of his better self. Such a conflict, in his case, could have only one result:
When I came into the country, and being seated among silent trees and woods and hills, had all my time in mine own hands, I resolved to spend it all, whatever it cost me, in the search of Happiness, and to satiate the burning thirst which Nature had enkindled in me from my youth. In which I was so resolute that I chose rather to live upon ten pounds a year, and to go in leather clothes and to feed upon bread and water, so that I might have all my time clearly to myself, than to keep many thousands per annum in an estate of life where my time would be devoured in care and labour. And God was so pleased to accept of that desire that from that time to this I have had all things plentifully provided for me without any care at all, my very study of Felicity making me more to prosper than all the care in the whole world. So that through His blessing I live a free and a kingly life, as if the world were turned again into Eden, or, much more, as it is at this day.
Truly a memorable resolution! which has had not too many parallels, though the failure to make it has caused many a man of fine abilities to fall into the ranks of those whom the world has conquered and subdued to its own purposes. One remembers the similar resolution of the great founder of Quakerism, which Traherne might possibly have heard of. One thinks also of Thoreau and of his life in the woods; and of the few others who have dared to live out their own lives in their own way, regardless of the disdain or censure of the worldly-minded. That nothing but good came to Traherne from his resolution we might have been sure even if he had not himself told us so; for what harm can come to those who are animated with such a spirit as his? The spiritually minded derive their sustenance from the spirit, and are the richer on the ten pounds a year which Traherne speaks of than are the masters of untold wealth who are spiritually destitute.
At what period Traherne came to the decision which he has thus recorded does not appear; but it seems probable it was at the time when, as Wood tells us, he left the University for a time. Wood places the commencement of his ministry at Credenhill at about 1661, when he was made Master of Arts. This, however, seems to be an error. Mr. E. H. W. Dunkin has kindly informed me that he has in his possession a copy of a manuscript preserved at Lambeth Library (MS. 998) containing particulars of admissions to Benefices _temp._ Commonwealth, in which the following entry appears:
Thomas Traherne, clerk, admitted 30 Dec., 1657, by the Commissioners for the Approbation of Public Preachers to the Rectory of Crednell, alias Creddenhill, Co. Hereford: patron Amabella, Countess Dowager of Kent.
In 1657 Traherne could not have been more than 21 or 22 years of age--hardly old enough, one would think, to assume entire charge of the parish. Possibly at first he only acted as assistant to the minister whom he afterwards succeeded.
Of the course of Traherne's life at Credenhill nothing is now known, but, as far as outward events were concerned, it was doubtless quiet and uneventful. He remained there, it would appear, for rather more than nine and a half years. Then he was summoned to London to become private chaplain to Sir Orlando Bridgman, who, on August 30, 1667, was created Lord Keeper of the Seals. Whether he owed his promotion to a friend's recommendation, or whether he had, before this time, become personally acquainted with Sir Orlando, we do not know, but it is certain that he must henceforth have been highly esteemed and valued by his patron. When Bridgman was, in 1672, deprived of the Seals, and went into retirement, he still retained Traherne in his service, and it was in his patron's house at Teddington, about three months after the latter's decease, that he died. We may indeed feel certain that a mutual regard and even affection existed between them; and perhaps it is not too great a stretch of imagination to think that the death of Traherne may have been hastened by his grief at the loss of his patron.
Sir Orlando Bridgman was not only a very able lawyer, but also an honourable, conscientious, and upright statesman. He was, perhaps, a little wanting in strength of character, and therefore appeared to his contemporaries to be something of a trimmer. He was a royalist, and remained such all through the Civil War and the Commonwealth; though it appears that during the last years of Cromwell's reign he had in some degree made his peace with the Protector. But he was not disposed to be a mere tool in the hands of the Court party. He was made Keeper of the Seals because it was supposed that he would have been subservient to the designs of the ministry then in power; but when it was found that he was not disposed to be a compliant tool in their hands he was dismissed from his office. He had nothing in him of a Scroggs or a Jeffries, and was therefore no fit instrument of the crew of unscrupulous and corrupt intriguers who then misruled the country. That he was of a most charitable disposition--though he has not hitherto, I believe, received credit for the fact--we have sufficient evidence. In Traherne's "Christian Ethicks" we find the following passage (p. 471): "My Lord Bridgman, late Lord Keeper, confessed himself in his Will to be but a Steward of his Estate, and prayed God to forgive all his offences in getting, mis-spending, or not spending it as he ought to do. And that after many Charitable and Pious Works, perhaps surmounting his estate tho concealed from the notice or knowledge of the world."
It has been seen from one of the extracts quoted from "Centuries of Meditations" that Traherne esteemed himself fortunate in having "all things plentifully provided for me without any care at all, my very study of Felicity making me more to prosper than all the care in the whole world." That he was perfectly sincere in this statement, and that he had all the riches and advancement he required, is certain; but very few men, and certainly no ambitious man, under the same circumstances would have made such a declaration. To the worldly-minded his destiny must have seemed a poor, if not mean one. To be the parson of two small and obscure parishes, and the private chaplain of the Keeper of the Seals, while possessing abilities which would have adorned the highest possible station, must have seemed, to a less happily constituted temperament, a fate which would have justified much repining and discontent. That Traherne was not merely contented but happy under such circumstances is but one more proof that
Happiness to no outward cause we owe, From inward sources only doth it flow.
The position of chaplain to Lord Bridgman must have brought Traherne into contact with many distinguished persons of the time; but no trace of his intercourse with them seems now to be discoverable, save in one instance. John Aubrey, the famous gossip, to whose undiscriminating industry we are indebted for the preservation of much chaff indeed, but also for not a little precious wheat, in his "Miscellanies," under the heading "Apparitions," gives us a remarkable reference to our author. I quote the passage in full:
Mr. Trahern, B.D. (chaplain to Sir Orlando Bridgman, Lord Keeper), a learned and sober person, was son of a shoemaker in Hereford: one night as he lay in bed, the moon shining very bright, he saw the phantom of one of the apprentices, sitting in a chair in his red waistcoat, and head-band about his head, and strap upon his knee; which apprentice was really in bed and asleep with another fellow-apprentice, in the same chamber, and saw him. The fellow was living, 1671. Another time, as he was in bed, he saw a basket come sailing in the air, along by the valence of his bed; I think he said there was fruit in the basket: it was a phantom. From himself.
It is highly probable that it was Aubrey who furnished Wood with the account of Traherne which appears in the _Athenæ Oxonienses_, and doubtless he could have given us much more information about him had he chosen to do so. But he was incapable of appreciating so fine a spirit as Traherne's; nor was the latter likely to reveal to him the profounder depths of his nature. It is much to be regretted that Aubrey gives us such a confused account of what he was told. The stories were doubtless related to him at his own direct request, he being ever eager to collect accounts of the marvellous and the supernatural. It seems evident that Traherne attached little importance to these two visions, purposeless as they apparently were, and as visions of the kind usually are. No one nowadays would attribute such phantoms of the brain to any supernatural cause, nor does it appear that Traherne himself did. I find no trace in his writings of a belief in the common superstitions of his time as to ghosts, witches, or evil spirits.
The date of the interview in which Traherne related these things to Aubrey is fixed by the date given in it (1671) to a period within two or three years of the poet's death. During these latter years he was, according to Wood, minister of the parish of Teddington, Middlesex. It was there that Sir Orlando Bridgman's country residence was situated; and it was doubtless owing to his lordship's influence that Traherne was appointed minister. That he did hold that position seems to be certain, though, curiously enough, his name does not appear in the list of ministers of the parish which is given in Newcourt's "Repertorium Ecclesiasticum." Perhaps this may be accounted for by the fact that though Traherne was actually the working minister, the post was nominally held by a clerical pluralist of the time. The succession of curates as given by Newcourt during the period of Traherne's connection with the parish is as follows: 1664,--Badcock; 1668, Car. Bryan; 1673, Joh. Graves; 1677, Jacobus Elsby.
It was not until the year before his death that the first fruit of Traherne's long and laborious studies was offered to the readers of the time. His poems--or some of them, at least--were written early in life, for he speaks of one of them as having been written "long since"; but his "Roman Forgeries," "Christian Ethicks," and "Centuries of Meditations" were almost certainly his latest productions. Without undervaluing his two published works, it must be regretted that he did not send to the press in preference to them his poems, which would then have had the advantage of his own supervision, and would have saved his name from the total obscurity in which it has now been sunk for upwards of two centuries. But doubtless he did not anticipate so untimely an end of his career, and may well have preferred to make his first appearance in print as a serious student and thinker rather than as a poet. I feel sure that he did not undervalue his poems (what poet ever did?); but he must have believed that his prose writings were better calculated to influence the world, as he desired to influence it, than they were. His "Roman Forgeries" and "Christian Ethicks" probably cost him far more labour and hard thought than his poems did; and authors, it has been observed, usually value most highly the works which have cost them the greatest pains.
It was in 1673 that "Roman Forgeries" was published. There never was a period in the history of England when theological questions were more hotly debated than during the second half of the seventeenth century. Political and theological questions were then far more closely connected than is now the case, so that a double degree or vehemence was imparted to all the subjects of dispute which then divided the nation. Hence it was that a continual flood of partisan books and pamphlets issued from the press, to contemplate which nowadays is to be filled with a melancholy sense of the energy and intellect which our ancestors wasted in angry disputations and futile controversies.
That Traherne should have plunged into this whirlpool of controversy is, I must needs think, matter for regret. His "Roman Forgeries" is, it is true, a very able work; and as to its main contentions a very convincing one to those who need no convincing, and possibly even to the very few Catholics who could be induced to peruse it. But most of the latter, it is probable, would brush the whole question aside, as did the Catholic gentleman whom Traherne encountered at Oxford, merely exclaiming "What does it matter?"
As to the object of the work, the passage which I have quoted from it on p. xxxiv will give the reader a good idea of its scope and purpose. It is, in fact, an indictment of the Roman Church as being guilty of the most flagrant forgeries of documents and falsifications of historical facts for the purpose of supporting its spiritual and temporal pretensions. To those who are able to take any interest in its subject the book is by no means a dull one. Traherne, indeed, felt such a lively concern in his theme that he has succeeded in infusing much of his own animation into his pages. He deals his blows at his adversaries with such hearty good will, and has so much confidence in the justice of his cause, that the reader can hardly fail to sympathise with so earnest a combatant. Yet, as I have said, one can hardly help regretting that the book should have been written, for, well as it is done, it might have been done equally well by a writer of far inferior gifts, while it is impossible not to feel that Traherne was wasting his genius in its composition.[B]
Within twelve months after the publication of "Roman Forgeries" its author was dead. But he had, during the few months of life still left to him, finished another long and elaborate work. This was his "Christian Ethicks," a work of much more value and interest than his first book, though it seems to have fallen still-born from the press, and to have remained neglected and unknown ever since.
The satisfaction of seeing his second work in print was denied to its author. He had sent it to the press, but was dead before the printing of it was commenced. Sir Orlando died on June 25, 1674, and was interred in the church at Teddington, where a monument was erected to him. Three months afterwards Traherne died in his patron's house, and was also buried in the church at Teddington under the reading-desk. Of the exact date of his decease we are ignorant, but he was buried on October 10, 1674.
About a fortnight before his death, Traherne sent for his friend, John Berdo, and his sister-in-law, Susan Traherne, and in their presence made his Will--a nuncupative one. This Will, which I have to thank my friend, Gordon Goodwin, for communicating to me, was registered in the Prerogative Court of Canterbury. It is a curious and interesting document, and I have therefore printed it in full in the Appendix to the present volume. From its terms, it is very evident that Traherne had accumulated no wealth, and that he died possessed of little indeed beyond his books and other personal effects.
At the time of his death Traherne was probably not more than thirty-eight years of age, but certainly under forty. He was thus in the very prime of life, and his intellect was in its fullest vigour. Had he lived he would surely have produced a succession of works which would have sensibly enriched our literature, for his industry was not less remarkable than his ability and his learning. As it was, his career must have seemed to those who were capable of appreciating his fine qualities a failure, for his books brought him little reputation; and beyond the mention of him in the _Athenæ Oxonienses_, his name quickly sank into entire oblivion, so to remain for upwards of two centuries. A strange fate! the strangest, perhaps, that ever befell an author of such fine genius. During all this period his manuscripts were lying unknown and neglected, and exposed to all the accidents of time and chance. Yet not altogether so, for it seems that those into whose hands his papers fell had at least a dim perception of their value. Twenty-five years after his death a little book stole into the world the title of which was as follows: "A Serious and Patheticall Contemplation of the Mercies of God, in several most Devout and Sublime Thanksgivings for the same. Published by the Reverend Doctor Hickes at the request of a friend of the Authors." It was the fortunate issue of this work of Traherne's that, after the lapse of upwards of two centuries, was to be the means of identifying him as the author of the poems contained in the present volume, which else might now be masquerading as those of Henry Vaughan. But for this we have not altogether to thank the friend of Traherne's who brought about the issue of the "Serious and Patheticall Contemplation." He certainly laid us under considerable obligations to him when he procured its publication; but his curious idea that it was not to the purpose to tell us the author's name might have caused it to remain for ever unknown but for one clue that he gave us, which ultimately led to its discovery.
The "Serious and Patheticall Contemplation" opens with a letter from the Rev. George Hickes (then a well-known writer on theological subjects), in which he says that the work was recommended to him for publication by "a devout person who was a great Judge of Books of Devotion, having given the world one already which had been well received in three impressions." He intended, he says, to have written a Preface to the book himself, but had received from a friend of the deceased author an account of him, which rendered it unnecessary for him "who can only tell how greatly the author of them wrote, but knew not how greatly he lived" to fulfil his intention. Dr. Hickes's Letter is followed by an Address "To the Reader," written by Traherne's friend. As this contains the best and most valuable account of our author which has descended to us, I need make no apology for quoting it in full:
Tho' the unhappy decay of true Piety and the Immoralities of the Age we live in may be a discouragement to the multiplying such Books as this, yet on the other hand this degeneracy of Manners, and too evident contempt of Religion makes it (it may be) the more necessary to endeavour to retrieve the Spirit of Devotion and the sacred Fires of Primitive Christianity. And since 'tis hop'd this ensuing Treatise may somewhat conduce to these noble Ends: It is thought to be no unprofitable undertaking to commit it to the Press, it being part of the Remains of a very devout Christian, who is long since removed to the Regions of Beatified Spirits, to sing those Praises and Hallelujahs, in which he was very vigourously employ'd whilst he dwelt amongst us: and since somewhat of _Preface_ is become, as it were, a necessary part of every book, instead of any particular _Dedication_ (which is commonly over-stuft with Flattery and Complements) I will only give thee some Account of the Author. To tell thee who he was, is, I think, to no purpose: And therefore I will only tell thee what he was, for that may possibly recommend the following Thanksgivings and Meditations to thy use. He was a Divine of the Church of England, of a very comprehensive Soul and very acute Parts, so fully bent upon that Honourable Function in which he was engaged; and so wonderfully transported with the Love of God to Mankind, with the excellency of those Divine Laws which are prescribed to us, and with those inexpressible Felicities to which we are entitled by being created in, and redeemed to the Divine Image that he dwelt continually amongst these thoughts with great delight and satisfaction, spending most of his time when at home in digesting his notions of these things into writing, and was so full of them when abroad that those who would converse with him were forced to endure some discourse upon these subjects, whether they had any sense of Religion or not. And therefore to such he might be sometimes thought troublesome, but his company was very acceptable to all such as had any inclination to Vertue and Religion. And tho' he had the misfortune to come abroad into the world in the late disordered Times, when the Foundations were cast down, and this excellent Church laid in the dust, and dissolved into Confusion and Enthusiasme; yet his Soul was of a more refin'd alloy, and his Judgment in discerning of things more solid and considerate than to be infected with that Leaven, and therefore became much in love with the beautiful order and Primitive Devotions of this our excellent Church. Insomuch that I believe he never failed any one day either publickly or in his private Closet to make use of her publick Offices, as one part of his devotion, unless some very unavoidable business interrupted him. He was a man of a cheerful and sprightly Temper, free from anything of the sourness or formality by which some great pretenders to Piety rather disparage and misrepresent true Religion than recommend it; and therefore was very affable and pleasant in his conversation, ready to do all good offices to his Friends, and Charitable to the Poor almost beyond his ability. But being removed out of the Country to the service of the late Lord Keeper Bridgman as his Chaplain, he died young and got early to those blissful Mansions to which he at all times aspir'd.
This eulogy of Traherne, it will be observed, was written twenty-five years after his death, when the writer could have had no possible motive to pen it, beyond a desire to do justice to the memory of his friend. It is a most attractive picture; but not, I am convinced, one in which truth was sacrificed to flattery. It is exactly what might have been inferred from the poems and "Centuries of Meditations"; but since it does not always happen that an author's personality tallies with that which might be deduced from his writings, it is fortunate that the impression derived from Traherne's works is thus confirmed by independent evidence. The poet was, it is plain, one of those rare and enviable individuals in whom no jarring element is present, who come into the world as into their rightful inheritance, and whose whole life is a song of thankfulness for the happiness which they enjoy in it. His was indeed
A happy soul that all the way To Heaven hath a summer's day,
and though we, who are not so constituted, and who may question whether in a world, which to us seems to give at least as much reason for lamenting as for rejoicing, any man has a right to be so happy as Traherne was, the feeling is perhaps only an outcome of that envy which those who are tortured with a thousand doubts and misgivings must needs entertain for those who enjoy an existence of entire serenity.
It is fortunate that Traherne's friend, though he did not mention his name, yet gave us a clue to him by mentioning that he was private chaplain to Lord Keeper Bridgman. Without this clue we should probably have had to remain in ignorance of his authorship of the poems contained in this volume: for though there was (as will be seen later on) another clue, it was hidden away so deeply that it is unlikely it would ever have been discovered. Why Traherne's friend should have thought that it was not to the purpose to tell us who he was, and yet gave us such a means of discovering him, is rather a puzzle; but we have reason to be ever grateful to him for what he has told us, while regretting that he has told us no more.
I must now give some account of Traherne's "Christian Ethicks." It is so rare a book that I have only just obtained a copy of it, after searching for it for nearly two years. Few books surely have had so unfortunate a fate. If there is a better book of its kind in the English language I have not been so fortunate as to meet with it. It is a work full of eloquence, persuasiveness, sagacity, and piety. While the author's concern, as might be expected, is chiefly with the spiritual life, he is by no means destitute of worldly wisdom, and he often exhibits a shrewdness and knowledge of human nature which would scarcely be expected from him. Open the book anywhere you please you can hardly fail to discover a fine thought finely expressed. How then shall we account for the fact that the work has remained in total obscurity from the time of its first publication to the present day? The fact that the author died before its appearance, and it was thus thrown into the world without a parent or friend to foster it, was no doubt in some degree accountable for its ill-fortune. It is true that the author makes no appeal to the uninstructed or the fanatical, and keeps throughout the work upon a higher level of thought than the generality of readers can ascend to. He is somewhat too fond of debating abstruse points of metaphysics, and of dwelling upon the subtleties of theological speculation. Yet there is in the book enough, one would think, of homely wisdom, and even of wit, to have secured it a warm welcome from all those to whom it appealed.
I think the reader--since he is not likely to obtain a copy of "Christian Ethicks," however much he may desire it--will be glad to see a few extracts from it. And first I will quote a passage from the chapter "Of Magnanimity." I do this because of its personal interest--for Traherne, in painting the character of a magnanimous man, was, whether consciously or unconsciously, drawing his own portrait. Flattering as the picture may seem, I do not doubt in the least that it is a true one.
Magnanimity and contentment are very near allied; like brothers and sisters they spring from the same parents, but are of several features. Fortitude and Patience are kindred to this incomparable virtue. Moralists distinguish Magnanimity and Modesty, by making the one the desire of greater, the other of less and inferior, honours. But in my apprehension there is more in Magnanimity. It includes all that belongs to a Great Soul: a high and mighty courage, an invincible Patience, an immoveable Grandeur which is above the reach of injuries, a contempt of all little and feeble enjoyments, and a certain kind of majesty that is conversant with great things; a high and lofty frame of spirit, allied with the sweetness of Courtesy and Respect; a deep and stable resolution founded on humility without any baseness; an infinite hope and a vast desire; a Divine, profound, uncontrollable sense of one's own capacity; a generous confidence, and a great inclination to heroical deeds; all these conspire to complete it, with a severe and mighty expectation of Bliss incomprehensible. It soars up to Heaven, and looks down upon all dominion of fortune with pity and disdain. Its aims and designs are transcendent to all concerns of this little world. Its objects and its ends are worthy of a soul that is like God in Nature; and nothing less than the Kingdom of God, his Life and Image; nothing beneath the friendship and communion with Him can be its satisfaction. The terrors, allurements, and censures of men are the dust of its feet: their avarice and ambition are but feebleness before it. Their riches and contentions, and interests and honours, but insignificant and empty trifles. All the world is but a little bubble; Infinity and Eternity the only great and sovereign things wherewith it converseth. A Magnanimous Soul is always awake. The whole globe of the earth is but a nutshell in comparison of its enjoyments. The sun is its lamp, the sea its fishpond, the stars its jewels, men, angels, its attendants, and God alone its sovereign delight and supreme complacency. The earth is its garden, all palaces its summer houses, cities are its cottages, empires its more spacious Courts, all ages and kingdoms its demeans, monarchs its ministers and public agents, the whole Catholick Church its family, the Eternal Son of God its pattern and example. Nothing is great if compared to a Magnanimous Soul but the sovereign Lord of all Worlds.
* * * * *
If you would have the character of a Magnanimous Soul, he is the son of Eternal Power, and the friend of Infinite Goodness, a Temple of Divine and Heavenly Wisdom, that is not imposed upon by the foul and ragged disguises of Nature, but acquainted with her great capacities and principles, more than commonly sensible of her interests, and depths, and desires. He is one that has gone in unto Felicity, and enjoyed her beauties, and comes out again her perfect Lover and Champion: a man whose inward stature is miraculous; and his complexion so divine that he is king of as many kingdoms as he will look on: one that scorns the smutty way of enjoying things like a slave, because he delights in the celestial way, and the Image of God. He knows that all the world lies in wickedness; and admires not at all that things palpable and near and natural, are unseen, though most powerful and glorious, because men are blind and stupid. He pities poor vicious kings that are oppressed with heavy crowns of vanity and gold, and admires how they can content themselves with such narrow territories: yet delights in their regiment of the world, and pays them the honour that is due unto them. The glorious exaltation of good kings he more abundantly extols, because so many thousand Magnanimous Creatures are committed to their trust, and they that govern them understand their value. But he sees well enough that the king's glory and true repose consists in the Catholick and Eternal kingdom. As for himself he _is come unto Mount Sion, and to the City of the Living God, the Heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of Angels, to the General Assembly and Church of the Firstborn, which are written in Heaven, and to God the Judge of all, and to the spirits of just men made perfect, and to Jesus the Mediator of the New Covenant_: and therefore receiving a Kingdom which cannot be moved, he desires to serve God acceptably with reverence and godly fear: and the truth is we can fear nothing else, for God alone is a consuming fire.
The above passage is a fairly representative one. If the reader is pleased with it, he would be equally pleased with the whole work; if he sees nothing to admire in it, he may conclude that "Christian Ethicks" is not a book which has any message in it for him.
The following extract is taken from the chapter "Of Charity to our Neighbours":
That which yet further commendeth this virtue of love unto us is that it is the only soul of all pleasure and felicity in all estates. It is like the light of the sun, in all the kingdoms and houses and eyes and ages, in Heaven, in earth, in the sea, in shops and temples, in schools and markets, in labours and recreations, in theatres and fable. It is _the great demon of the world_, and the sole cause of all operations. It is evidently impossible for any fancy, or play, or romance, or fable to be composed well and made delightful without a mixture of Love in the composure. In all theatres and feasts and weddings and triumphs and coronations Love is the Soul and Perfection of all. In all persons, in all occupations, in all diversions, in all labours, in all virtues, in all vices, in all occasions, in all families, in all cities and empires, in all our devotions and religious actions, Love is all in all. All the sweetness of society is seated in Love, the life of music and dancing is Love; the happiness of houses, the enjoyment of friends, the amity of relations, the providence of kings, the allegiance of subjects, the glory of empires, the security, peace, and welfare of the world is seated in Love. Without Love all is discord and confusion. All blessings come upon us by Love, and by Love alone all delights and blessings are enjoyed. All happiness is established by Love, and by Love alone is Glory attained. God knoweth that Love uniteth Souls, maketh men of one heart in a house, fills them with liberality and kindness to each other, makes them delightful in presence, faithful in absence, tender of the honour and welfare of the beloved, apt to obey, ready to please, constant in trials, patient in sufferings, courageous in assaults, prudent in difficulties, victorious and triumphant. All that I shall need to observe further is that it _completed the Joys of Heaven_. Well, therefore, may wisdom desire Love, well may the Goodness of God delight in Love. It is the sum and glory of his Eternal Kingdom.
The following spirited, vigorous, and eloquent passage is from the chapter "Of Courage":
What a glorious and incomparable virtue this is appeareth from the baseness and ineptitude of its contrary. A coward and an honest man can never be the same; a coward and a constant lover can never be the same; cowardice and wisdom are as incompatible for ever as Love and Wisdom were thought to be of old. A coward is always despicable and wretched, because he dares not expose himself to any hazards, nor adventure upon any great attempt for fear of some little pain and damage that is between him and an excellent achievement. He is baffled from the acquisition of the most great and beautiful things, and nonplust with every impediment. He is conquered before he begins to fight. The very sight of danger makes him a slave. He is undone when he sees his enemy afar off, and wounded before the point of his sword can touch his shadow. He is all ways a terror and burden to himself, a dangerous knave, and a useless creature.
Strange is the vigour in a brave man's soul. The strength of his spirit and his irresistible power, the greatness of his heart and the height of his condition, his mighty confidence and contempt of dangers, his true security and repose in himself, his liberty to dare and do what he pleaseth, his alacrity in the midst of fears, his invincible temper, are advantages which make him master of fortune. His courage fits him for all attempts, makes him serviceable to God and man, and makes him the bulwark and defence of his being and country.
Let those debauched and unreasonable men that deny the existence of virtue contemplate the reality of its excellency here, and be confounded with shame at their prodigious blindness. Their impiety designs the abolishment of Religion, and the utter extirpation of all faith, and piety, while they pretend the distinction between virtue and vice to be merely feigned for the aweing of the world, and that their names have no foundation in Nature but the craft of politicians and the traditions of their nurses. Are there no base fellows, nor brave men in the world? Is there no difference between a Lion and a Hare? a faint-hearted Coward and a glorious Hero? Is there nothing brave nor vile in the world? What is become of these Rodomontadoes wits? Where is the boasted glory of their personal valour, if there be no difference, but courage and cowardice be the same thing?
I have marked, I find, at least twenty other passages for quotation; and indeed it would be easy to extract from the book enough notable sayings to form a pocket volume of religious and moral philosophy; but I must content myself with only one other quotation. It is from the chapter "Of Knowledge":
The sun is a glorious creature, and its beams extend to the utmost stars; by shining on them it clothes them with light, and by its rays exciteth all their influences. It enlightens the eyes of all the creatures: it shineth on forty kingdoms at the same time, on seas and continents in a general manner; yet so particularly regardeth all, that every mote in the air, every grain of dust, every spire of grass is wholly illuminated thereby as if it did entirely shine upon that alone. Nor does it only illuminate all these objects in an idle manner; its beams are operative, enter in, fill the pores of things with spirits, and impregnate them with powers, cause all their emanations, odors, virtues, and operations; springs, rivers, minerals and vegetables are all perfected by the sun; all the motion, life and sense of birds, beasts and fishes dependeth on the same. Yet the sun is but a little spark among all the creatures that are made for the Soul; the Soul, being the most high and noble of all, is capable of far higher perfections, far more full of life and vigour in its uses. The sphere of its activity is illimited, its energy is endless upon all its objects. It can exceed the heavens in its operations, and run out into infinite spaces. Such is the extent of knowledge that it seemeth to be the Light of all Eternity. All objects are equally near to the splendour of its beams: As innumerable millions may be conceived in its Light, with a ready capacity for millions more; so can it penetrate all abysses, reach to the centre of all Nature, converse with all beings, visible and invisible, corporeal and spiritual, temporal and eternal, created and increated, finite and infinite, substantial and accidental, actual and possible, imaginary and real; all the mysteries of bliss and misery, all the secrets of heaven and hell are objects of the Soul's capacity, and shall be actually seen and known here.
It seems strange indeed that no compiler in search of material for a book of selections, no student in search of forgotten excellence, no seeker for wisdom conjoined with piety, has ever lighted in his search upon "Christian Ethicks." But it came into the world in a time of general dissoluteness of manners, and amid the jarrings of contending sects and the venomous contests of political parties. Probably very few copies of the book were sold, and its rarity in after times has prevented it from becoming known to any one who had the will and the power to proclaim its merits.
"Poetry," says Milton, if he be indeed the author of "Nova Solyma," "is the impetuous rush of a mind full to overflowing, strained, exalted to its utmost powers, yea, rather, lifted into ecstacy beyond itself."[C] Could we accept this (as we cannot) as a complete definition of the poetic faculty, we might then place Traherne in the very front rank of inspired singers. It would be impossible to give a better description of the leading characteristics of his poetry than that which we find in the words of Milton. Not Milton himself, nor even Shelley, has more of the impetuous rush of a mind lifted into ecstacy beyond itself than Traherne. No poet writes with more absolute spontaneity than he. Whatever may be wanting in him, however he may occasionally fail in expression, he has always this impetuous rush, this ecstacy that rises beyond itself. A glowing ardour of conviction, a passionate spirit of love and devotion, a profound sense of the beauty and sublimity which he saw everywhere around him, a never-failing aspiration towards that Goodness which he believed to be the Fountain and the Ocean, the Beginning and the End of Things, were the sources of his inspiration, the impelling forces of his genius. Where these qualities are present their possessor can never altogether fail in expressing them, however deficient he may be in the technical accomplishments of the poet's art. These things indeed are the root, if not the flower, of all poetry worthy of the name. That Traherne was essentially a poet we might be certain even if none of his lyrical work had remained to prove it. The man who could say, "You never enjoy the world aright till the sea itself floweth in your veins, till you are clothed with the heavens, and crowned with the stars"--a sentence which contains the essence of everything that has been said by the poets who have sung of the relation between the soul of man and the spirit of Nature--did not need to write in verse in order to prove that he was beyond all question a poet. There is enough of the spirit of poetry in "Christian Ethicks" and "Centuries of Meditations" to set up a dozen versifiers. It was as impossible for Traherne to see things as a Jeremy Bentham or a Cobbett saw them, as it was for either or the latter to have written the sentence I have just quoted. And who shall say that the light of imagination through which Traherne and those who resemble him behold the universe is a light which misleads them? Why should we assume that those who view it with eyes that are blind to all but its prosaic aspects are its true interpreters? Whatever else it may be, the universe, it is certain, is a marvellous and stupendous poem; and it is singular indeed if those who are insensible to this truth are able to see it in a clearer light than those who are alive to all its beauty, to all its magnificence, and to all its mystery.
With Traherne poetry was no elegant recreation, no medium for the display of a lively fancy, no means of exhibiting his skill as a master of metrical effects, but the vehicle through which he expressed his deepest convictions and his profoundest thoughts. He used it as a gift which it was his duty to employ only for the highest purposes and the most sacred ends. All that he saw, felt, and apprehended was transmuted by the alchemy of his mind into that mysterious union of thought, imagination, and expression, which we half praise and half disparage when we term it poetic inspiration. He possessed--or rather was possessed by--that "fine madness" without which no poet, painter, or musician ever yet created a work which deserved to outlive its author. He saw in the universe no "foul and pestilent congregation of vapours," but a majestic dwelling-place for gods, angels, and men. All nature to him was lovely and perfect; and if the existence of evil, injustice, and sin disquieted him for a moment he had little difficulty in persuading himself that these things were owing not to defect or imperfection in nature, but to the folly or perverseness of men in departing from it. It may indeed be said of him, as Matthew Arnold said of Wordsworth, that his eyes refused to dwell upon the darker aspects of life and nature; but that, in his case, as in Wordsworth's, was in a great degree the source of his greatness, and is the reason why he interests us. It is only those that possess an undoubting faith who can inspire it in others. It is given only to a Shakespeare or a Goethe to "see life steadily and see it whole." Almost all other authors see it, as their nature prompts them, in colours which are either too glowing or too sombre. It has been said of the author of "The City of Dreadful Night" that he was born that we might have things stated at their worst, once for all:[D] may we not likewise say of Traherne that he was born that things might be stated, once for all, at their best? Perhaps the reader may think that his poems do not justify so strong a claim; but when they are taken in conjunction with his "Christian Ethicks" and "Centuries of Meditations" I do not think it can be considered as an overstatement. Whether his moral and theological views were right or wrong, Traherne at least was warranted in holding them, because they were exactly suited to his peculiar temperament, if indeed they were not the outcome of it. Were all men blessed with so happy a disposition as his, then indeed might the world become the Eden which to him it appeared to be. He believed that all men might be as happy as he was if they would only firmly resolve to follow the path which had led him to felicity. Like all enthusiasts and most reformers of human nature or human institutions, he made the mistake of supposing that others were, or might be made, like-minded with himself, and did not take into account the infinite varieties of character and temperament which exist among mankind. But to believe that men are better and nobler is at least a less fault than to believe them to be worse and baser than they are.
To claim for Traherne a place in the front rank of poets is hardly possible. Considering his limited range of subjects, we cannot put him on an equality with the poets who have exhibited more varied powers, and shown a deeper insight into human nature. But, excluding Milton, we may at least place him in the front rank of poets of his class. It is possible my opinion may be somewhat biassed by a reason which the reader will be at no loss to divine; but I cannot help thinking that neither Herbert, Crashaw, nor Vaughan can compare with Traherne in the most essential qualities of the poet. He alone has that "impetuous rush of a mind ... lifted into ecstasy beyond itself" which Milton, as we have seen, regarded as the chief requisite of poetry. Herbert has a finer sense of proportion, a keener perception of the importance of form and measure; Vaughan appeals more strongly to the common sympathies of mankind; while Crashaw, when at his best, has more fine passages of quintessential poetry, more curious felicities of expression, than Traherne; but none of them has the vitality, the sustained enthusiasm, the power imparted by intense conviction, which we find in our author. Vitality, indeed, seems to me to be the keynote of Traherne's character. That he was himself aware of this we may see from his poem on Contentment:
Employment is the very life and ground Of life itself; whose pleasant motion is The form of Bliss: All Blessedness a life with Glory crown'd; Life! Life is all: in its most full extent Stretcht out to all things, and with all Content.
Not, be it observed, the still life of contemplation or inaction, but an active, eager, energetic enjoying of life, to be so used as to get from it the utmost degree of felicity or blessedness. Traherne repudiates energetically the idea that the more unhappy we make ourselves here the greater will be our happiness hereafter. In his "Centuries of Meditations" he says:
There are Christians that place and desire all their happiness in another life, and there is another sort of Christians that desire happiness in this. The one can defer their enjoyment of wisdom to the world to come, and dispense with the increase and perfection of enjoyment for a little time; the other are instant and impatient of delay, and would fain see that happiness here which they shall enjoy hereafter.... Whether the first sort be Christians indeed, look you to that. They have much to say for themselves. Yet certainly they that put off Felicity with long delays are to be much suspected. For it is against the nature of love and desire to defer, nor can any reason be given why they should desire it at last, and not now.
While we may not claim for Traherne's work as a whole that it is of the first order of excellence, we may, I think, make that claim for some of it. We can hardly have a better test of a poet's merits than to inquire how many of his pieces are fit to take their place in such anthologies as the "Golden Treasury," or Mr. Quiller-Couch's "Oxford Book of English Verse." Judged in this way Traherne makes, I think, a very good showing, considering (as I have elsewhere explained) that we possess only a part of his poetical works, and that what we have had probably not received his final revision. Were I asked to name the pieces which, in my opinion, deserve the honour which I have mentioned, I think my first choice would fall upon "The Salutation," "Wonder," "The Approach," "The Circulation," "Desire," "Goodness," and "On News."[E] I am not at all sure, however, that this is the best selection that could be made. "Innocence," "The Rapture," "Silence," "The Choice," "The Person," "The Recovery," "Love," and "Thoughts--I. and II." have perhaps equal or almost equal claims to be included in a list of Traherne's best work. But individual tastes differ so much that I daresay other readers would make another choice, for Traherne is a remarkably equal writer, and does not often fall below his own level of excellence. Yet all the poems I have mentioned, fine as they are when standing alone, gain considerably when they are read as parts of a continuous poem, the subject of which is the history of the author's progress in his pilgrimage towards the kingdom of perfect Blessedness. He too, like Bunyan's pilgrim, found difficulties and dangers in the way; but with him it was rather a triumphant progress from victory to victory than a long and bitter struggle against enemies who might at any time have overcome him. Very few of his poems dwell upon his discouragements; most of them are songs of rejoicing for victories achieved or happiness attained.
In the last analysis it will always be found that it is the poet himself and not his poetry that has the greatest interest for us. Unless he is interesting in himself he will not interest us in his writings. No amount of study and pains will suffice to render the work of a shallow and commonplace personality interesting to us. From the strong only shall sweetnesss come forth. I do not know whether I have succeeded in any degree in convincing the reader that Traherne was, both as a man and as a poet, a very interesting character; but if I have not, the fault assuredly is mine, and not his. We may study him in two aspects: firstly, as a representative of the poetic temperament; and secondly, as a representative of the religious idiosyncrasy in conjunction with the poetic--for religion in many of its professors is often enough altogether disjoined from any tincture of poetry. In both aspects we have ample materials for studying him: and I cannot help thinking that few writers of his age are better worth studying.
Were Traherne a smaller man than he is, and therefore less able to afford to have the whole truth told about him, I should hesitate long before printing the following remarks on some of his shortcomings. It is the less needful to attempt to conceal his defects, since they are for the greater part the defects of his qualities, and therefore inseparable from them. Constituted as he was, it was not possible for him to see things in a wholly clear and uncoloured light. He is elevated so high above ordinary humanity that he is unable to see clearly what is so much beneath him. Nor is it always easy for us, the dwellers upon the plain, to ascend to his altitude. He is so exempt from the ordinary failings of humanity that we feel almost as if he belonged to a different race. He died a bachelor, and I do not find anything in his writings which shows that he ever experienced the passion of love in relation to the female sex. His love for the divine seems to have swallowed up all thought of sexual love, though not his love for humanity in the mass. He is sometimes so mystical or metaphysical that the ordinary reader finds it difficult to comprehend him. But, after all, if the reader will only exercise a little patience and be at the expense of a little thought, he will not find it hard to understand the poet, even in his most difficult passages. Those who are able to follow Browning through all his intricacies will find no knot in Traherne which they will not easily unravel.
The charge which is most likely to be pressed against Traherne is that he appears to have been a man of few ideas, and is consequently much given to repetition of thoughts and even of words and phrases. That there is some foundation for this charge may be admitted, but it is nevertheless unjust. No one, after the examination of his manuscripts and of his two published works, could believe it. A scholar so well versed in the classics, a student so eager for knowledge of all kinds, a thinker so acute, could not possibly be a man of narrow ideas and restricted sympathies. What is true, however, is that his mind dwelt with so much delight upon certain thoughts that it was continually recurring to them, setting them in different lights, and repeating them, even as a musician will execute ever-new variations upon a favourite theme. Those who care for Traherne's themes will not complain that he dwells too much upon them.
It must be owned, I think, that while Traherne is usually happy in the selection of his themes, he is sometimes less happy in developing and expressing them. Lines which leave something to be desired in smoothness (though he is not usually chargeable with this fault, his handling of the heroic couplet being particularly good), and now and then lines which to our modern ideas appear to be somewhat prosaic, are certainly to be found in his poems, and do, to a small extent, interfere with the reader's pleasure in them. But for such faults as these we ought surely to make large allowance. The reader should, and doubtless will, remember that he has before him a work for which the author himself has but a limited responsibility. Had he himself published the poems we should have been entitled to think that he deliberately chose to give them to the world with all their faults upon them. As it is, I think we may assume that had he lived to publish them they would have undergone a good deal of revision before they were sent forth to the world. Most of their defects are such as might be easily remedied, and such, indeed, as it was sometimes hard to refrain from remedying. But I have resisted all such temptations, and have confined myself to the task of making the printed text as nearly as possible a reproduction of the original manuscripts. The reader will gather from the facsimile of one of Traherne's poems, which I have given as a frontispiece to this volume, a good general idea as to the character of his handwriting, his spelling, and his punctuation. It would have been an interesting thing could the whole of Traherne's poems have been reproduced in the same style, for, as the reader will see, there is a picturesqueness, a beauty, and a life about the manuscripts which is lost in the cold regularity of type. Some readers may perhaps think that it would have been better to follow the author's original spelling and punctuation; but after giving full consideration to this point, it did not seem advisable to do this. Traherne's spelling is by no means uniform--Deity, for instance, is sometimes "Dietie" and sometimes "Deitie"--and his punctuation, which is, I think, quite peculiar to himself, differs so much from our modern practice, that if it had been reproduced without modification it would often have obscured his meaning and puzzled the reader without any compensating advantage.
Traherne, as will be perceived from the frontispiece, made much use of capital letters and occasionally of italics in his writings. This was the custom of the time, as any one who examines a seventeenth-century printed book will see. In the first edition of this book I preserved most of the author's capitals and italicised passages: but here I have thought it unnecessary to do so. Upon the whole there seemed to be no advantage in retaining them, since they look a little odd to eyes accustomed to the uniformity of modern typography. In the case of the poems taken from "Christian Ethicks," however, I have preserved the old spelling and the capitals very nearly as they appear in the book.
Traherne, so far as English authors were concerned, was very little indebted to his predecessors. He was, of course, greatly influenced by the writers of the Old and New Testaments, from whom he is continually quoting in his "Christian Ethicks." Next to the Scriptures, the book which seems most to have influenced him was that ancient mystical and philosophical work which is attributed to Hermes Trismegistus. Those who are well acquainted with that remarkable production will find frequent traces of its influence in the prose and verse of Traherne. He gives several extracts from it in "Christian Ethicks," and in his "Commonplace Book" there are continual references to it. It might almost be said that, after the Bible, it was his chief manual of philosophy and of divine wisdom.
That Traherne was well acquainted with the writings of Herbert is evident from the fact that in one of his manuscript books he has copied out that writer's poem, "To all Angels and Saints"; but I do not find any traces of Herbert's influence upon him either in prose or verse. Nor do I find any proof that he was acquainted with the writings of Vaughan. The resemblance between Traherne's line,
How, like an Angel came I down,
and Vaughan's reference to his "angel infancy" is probably no more than an accidental coincidence. Though their points of view were similar in many respects, Traherne possessed a much stronger personality than Vaughan, and therefore had little or nothing to learn from him. It is likely enough that he owed something to Donne, as most of the poets of his time did; but I do not find any clear indications of that poet's influence in his writings. Traherne's style, indeed, is that of his age, but as to his matter, few poets, I think, can boast of more originality.
Perhaps the most remarkable thing about Traherne's poetry is that it anticipates so much that seems to belong to much later periods of our literary history. Traherne, indeed, is likely to suffer to some extent in his reputation because ideas which with him were certainly original--or at least as much so as any ideas in any poets can be said to be original--have since become commonplaces in our literature. The praise of the beauty and innocence of childhood is familiar enough to us now, and has, perhaps, in some instances been carried to a rather ridiculous extreme. That certainly was not the case in Traherne's time. So far as I know, he was the first who dwelt upon those ideas in any other than an incidental and allusive manner. It is true that we find in Vaughan some passages of a similar tendency, but they are few and slight in comparison with those which we find in Traherne. If there are similar passages in other poets previous to, or contemporary with, the latter, I must confess that I am unacquainted with them. Nor were the poetical possibilities of the theme discovered until more than a century afterwards, when William Blake, who by the light of genius--or shall we say lunacy?--discovered so much else, discovered them. It was fitting, indeed, that Blake, whose youthful experiences seem to have more nearly resembled Traherne's than those of any other poet, should have followed all unknowingly in the elder writer's footsteps. Had he ever sat down to record the events of his infancy and childhood, Blake's narrative, I think, however different in detail, must have been like that of his predecessor in its chief features. I do not believe that there is any point out of all those which I have quoted respecting Traherne's childhood which Blake might not also have recorded of himself. Much as they differed in matters of faith, there was a deep and fundamental agreement in character and temperament between the two poets. To both of them the things seen by their imaginations were more real than the things seen with the eye, and to neither of them was there any dividing line between the natural and the supernatural. Their faiths were founded upon intuition rather than reason, and they were no more troubled by doubt or disbelief than a mountain is. Their capacity for faith was infinite, and stopped short only when their imagination failed them--if it ever did fail them.
Another poet with whom Traherne has some remarkable affinities is Wordsworth--not the Wordsworth of later life, when his poetic vein, if not exhausted, had at least grown thin and unproductive, but the Wordsworth of the magnificent ode "Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood." Let the reader once more peruse that poem, and note carefully the leading points in it. Then let him, bearing in mind the foregoing extracts from Traherne's "Centuries of Meditations," go carefully through the various poems in which the earlier poet celebrates the happiness of his infancy and childhood. When he has done this, let him ask himself if he would have believed that Wordsworth was unacquainted with Traherne's writings, supposing that they had been published before the later poet's time? I cannot think myself that it would have been easy in that case to think that the modern poet was entirely unindebted to the older one. It is hardly too much to say that there is not a thought of any value in Wordsworth's Ode which is not to be found in substance in Traherne. Of course, I do not say this with any view of disparaging Wordsworth, whose Ode, even if it had been, as we know it was not, derived from Traherne, would still have been a masterpiece. Its merit, like that of Gray's "Elegy," depends at least as much upon its form as upon its substance, and that, of course, was all Wordsworth's own. It is in a measure a testimony to the authentic character of their inspiration when two poets, unknown to each other, produce works which are so nearly identical in substance and spirit.
The reader will remember that Traherne in his youth determined to follow the bent of his own inclination at whatever cost of poverty or want of worldly success. That was the case also with Wordsworth. Another point in which, as it seems to me, they resembled each other was in the matter of poetic style. At first sight, indeed, there does not appear to be any likeness between them in this respect; yet, allowing for the difference in their times and their temperaments, I think we may find a good deal of similarity. Traherne's style, allowing for the nature of his subjects, is always simple and direct. His aim is to affect the minds of his readers by the weight of his thought and the enthusiasm of his utterance, not to astonish them by far-fetched metaphors or delight them with dulcet melodies. He has no ornament for ornament's sake, and he never attempts to clothe his "naked simple thought" in silken raiment or cloth of gold. He does not indulge in the metaphysical conceits and ingenuities with which the works of Donne and Cowley are so plentifully besprinkled. "Poetic diction" was as little sought for by him as by Wordsworth. He did not, however, fall into the error that Wordsworth sometimes did, of mistaking puerility for simplicity. I do not wish to press this point too far. I only desire to show that both poets were more solicitous about the substance than the form of their poetry. Wordsworth would have heartily endorsed the doctrine of Traherne that the best things are the commonest, and that natural objects and not artificial inventions are the true well-springs of delight.
Though the reader will, I hope, have agreed with my contention that Traherne anticipated a good many poetical ideas which have been thought to belong to much later dates, I can hardly expect him to accept without demur the claim I am now about to make on the poet's behalf. That Traherne had a considerable genius for metaphysics will be evident to any one who reads his "Christian Ethicks," or who studies at all carefully the contents of the present volume. But to claim that he was the originator of the metaphysical system which, since it was first made known, has created more discussion and exercised more influence than any other has done, will probably seem at first to be a very extravagant assertion. Yet that he had at least a clear prevision of that famous system which is known as the Berkeleian philosophy is, I think, incontestable. That theory, it seems to me, could hardly be stated in a clearer or more precise manner than it is in Traherne's poem entitled "My Spirit." I am much mistaken if the theory of "the non-existence of independent matter," which is the essence of Berkeley's system, is not to be found in this poem--not, it is true, stated as a philosophical dogma, but yet clearly implied, and not merely introduced as a flight of poetical fancy. It seems to me that if the following stanza from that poem is not altogether meaningless, no other construction can be placed upon it than that its author was a Berkeleian before Berkeley was born:
This made me present evermore With whatsoe'er I saw. An object, if it were before My eyes, was by Dame Nature's law Within my soul. Her store Was all at once within me: all Her treasures Were my immediate and internal pleasures, Substantial joys which did inform my Mind.
With all She wrought My Soul was fraught And every object in my Heart a Thought Begot or was; I could not tell Whether the things did there Themselves appear, Which in my Spirit truly seem'd to dwell; _Or whether my conforming Mind Were not even all that therein shin'd_.
The idea that matter has no existence, apart from its existence in the Spirit of the Eternal, or in the soul of man, is surely clearly, if not positively, advanced in the last six lines of the above stanza. The thought, so strangely fascinating to a poet--and Berkeley no less than Traherne was one--that the whole exterior universe is not really a thing apart from and independent of man's consciousness of it, but something which exists only as it is perceived, is undeniably to be found in "My Spirit." I have quoted only one stanza of it, but the whole poem should be carefully studied, for it is throughout an assertion of the supremacy of mind over matter, and an averment that it is the former and not the latter which has a real existence. If it be thought that it is going too far to say that the Berkeleian system is to be found in the poem--which of course it is not as a reasoned-out and complete theory--it yet cannot be denied that it is there in germ and in such a form that it only required to be seized upon by an acute intellect to be developed in the way Berkeley developed it. That the latter knew nothing of Traherne's poem is certain, and therefore I am not attempting to detract in any way from the credit which belongs to him. I am only anxious to give the poet his due as the first who caught a glimpse of so notable a truth or error--which ever it may be.[F]
Deeply as Traherne was penetrated with a sense of the glory of the universe, and of the infinite greatness of its Creator, it was with no sense of abasement that he contemplated them. He felt that in his own soul, so capable of the sublimest conceptions and the most exalted aspirations, there must needs be a divine element. He was no outcast thrust out of Eden into a wilderness of spiritual destitution, but the son of a loving Father, born to a splendid inheritance, and at least as necessary to the Deity as servants and dependents are to keep up the state and dignity of a king. If God confers benefits on man it is in order that He may witness man's delight in them and gratitude for them. To see this is a supreme delight to Him, and without it there would be something wanting to His felicity. But I must quote a stanza from "The Recovery," lest the reader should think that I am misrepresenting the poet:
For God enjoy'd is all His End. Himself He then doth comprehend When He is blessed, magnified, Extoll'd, exalted, prais'd and glorified, Honor'd, esteem'd, belov'd, enjoy'd, Admired, sanctified, obey'd, That is received. For _He_ Doth place His whole Felicity In that, _who is despised and defied, Undeified almost if once denied_.
Matthew Arnold said of Goethe that he
Neither made man too much a God Nor God too much a man.
That could hardly be said of Traherne. It is scarcely possible, I think, to deny that in the above-quoted passage he committed the fault of making "God too much a man." That, however, was a fault which he shared with most of the theologians of his time. Perhaps it is a fault which is almost inseparable from a sincere and fervent faith. Without refining away the conception of God to a mere abstraction, it is impossible to think of Him otherwise than as an infinitely magnified and glorified man. Since the human mind is so constituted, it is surely vain to attempt to set limits within which we are to think of Him. Every man will do this according to the law of his own temperament. The man of cool reason and well-controlled passions will form a very different conception of the Deity from the man of enthusiastic disposition and ardent emotions. To think of the Deity as "a power not ourselves which makes for righteousness" is no more possible for a Traherne, than it is for an Arnold to think of God as One
who is despised and defied, Undeified almost if once denied.
To make all men think alike, whether on political, moral, or theological subjects, is now seen by all but a very few reactionaries to be an impossible task. It is needless to defend Traherne for the views he took regarding the relations between God and man; I have only thought it expedient to show that the line he followed was that to which he was impelled by the character of his individuality.
An excellent poet, a prose-writer of equal or perhaps greater excellence, an exemplary preacher and teacher, who gave in his own person an example of the virtues which he inculcated, one with whom religion was not a garment to be put on, but the life of his life and the spring of all his actions--such was Thomas Traherne. Much as I dissent from his opinions, and much as my point of view as regards the meaning and the purpose of life differs from his, I have yet found it easy to appreciate the fineness of his character, and the charm of his writings. It is not necessary that we should believe as Traherne believed in order to derive benefit from his works. Men of all faiths may study them with profit, and derive from them a new impulse towards that "plain living and high thinking" by which alone happiness can be reached and peace of mind assured.
* * * * *
It remains for me to tell the strange story of the fate of Traherne's manuscripts after his death. They passed, we may reasonably suppose, together with his books, into the hands of his brother Philip, as directed in his will. Philip Traherne, I imagine, was in some way--perhaps by marriage--connected with a family named Skipp, which dwelt at Ledbury, in Herefordshire. These Skipps appear to have become the owners and custodians of the poet's remains; and in their hands they probably rested down to the year 1888, when it seems that the property belonging to the family was dispersed. Into what hands the Traherne manuscripts then fell cannot now be ascertained; but it was certainly into hands that were ignorant of their value. In the latter part of 1896, or the early months of 1897, some of them had descended to the street bookstall, that last hope of books and manuscripts in danger of being consigned to the waste-paper mills. Here, most fortunately, two of them were discovered by my friend, Mr. William T. Brooke, who acquired them at the price of a few pence. They could hardly have fallen into better hands, for Mr. Brooke's knowledge of our poetical literature, and especially of sacred poetry and hymnology, is no less remarkable for its extent than for its exactness. As soon as he could find time to examine the manuscripts he at once saw that they were of great interest and value. He could hardly imagine that writings so admirable could be the work of an unknown author; and he at length came to the conclusion, from the fact that the poems resembled those of Henry Vaughan in their subjects and partly in their sentiments, that they must be his. This was an unfortunate idea, since it caused a considerable delay in the tracing out of the real author. Mr. Brooke communicated his discovery to the late Dr. Grosart, who became so much interested in the matter that he purchased the two manuscripts. He, too, after some waverings of opinion, during which he was disposed to attribute the manuscripts, first to Theophilus Gale, and secondly to Thomas Vaughan, became convinced that they must be Henry Vaughan's. Under this persuasion he prepared for the press a most elaborate edition of Vaughan's works, in which the matter contained in the manuscripts was to be included. This edition he was, at the time of his death, endeavouring to find means to publish. That the work thus projected was not actually published must, I think, be regarded as a fortunate circumstance. Whether the poems, on the authority of Dr. Grosart, would have been accepted as Vaughan's, can only be conjectured; but it seems probable that they would, since it is unlikely that any critic, however much he might have doubted their imputed authorship, would have been able to trace out the real author. An irreparable injury would thus have been inflicted upon Traherne, while Vaughan would have received an unneeded accession of fame, at the expense of puzzling all readers of a critical disposition by the exhibition of inconsistent and irreconcilable qualities.
Upon Dr. Grosart's death his library was purchased by the well-known bookseller, Mr. Charles Higham, of Farringdon Street. Included in it were the two Traherne manuscript volumes. Having learned from Mr. Brooke the story of the manuscripts, and that they were in Mr. Higham's hands, I became interested in the matter, and ultimately purchased them. Afterwards, when a part of Dr. Grosart's library was sold at Sotheby's, I became the possessor of the third manuscript volume, which their late owner appears not to have known to be Traherne's, though nothing is needed but to compare it with the other volumes in order to see that all three are in the same handwriting.
It is due to Mr. Higham to say that he most liberally allowed me to examine the manuscripts before purchasing them, so that I might form my own opinion as to their authorship. I need not say that I should have been delighted if I could have come to the same conclusion that Mr. Brooke and Dr. Grosart had arrived at. Inclination and interest alike impelled me to take their view. But when I sat down to read the poems and to compare them with the acknowledged writings of Henry Vaughan, I soon began to doubt, and it required but a little time for that doubt to develop into a conviction that whoever might have been their author, they were assuredly not written by the Silurist. It is true that the poems deal, as most of Vaughan's do, solely with religious or moral subjects, and that the author dwells continually, as Vaughan did, upon the subjects of childhood and innocence; and that both authors display the same love of nature and of a simple and natural life. It is true also that we find both poets making use of some rather uncommon words and phrases, and that we find in both the same free use of defective rhymes. These resemblances, however, are merely superficial. In all the deeper matters of style, thought, and temperament, Traherne and Vaughan were as far apart as any two men, animated as both were by a deep spirit of piety and beneficence, could well be. To me, had there been no other difference, one striking note of dissimilarity would have sufficed to prove that the poems in manuscript and those of Vaughan could not have proceeded from the same pen. In the manuscript poems an ever-present quality is a passionate fervour of thought, an intense ardour of enthusiasm, which is not to be found, or at least only rarely, in Vaughan's works. Restrained emotion, expressed in verse which moves slowly and not without effort, is, it seems to me, the leading characteristic of Vaughan's poetry; emotion in full flood, expressed in lively and energetic diction, is that of Traherne's. With Traherne all nature is bathed in warmth and light: with Vaughan we feel sensible of a certain coolness of temperament, and are conscious that he rejoices rather in the twilight than in the radiance of noonday.
With the conviction that the poems could not be Vaughan's, while yet it seemed unlikely that they could be the work of an altogether unknown or unpractised writer, I began to search for indications by which their author might possibly be discovered. Here again I found Mr. Brooke's assistance most valuable. To an edition of Giles Fletcher's "Christ's Victory and Triumph," which he had edited, he had appended a number of previously uncollected seventeenth-century poems. Among these was one entitled "The Ways of Wisdom." To this poem he now drew my attention, as he had previously drawn Dr. Grosart's. It was at once evident to me that its style was very similar to that of the manuscript poems. In fact, that poem, as any reader will see who cares to study it in comparison with the other poems in this volume, presents such strong resemblances and parallels with them that it is hardly too much to say that the question as to their common authorship might have been rested entirely upon it. However, it was of course desirable to find further evidence. Mr. Brooke told me that he had found the poem in a little book in the British Museum, entitled "A Serious and Patheticall Contemplation of the Mercies of God, in several most Devout and Sublime Thanksgivings for the same."[G] The book, Mr. Brooke also told me, contained other pieces in verse. These I desired him to copy out. When he had done so it at once became evident to me that the author of the manuscript poems and of the "Devout and Sublime Thanksgivings" must be, beyond all doubt, one and the same person. The fact was as clearly demonstrated to my mind as the truths of the multiplication table. That point being settled, the next thing was to discover, if possible, who was the author of the "Devout and Sublime Thanksgivings." That might have remained unknown to the end of time, but for one clue which the book luckily afforded. This was, as the reader has seen, the statement in the "Address to the Reader" that the author was private chaplain to Sir Orlando Bridgman. This clue had only to be patiently followed up to lead to the discovery of the author's name. This Mr. Brooke at last found to be Thomas Traherne. It was from Wood's _Athenæ Oxonienses_ that the information was obtained, and from that we also learned that Traherne was the author of two books, "Roman Forgeries" and "Christian Ethicks." The next step was to examine these works to see if any evidence could be found which would connect them with the author of the manuscripts. That evidence was found in "Christian Ethicks." This was the poem which the reader will find on p. 157. The same poem, though in a shorter form and with a good many textual variations, appears in the manuscript "Centuries of Meditations" (see p. 134). Here then was proof positive that Traherne and no other was the author of the manuscripts in my possession. Though I did not require this evidence myself, it was fortunate it was found, since its discovery put the matter beyond all doubt. Will the reader accuse me of undue vanity if I say that it was with a good deal of self-satisfaction, and no little rejoicing, that I welcomed this confirmation of the opinion which I had formed solely upon critical grounds? One might be tempted to think that the whole train of circumstances by which Traherne was discovered, first to be the author of the anonymous "Thanksgivings," and through that of the more important manuscripts, has the appearance of being something more than the work of chance, were it not that their long concealment, their narrow escape from entire destruction, and the fact that the verses printed in the present volume form only a part of Traherne's poetical works, seem to forbid us to entertain such an idea.[H]
The manuscripts from which the contents of this book have been derived are three in number. They consist of one folio and two octavo volumes. The folio volume contains all the poems from "The Salutation" to "Goodness" which are here printed. The same volume contains a large number of prose essays and memoranda alphabetically arranged so as to form a kind of commonplace book. The greater part of these are in a handwriting which differs from Traherne's. They appear to have been written by a friend of the poet's, since Traherne has in many cases added remarks of his own to those in the other writer's handwriting. I believe it was Dr. Grosart's intention to print the whole of this material; but although it certainly has a curious interest, it does not appear to me that it is worth while to publish it at present. Some parts of this commonplace book appear to have been used as material for "Christian Ethicks" and "Centuries of Meditations"; and the whole of it, as might be expected, is more like the notes of a student than the finished work of an essayist.
The second manuscript volume contains Traherne's "Centuries of Meditations," which I have already described and quoted largely from. The third volume contains Traherne's private religious meditations, devotions, and prayers. It is in this latter volume that the "Hymn on St. Bartholomew's Day," a facsimile of which is given as a frontispiece to the present volume, is found.
I must not conclude without thanking my friends, G. Thorn Drury and E. V. Lucas, to both of whom I am indebted for many valuable suggestions. I have also to thank the Rev. Canon Beeching for similar and not less appreciated assistance. Thanks are due also to the Rev. J. C. Foster, who drew my attention to the passage in Aubrey's "Miscellanies" relating to Traherne's visions, and to Miss Isabel Southall, who searched diligently, though without success, to find out the time and place of Traherne's birth. I have already acknowledged my obligations to Mr. W. T. Brooke, Mr. E. H. W. Dunkin, and Mr. Gordon Goodwin.
THE SALUTATION
I
These little limbs, These eyes and hands which here I find, These rosy cheeks wherewith my life begins, Where have ye been? behind What curtain were ye from me hid so long, Where was, in what abyss, my speaking tongue?
II
When silent I So many thousand, thousand years Beneath the dust did in a chaos lie, How could I smiles or tears, Or lips or hands or eyes or ears perceive? Welcome ye treasures which I now receive.
III
I that so long Was nothing from eternity, Did little think such joys as ear or tongue To celebrate or see: Such sounds to hear, such hands to feel, such feet, Beneath the skies on such a ground to meet.
IV
New burnisht joys! Which yellow gold and pearls excel! Such sacred treasures are the limbs in boys, In which a soul doth dwell; Their organised joints and azure veins More wealth include than all the world contains.
V
From dust I rise, And out of nothing now awake, These brighter regions which salute mine eyes, A gift from God I take. The earth, the seas, the light, the day, the skies, The sun and stars are mine; if those I prize.
VI
Long time before I in my mother's womb was born, A God preparing did this glorious store, The world for me adorn. Into this Eden so divine and fair, So wide and bright, I come His son and heir.
VII
A stranger here Strange things doth meet, strange glories see; Strange treasures lodg'd in this fair world appear, Strange all and new to me; But that they mine should be, who nothing was, That strangest is of all, yet brought to pass.
WONDER
I
How like an Angel came I down! How bright are all things here! When first among His works I did appear O how their Glory me did crown! The world resembled His Eternity, In which my soul did walk; And every thing that I did see Did with me talk.
II
The skies in their magnificence, The lively, lovely air; Oh how divine, how soft, how sweet, how fair! The stars did entertain my sense, And all the works of God, so bright and pure, So rich and great did seem, As if they ever must endure In my esteem.
III
A native health and innocence Within my bones did grow, And while my God did all his Glories show, I felt a vigour in my sense That was all Spirit. I within did flow With seas of life, like wine; I nothing in the world did know But 'twas divine.
IV
Harsh ragged objects were concealed, Oppressions, tears and cries, Sins, griefs, complaints, dissensions, weeping eyes Were hid, and only things revealed Which heavenly Spirits and the Angels prize. The state of Innocence And bliss, not trades and poverties, Did fill my sense.
V
The streets were paved with golden stones, The boys and girls were mine, Oh how did all their lovely faces shine! The sons of men were holy ones, In joy and beauty they appeared to me, And every thing which here I found, While like an angel I did see, Adorned the ground.
VI
Rich diamond and pearl and gold In every place was seen; Rare splendours, yellow, blue, red, white and green, Mine eyes did everywhere behold. Great Wonders clothed with glory did appear, Amazement was my bliss, That and my wealth was everywhere; No joy to this!
VII
Cursed and devised proprieties, With envy, avarice And fraud, those fiends that spoil even Paradise, Flew from the splendour of mine eyes, And so did hedges, ditches, limits, bounds, I dreamed not aught of those, But wandered over all men's grounds, And found repose.
VIII
Proprieties themselves were mine And hedges ornaments, Walls, boxes, coffers, and their rich contents Did not divide my joys, but all combine. Clothes, ribbons, jewels, laces, I esteemed My joys by others worn: For me they all to wear them seemed When I was born.
EDEN
I
A learned and a happy ignorance Divided me From all the vanity, From all the sloth, care, pain, and sorrow that advance The madness and the misery Of men. No error, no distraction I Saw soil the earth or overcloud the sky.
II
I knew not that there was a serpent's sting, Whose poison shed On men, did overspread The world; nor did I dream of such a thing As sin, in which mankind lay dead. They all were brisk and living wights to me, Yea, pure and full of immortality.
III
Joy, pleasure, beauty, kindness, glory, love, Sleep, day, life, light, Peace, melody, my sight, My ears and heart did fill and freely move. All that I saw did me delight. The Universe was then a world of treasure, To me an universal world of pleasure.
IV
Unwelcome penitence was then unknown, Vain costly toys, Swearing and roaring boys, Shops, markets, taverns, coaches, were unshown; So all things were that drowned my joys: No thorns choked up my path, nor hid the face Of bliss and beauty, nor eclipsed the place.
V
Only what Adam in his first estate, Did I behold; Hard silver and dry gold As yet lay under ground; my blessed fate Was more acquainted with the old And innocent delights which he did see In his original simplicity.
VI
Those things which first his Eden did adorn My infancy Did crown. Simplicity Was my protection when I first was born. Mine eyes those treasures first did see Which God first made. The first effects of Love My first enjoyments upon earth did prove;
VII
And were so great, and so divine, so pure, So fair and sweet, So true; when I did meet Them here at first, they did my soul allure, And drew away my infant feet Quite from the works of men; that I might see The glorious wonders of the Deity.
INNOCENCE
I
But that which most I wonder at, which most I did esteem my bliss, which most I boast, And ever shall enjoy, is that within I felt no stain nor spot of sin.
No darkness then did overshade, But all within was pure and bright, No guilt did crush nor fear invade, But all my soul was full of light.
A joyful sense and purity Is all I can remember, The very night to me was bright, 'Twas Summer in December.
II
A serious meditation did employ My soul within, which taken up with joy Did seem no outward thing to note, but fly All objects that do feed the eye,
While it those very objects did Admire and prize and praise and love, Which in their glory most are hid, Which presence only doth remove.
Their constant daily presence I Rejoicing at, did see, And that which takes them from the eye Of others offered them to me.
III
No inward inclination did I feel To avarice or pride; my soul did kneel In admiration all the day. No lust, nor strife, Polluted then my infant life.
No fraud nor anger in me mov'd No malice, jealousy, or spite; All that I saw I truly lov'd: Contentment only and delight
Were in my soul. O Heav'n! what bliss Did I enjoy and feel! What powerful delight did this Inspire! for this I daily kneel.
IV
Whether it be that Nature is so pure, And custom only vicious; or that sure God did by miracle the guilt remove, And made my soul to feel his Love
So early: or that 'twas one day, Wherein this happiness I found, Whose strength and brightness so do ray, That still it seems me to surround,
Whate'er it is, it is a Light So endless unto me That I a world of true delight Did then, and to this day do see.
V
That prospect was the gate of Heaven, that day The ancient Light of Eden did convey Into my soul: I was an Adam there, A little Adam in a sphere
Of joys! O there my ravisht sense Was entertained in Paradise, And had a sight of Innocence, Which was beyond all bound and price.
An antepast of Heaven sure! I on the Earth did reign, Within, without me, all was pure: I must become a child again.
THE PREPARATIVE
I
My body being dead, my limbs unknown; Before I skill'd to prize Those living stars mine eyes, Before my tongue or cheeks were to me shown, Before I knew my hands were mine, Or that my sinews did my members join, When neither nostril, foot nor ear As yet was seen, or felt, or did appear: I was within A house I knew not, newly cloth'd with skin.
II
Then was my soul my only all to me, A living endless eye, Just bounded with the sky. Whose power, whose act, whose essence, was to see: I was an inward Sphere of Light, Or an interminable Orb of Sight, An endless and a living day, A vital Sun that round about did ray All life, all sense, A naked simple pure Intelligence.
III
I then no thirst nor hunger did perceive, No dull necessity, No want was known to me; Without disturbance then I did receive The fair ideas of all things, And had the honey even without the stings. A meditating inward eye Gazing at quiet did within me lie, And every thing Delighted me that was their heavenly King.
IV
For sight inherits beauty, hearing sounds, The nostril sweet perfumes, All tastes have hidden rooms Within the tongue; and feeling wounds With pleasure and delight; but I Forgot the rest, and was all sight or eye: Unbodied and devoid of care, Just as in Heaven the holy Angels are, For simple sense Is Lord of all created excellence.
V
Being thus prepared for all felicity, Not prepossest with dross, Nor stiffly glued to gross And dull materials that might ruin me, Nor fettered by an iron fate With vain affections in my earthly state To any thing that might seduce My sense, or else bereave it of its use, I was as free As if there were nor sin, nor misery.
VI
Pure empty powers that did nothing loath, Did like the fairest glass, Or spotless polished brass, Themselves soon in their object's image clothe. Divine impressions when they came Did quickly enter and my soul inflame. 'Tis not the object, but the light That maketh Heaven: 'tis a purer sight. Felicity Appears to none but them that purely see.
VII
A disentangled and a naked sense, A mind that's unpossest, A disengaged breast, An empty and a quick intelligence Acquainted with the golden mean, An even spirit pure and serene, Is that where beauty, excellence, And pleasure keep their Court of Residence. My soul retire, Get free, and so thou shalt even all admire.
THE INSTRUCTION
I
Spue out thy filth, thy flesh abjure; Let not contingents thee defile, For transients only are impure, And aery things thy soul beguile.
II
Unfelt, unseen, let those things be Which to thy spirit were unknown, When to thy blessed infancy The world, thyself, thy God was shown.
III
All that is great and stable stood Before thy purer eyes at first: All that in visibles is good Or pure, or fair, or unaccurst.
Whatever else thou now dost see In custom, action, or desire, 'Tis but a part of misery In which all men at once conspire.
THE VISION
I
Flight is but the preparative. The sight Is deep and infinite, Ah me! 'tis all the glory, love, light, space, Joy, beauty and variety That doth adorn the Godhead's dwelling-place, 'Tis all that eye can see. Even trades themselves seen in celestial light, And cares and sins and woes are bright.
II
Order the beauty even of beauty is, It is the rule of bliss, The very life and form and cause of pleasure; Which if we do not understand, Ten thousand heaps of vain confused treasure Will but oppress the land. In blessedness itself we that shall miss, Being blind, which is the cause of bliss.
III
First then behold the world as thine, and well Note that where thou dost dwell. See all the beauty of the spacious case, Lift up thy pleas'd and ravisht eyes, Admire the glory of the Heavenly place And all its blessings prize. That sight well seen thy spirit shall prepare, The first makes all the other rare.
IV
Men's woes shall be but foils unto thy bliss, Thou once enjoying this: Trades shall adorn and beautify the earth, Their ignorance shall make thee bright, Were not their griefs Democritus his mirth? Their faults shall keep thee right: All shall be thine, because they all conspire, To feed and make thy glory higher.
V
To see a glorious fountain and an end, To see all creatures tend To thy advancement, and so sweetly close In thy repose: to see them shine In use, in worth, in service, and even foes Among the rest made thine: To see all these unite at once in thee Is to behold felicity.
VI
To see the fountain is a blessed thing, It is to see the King Of Glory face to face: but yet the end, The glorious, wondrous end is more; And yet the fountain there we comprehend, The spring we there adore: For in the end the fountain best is shewn, As by effects the cause is known.
VII
From one, to one, in one to see all things, To see the King of Kings But once in two; to see His endless treasures Made all mine own, myself the end Of all his labours! 'Tis the life of pleasures! To see myself His friend! Who all things finds conjoined in Him alone, Sees and enjoys the Holy One.
THE RAPTURE
I
Sweet Infancy! O fire of heaven! O sacred Light! How fair and bright! How great am I, Whom all the world doth magnify!
II
O Heavenly joy! O great and sacred blessedness Which I possess! So great a joy Who did into my arms convey!
III
From God above Being sent, the Heavens me enflame: To praise his Name The stars do move! The burning sun doth shew His love.
IV
O how divine Am I! To all this sacred wealth, This life and health, Who raised? Who mine Did make the same? What hand divine?
THE IMPROVEMENT
I
'Tis more to recollect, than make. The one Is but an accident without the other. We cannot think the world to be the Throne Of God, unless His Wisdom shine as Brother Unto His Power, in the fabric, so That we the one may in the other know.
II
His goodness also must in both appear, And all the children of His love be found In the creation of the starry sphere, And in the forming of the fruitful ground; Before we can that happiness descry Which is the Daughter of the deity.
III
His wisdom shines in spreading forth the sky, His power's great in ordering the Sun, His goodness very marvellous and high Appears, in every work His hand hath done: And all His works in their variety United or asunder please the eye.
IV
But neither goodness, wisdom, power, nor love, Nor happiness itself in things could be, Did they not all in one fair order move, And jointly by their service end in me: Had He not made an eye to be the Sphere Of all things, none of these would e'er appear.
V
His wisdom, goodness, power, as they unite, All things in one, that they may be the treasures Of one enjoyer, shine in the utmost height They can attain; and are most glorious pleasures, When all the universe conjoined in one, Exalts a creature as if that alone.
VI
To bring the moisture of far-distant seas Into a point, to make them present here, In virtue, not in bulk; one man to please With all the powers of the Highest Sphere From East, from West, from North and South, to bring The pleasing influence of every thing,
VII
Is far more great than to create them there Where now they stand; His wisdom more doth shine In that His might and goodness more appear In recollecting; He is more divine In making every thing a gift to one Than in the sev'ral parts of all His spacious Throne.
VIII
Herein we see a marvellous design, And apprehending clearly the great skill Of that great Architect, whose love doth shine In all His works, we find His Life and Will: For lively counsels do the Godhead shew, And these His love and goodness make us know.
IX
By wise contrivance He doth all things guide, And so dispose them, that while they unite For man He endless pleasures doth provide, And shows that happiness is His delight, His creatures' happiness as well as His: For that in truth He seeks, and 'tis His bliss.
X
O rapture! wonder! ecstasie! delight! How great must then His glory be, how great Our blessedness! How vast and infinite Our pleasure, how transcendent, how complete, If we the goodness of our God possess, And all His joy be in our blessedness.
XI
Almighty power when it is employed For one, that He with glory might be crown'd; Eternal wisdom when it is enjoyed By one whom all its pleasures do surround, Produce a creature that must, all his days, Return the sacrifice of endless praise.
XII
But Oh! the vigour of mine infant sense Drives me too far: I had not yet the eye, The apprehension, or intelligence Of things so very great, divine, and high. But all things were eternal unto me, And mine, and pleasing which mine eye did see.
XIII
That was enough at first: eternity, Infinity, and love were silent joys; Power, wisdom, goodness, and felicity; All these which now our care and sin destroys, By instinct virtually were well discern'd, And by their representatives were learn'd.
XIV
As sponges gather moisture from the earth Whereon there is scarce any sign of dew; As air infecteth salt: so at my birth All these were unperceiv'd, yet near and true: Not by reflexion, and distinctly known, But by their efficacy all mine own.
THE APPROACH[I]
I
That childish thoughts such joys inspire, Doth make my wonder and His glory higher: His bounty and my wealth more great, It shows His Kingdom and His Work complete: In which there is not anything Not meet to be the joy of Cherubim.
II
He in our childhood with us walks, And with our thoughts mysteriously he talks; He often visiteth our minds, But cold acceptance in us ever finds: We send Him often grieved away; Else would He shew us all His Kingdom's joy.
III
O Lord, I wonder at Thy Love, Which did my Infancy so early move: But more at that which did forbear, And move so long, tho' slighted many a year: But most of all, at last that Thou Thyself shouldst me convert I scarce know how.
IV
Thy Gracious motions oft in vain Assaulted me: my heart did hard remain Long time: I sent my God away, Grieved much that He could not impart His joy. I careless was, nor did regard The end for which He all those thoughts prepar'd;
V
But now with new and open eyes, I see beneath as if above the skies; And as I backward look again, See all His thoughts and mine most clear and plain. He did approach, He me did woo; I wonder that my God this thing would do.
VI
From nothing taken first I was; What wondrous things His glory brought to pass! Now in this world I Him behold, And me enveloped in more than gold; In deep abysses of delights, In present hidden precious benefits.
VII
Those thoughts His goodness long before Prepared as precious and celestial store, With curious art in me inlaid, That Childhood might itself alone be said My tutor, teacher, guide to be, Instructed then even by the Deity.
DUMBNESS
Sure Man was born to meditate on things, And to contemplate the eternal springs Of God and Nature, glory, bliss, and pleasure; That life and love might be his Heavenly treasure; And therefore speechless made at first, that He Might in himself profoundly busied be: And not vent out, before he hath ta'en in Those antidotes that guard his soul from sin. Wise Nature made him deaf, too, that He might Not be disturbed, while he doth take delight In inward things, nor be deprav'd with tongues, Nor injured by the errors and the wrongs That mortal words convey. For sin and death Are most infused by accursed breath, That flowing from corrupted entrails, bear Those hidden plagues which souls may justly fear. This, my dear friends, this was my blessed case; For nothing spoke to me but the fair face Of Heaven and Earth, before myself could speak, I then my Bliss did, when my silence, break. My non-intelligence of human words Ten thousand pleasures unto me affords; For while I knew not what they to me said, Before their souls were into mine convey'd, Before that living vehicle of wind Could breathe into me their infected mind, Before my thoughts were leaven'd with theirs, before There any mixture was; the Holy Door, Or gate of souls was close, and mine being one Within itself to me alone was known. Then did I dwell within a world of light, Distinct and separate from all men's sight, Where I did feel strange thoughts, and such things see That were, or seem'd, only reveal'd to me, There I saw all the world enjoyed by one; There I was in the world myself alone; No business serious seemed but one; no work But one was found; and that did in me lurk. D'ye ask me what? It was with clearer eyes To see all creatures full of Deities; Especially one's self: And to admire The satisfaction of all true desire: 'Twas to be pleased with all that God hath done; 'Twas to enjoy even all beneath the sun: 'Twas with a steady and immediate sense To feel and measure all the excellence Of things; 'twas to inherit endless treasure, And to be filled with everlasting pleasure: To reign in silence, and to sing alone, To see, love, covet, have, enjoy and praise, in one: To prize and to be ravish'd; to be true, Sincere and single in a blessed view Of all His gifts. Thus was I pent within A fort, inpregnable to any sin: Until the avenues being open laid Whole legions entered, and the forts betrayed: Before which time a pulpit in my mind, A temple and a teacher I did find, With a large text to comment on. No ear But eyes themselves were all the hearers there, And every stone, and every star a tongue, And every gale of wind a curious song. The Heavens were an oracle, and spake Divinity: the Earth did undertake The office of a priest; and I being dumb (Nothing besides was dumb), all things did come With voices and instructions; but when I Had gained a tongue, their power began to die. Mine ears let other noises in, not theirs, A noise disturbing all my songs and prayers. My foes pulled down the temple to the ground; They my adoring soul did deeply wound And casting that into a swoon, destroyed The Oracle, and all I there enjoyed: And having once inspired me with a sense Of foreign vanities, they march out thence In troops that cover and despoil my coasts, Being the invisible, most hurtful hosts. Yet the first words mine infancy did hear The things which in my dumbness did appear, Preventing all the rest, got such a root Within my heart, and stick so close unto 't, It may be trampled on, but still will grow And nutriment to soil itself will owe. _The first Impressions are Immortal all_, And let mine enemies hoop, cry, roar, or call, Yet these will whisper if I will but hear, And penetrate the heart, if not the ear.
SILENCE
A quiet silent person may possess All that is great or high in Blessedness. The inward work is the supreme: for all The other were occasioned by the fall. A man that seemeth idle to the view Of others, may the greatest business do. Those acts which Adam in his innocence Performed, carry all the excellence. Those outward busy acts he knew not, were But meaner matters of a lower sphere. Building of churches, giving to the poor, In dust and ashes lying on the floor, Administering of justice, preaching peace, Ploughing and toiling for a forct increase, With visiting the sick, or governing The rude and ignorant: this was a thing As then unknown. For neither ignorance Nor poverty, nor sickness did advance Their banner in the world, till sin came in. Those therefore were occasioned all by sin. The first and only work he had to do, Was in himself to feel his bliss, to view His sacred treasures, to admire, rejoice, Sing praises with a sweet and heavenly voice, See, prize, give hourly thanks within, and love, Which is the high and only work above Them all. And this at first was mine; these were My exercises of the highest sphere. To see, approve, take pleasure, and rejoice Within, is better than an empty voice. No melody in words can equal that; The sweetest organ, lute, or harp is flat And dull, compared thereto. And O that still I might admire my Father's love and skill! This is to honour, worship, and adore, This is to love Him: nay, it is far more, It is to enjoy Him, and to imitate The life and glory of His high Estate. 'Tis to receive with holy reverence, To understand His gifts, and with a sense Of pure devotion and humility, To prize His works, His Love to magnify. O happy ignorance of other things Which made me present with that King of Kings! And like Him too! All spirit, life, and power, All love and joy, in His Eternal Bower, A world of innocence as then was mine, In which the joys of Paradise did shine: And while I was not here I was in Heaven, Not resting one, but every, day in seven, For ever minding with a lively sense, The universe in all its excellence. No other thoughts did intervene, to cloy, Divert, extinguish, or eclipse my joy, No other customs, new-found wants, or dreams Invented here polluted my pure streams, No aloes or drugs, no wormwood star Was seen to fall into the sea from far; No rotten soul, did like an apple near My soul approach. There's no contagion here. An unperceived donor gave all pleasures, There nothing was but I, and all my treasures. In that fair world, one only was the Friend, One golden stream, one spring, one only end. There only one did sacrifice and sing To only one Eternal Heavenly King. The union was so strait between them two, That all was either's which my soul could view: His gifts and my possessions, both our treasures; He mine, and I the ocean of His pleasures. He was an ocean of delights from Whom The living springs and golden streams did come: My bosom was an ocean into which They all did run. And me they did enrich. A vast and infinite capacity, Did make my bosom like the Deity, In whose mysterious and celestial mind All ages and all worlds together shin'd, Who tho' He nothing said did always reign, And in Himself Eternity contain. The world was more in me, than I in it. The King of Glory in my soul did sit, And to Himself in me he always gave All that He takes delight to see me have, For so my spirit was an endless Sphere, Like God Himself, and Heaven, and Earth was there.
MY SPIRIT
I
My naked simple Life was I; That Act so strongly shin'd Upon the earth, the sea, the sky, It was the substance of my mind; The sense itself was I. I felt no dross nor matter in my Soul, No brims nor borders, such as in a bowl We see. My essence was capacity, That felt all things; The thought that springs Therefrom's itself. It hath no other wings To spread abroad, nor eyes to see, Nor hands distinct to feel, Nor knees to kneel. But being simple like the Deity In its own centre is a sphere Not shut up here, but everywhere.
II
It acts not from a centre to Its object as remote, But present is when it doth view, Being with the Being it doth note Whatever it doth do. It doth not by another engine work, But by itself; which in the act doth lurk. Its essence is transformed into a true And perfect act, And so exact Hath God appeared in this mysterious fact, That 'tis all eye, all act, all sight, And what it please can be, Not only see, Or do; for 'tis more voluble than light: Which can put on ten thousand forms, Being cloth'd with what itself adorns.
III
This made me present evermore With whatsoe'er I saw. An object, if it were before My eye, was by Dame Nature's law, Within my soul. Her store Was all at once within me; all Her treasures Were my immediate and internal pleasures, Substantial joys, which did inform my mind. With all she wrought My soul was fraught, And every object in my heart a thought Begot, or was; I could not tell, Whether the things did there Themselves appear, Which in my Spirit truly seem'd to dwell; Or whether my conforming mind Were not even all that therein shin'd.
IV
But yet of this I was most sure, That at the utmost length, (So worthy was it to endure) My soul could best express its strength. It was so quick and pure, That all my mind was wholly everywhere, Whate'er it saw, 'twas ever wholly there; The sun ten thousand legions off, was nigh: The utmost star, Though seen from far, Was present in the apple of my eye. There was my sight, my life, my sense, My substance, and my mind; My spirit shin'd Even there, not by a transient influence: The act was immanent, yet there: The thing remote, yet felt even here.
V
O Joy! O wonder and delight! O sacred mystery! My Soul a Spirit infinite! An image of the Deity! A pure substantial light! That Being greatest which doth nothing seem! Why, 'twas my all, I nothing did esteem But that alone. A strange mysterious sphere! A deep abyss That sees and is The only proper place of Heavenly Bliss. To its Creator 'tis so near In love and excellence, In life and sense, In greatness, worth, and nature; and so dear, In it, without hyperbole, The Son and friend of God we see.
VI
A strange extended orb of Joy, Proceeding from within, Which did on every side, convey Itself, and being nigh of kin To God did every way Dilate itself even in an instant, and Like an indivisible centre stand, At once surrounding all eternity. 'Twas not a sphere, Yet did appear, One infinite. 'Twas somewhat everywhere, And tho' it had a power to see Far more, yet still it shin'd And was a mind Exerted for it saw Infinity. 'Twas not a sphere, but 'twas a might Invisible, and yet gave light.
VII
O wondrous Self! O sphere of light, O sphere of joy most fair; O act, O power infinite; O subtile and unbounded air! O living orb of sight! Thou which within me art, yet me! Thou eye, And temple of His whole infinity! O what a world art Thou! A world within! All things appear All objects are Alive in Thee! Supersubstantial, rare, Above themselves, and nigh of kin To those pure things we find In His great mind Who made the world! Tho' now eclipsed by sin There they are useful and divine, Exalted there they ought to shine.
THE APPREHENSION
If this I did not every moment see, And if my thoughts did stray At any time, or idly play, And fix on other objects, yet This Apprehension set In me Was all my whole felicity.
FULLNESS
That light, that sight, that thought, Which in my soul at first He wrought, Is sure the only act to which I may Assent to-day: The mirror of an endless life, The shadow of a virgin wife, A spiritual world standing within, An Universe enclosed in skin, My power exerted, or my perfect Being, If not enjoying, yet an act of seeing. My bliss Consists in this, My duty too In this I view. It is a fountain or a spring, Refreshing me in everything. From whence those living streams I do derive, By which my thirsty soul is kept alive. The centre and the sphere Of my delights are here. It is my David's tower Where all my armour lies, The fountain of my power, My bliss, my sacrifice: A little spark That shining in the dark, Makes and encourages my soul to rise, The root of hope, the golden chain, Whose end is, as the poets feign, Fastened to the very throne Of Jove. It is a stone, On which I sit, An endless benefit, That being made my regal throne, Doth prove An Oracle of His Eternal Love.
NATURE
That Custom is a second Nature, we Most plainly find by Nature's purity. For Nature teacheth nothing but the truth; I'm sure that mine did in my virgin youth: The very Day my Spirit did inspire, The world's fair beauty set my soul on fire. My senses were informers to my heart, The conduits of His glory, power, and art. His greatness, wisdom, goodness, I did see, His glorious Love, and His Eternitie, Almost as soon as born; and every sense Was in me like to some Intelligence. I was by nature prone and apt to love All light and beauty, both in Heaven above, And Earth beneath, prone even to admire, Adore, and praise as well as to desire. My inclinations raised me up on high, And guided me to all Infinity. A secret self I had enclosed within, That was not bounded with my clothes or skin, Or terminated with my sight, the sphere Of which was bounded with the Heavens here: But that did rather, like the subtile light, Secured from rough and raging storms by night, Break through the lanthorn's sides, and freely ray Dispersing and dilating every way: Whose steady beams too subtile for the wind, Are such that we their bounds can scarcely find. It did encompass, and possess rare things, But yet felt more, and on its angel's wings Pierced through the skies immediately, and sought For all that could beyond all worlds be thought. It did not move, nor one way go, but stood, And by dilating of itself, all good It strove to see, as if 'twere present there, Even while it present stood conversing here: And more suggested than I could discern, Or ever since by any means could learn. Vast, unaffected wonderful desires, Like inward, native, uncaus'd hidden fires, Sprang up with expectations very strange, Which into new desires did quickly change: For all I saw beyond the azure round, Was endless darkness with no beauty crown'd. Why beauty should not there, as well as here, Why goodness should not likewise there appear, Why treasures and delights should bounded be, Since there is such a wide Infinitie; These were the doubts and troubles of my Soul, By which I do perceive without control, A world of endless joys by Nature made, That needs must flourish ever, never fade. A wide, magnificent and spacious sky, So rich 'tis worthy of the Deity, Clouds here and there like winged charets flying, Flowers ever flourishing, yet always dying, A day of glory where I all things see, As 'twere enrich'd with beams of light for me, And drown'd in glorious rays of purer light, Succeeded with a black, yet glorious night; Stars sweetly shedding to my pleased sense, On all things their nocturnal influence, With secret rooms in times and ages more, Past and to come enlarging my great store: These all in order present unto me My happy eyes did in a moment see, With wonders there-too, to my Soul unknown, Till they by men and reading first were shewn. All which were made that I might ever be With some great workman, some Great Deity. But yet there were new rooms and spaces more, Beyond all these, new regions o'er and o'er, Into all which my pent-up Soul like fire Did break, surmounting all I here admire. The spaces fill'd were like a cabinet Of joys before me most distinctly set: The empty like to large and vacant room For fancy to enlarge in, and presume A space for more, remov'd, but yet adorning Those near at hand, that pleased me every morning. Here I was seated to behold new things, In the fair fabric of the King of Kings. All, all was mine. The fountain tho' not known, Yet that there must be one was plainly shewn, Which fountain of delights must needs be Love, As all the goodness of the things did prove. It shines upon me from the highest skies, And all its creatures for my sake doth prize, Of whose enjoyment I am made the end, While how the same is so I comprehend.
EASE
I
How easily doth Nature teach the soul How irresistible is her infusion! There's nothing found that can her force control But sin. How weak and feeble's all delusion!
II
Things false are forc'd and most elaborate, Things pure and true are obvious unto sense; The first impressions in our earthly state Are made by things most great in excellence.
III
How easy is it to believe the sky Is wide and great and fair! How soon may we Be made to know the Sun is bright and high, And very glorious, when its beams we see!
IV
That all the Earth is one continued globe, And that all men therein are living treasures, That fields and meadows are a glorious robe Adorning it with smooth and heavenly pleasures.
V
That all we see is ours, and every one Possessor of the whole; that every man Is like a God Incarnate on the Throne, Even like the first for whom the world began;
VI
Whom all are taught to honour, serve, and love, Because he is belov'd of God unknown; And therefore is on Earth itself above All others, that His wisdom might be shewn.
VII
That all may happy be, each one most blest, Both in himself and others; all most high, While all by each, and each by all possest Are intermutual joys beneath the sky.
VIII
This shows a wise contrivance, and discovers Some great Creator sitting on the Throne, That so disposeth things for all His lovers, That every one might reign like God alone.
SPEED
I
The liquid pearl in springs, The useful and the precious things Are in a moment known. Their very glory does reveal their worth (And that doth set their glory forth); As soon as I was born they all were shewn.
II
True living wealth did flow In crystal streams below My feet, and trilling down In pure, transparent, soft, sweet, melting pleasures, Like precious and diffusive treasures, At once my body fed, and soul did crown.
III
I was as high and great As Kings are in their seat. All other things were mine. The world my house, the creatures were my goods, Fields, mountains, valleys, woods, Men and their arts to make me rich combine.
IV
Great, lofty, endless, stable, Various and Innumerable, Bright, useful, fair, divine. Immovable and sweet the treasures were, The sacred objects did appear More rich and beautiful, as well as mine.
V
New all! new-burnisht joys; Tho' now by other toys Eclipst: new all and mine. Great Truth so sacred seemed for this to me, Because the things which I did see Were such, my state I knew to be divine.
VI
Nor did the Angels' faces, The glories and the graces, The beauty, peace and joy Of Heaven itself, more sweetness yield to me. Till filthy sin did all destroy Those were the offspring of the Deity.
THE CHOICE
I
When first Eternity stoop'd down to nought And in the Earth its likeness sought, When first it out of nothing fram'd the skies, And form'd the moon and sun That we might see what it had done, It was so wise, That it did prize Things truly greatest, brightest, fairest, best, All which it made, and left the rest.
II
Then did it take such care about the Truth, Its daughter, that even in her youth, Her face might shine upon us, and be known, That by a better fate, It other toys might antedate As soon as shewn; And be our own, While we were hers; and that a virgin love Her best inheritance might prove.
III
Thoughts undefiled, simple, naked, pure; Thoughts worthy ever to endure, Our first and disengaged thoughts it loves, And therefore made the truth, In infancy and tender youth So obvious to Our easy view That it doth prepossess our Soul, and proves The cause of what it all ways moves.
IV
By merit and desire it doth allure; For truth is so divine and pure, So rich and acceptable, being seen, (Not parted, but in whole) That it doth draw and force the soul, As the great Queen Of bliss, between Whom and the Soul, no one pretender ought Trust in to captivate a thought.
V
Hence did Eternity contrive to make The truth so fair for all our sake That being truth, and fair and easy too, While it on all doth shine, We might by it become divine, Being led to woo The thing we view, And as chaste virgins early with it join, That with it we might likewise shine.
VI
Eternity doth give the richest things To every man, and makes all Kings. The best and richest things it doth convey To all, and every one, It raised me unto a throne! Which I enjoy, In such a way, That truth her daughter is my chiefest bride, Her daughter truth's my chiefest pride.
VII
All mine! And seen so easily! How great, how blest! How soon am I of all possest! My infancy no sooner opes its eyes, But straight the spacious Earth Abounds with joy, peace, glory, mirth, And being wise The very skies, And stars do mine become; being all possest Even in that way that is the best.
THE PERSON
I
Ye Sacred limbs, A richer blazon I will lay On you than first I found: That like celestial kings, Ye might with ornaments of joy Be always crown'd. A deep vermilion on a red, On that a scarlet I will lay, With gold I'll crown your head, Which like the Sun shall ray. With robes of glory and delight I'll make you bright. Mistake me not, I do not mean to bring New robes, but to display the thing: Nor paint, nor clothe, nor crown, nor add a ray, But glorify by taking all away.
II
The naked things Are most sublime, and brightest show, When they alone are seen: Men's hands than Angels' wings Are truer wealth even here below: For those but seem. Their worth they then do best reveal, When we all metaphors remove, For metaphors conceal, And only vapours prove. They best are blazon'd when we see The anatomy, Survey the skin, cut up the flesh, the veins Unfold: the glory there remains: The muscles, fibres, arteries, and bones Are better far than crowns and precious stones.
III
Shall I not then Delight in those most sacred treasures Which my great Father gave, Far more than other men Delight in gold? Since these are pleasures That make us brave! Far braver than the pearl and gold That glitter on a lady's neck! The rubies we behold, The diamonds that deck The hands of queens, compared unto The hands we view; The softer lilies and the roses are Less ornaments to those that wear The same, than are the hands, and lips and eyes Of those who those false ornaments so prize.
IV
Let verity Be thy delight; let me esteem True wealth far more than toys: Let sacred riches be, While falser treasures only seem, My real joys. For golden chains and bracelets are But gilded manacles, whereby Old Satan doth ensnare, Allure, bewitch the eye. Thy gifts, O God, alone I'll prize, My tongue, my eyes, My cheeks, my lips, my ears, my hands, my feet; Their harmony is far more sweet; Their beauty true. And these in all my ways Shall themes become and organs of Thy praise.
THE ESTATE
I
But shall my soul no wealth possess, No outward riches have? Shall hands and eyes alone express Thy bounty? Which the grave Shall strait devour. Shall I become Within myself a living tomb Of useless wonders? Shall the fair and brave And great endowments of my soul lie waste, Which ought to be a fountain, and a womb Of praises unto Thee? Shall there no outward objects be, For these to see and taste? Not so, my God, for outward joys and pleasures Are even the things for which my limbs are treasures.
II
My palate is a touch-stone fit To taste how good Thou art, And other members second it Thy praises to impart. There's not an eye that's fram'd by Thee, But ought Thy life and love to see: Nor is there, Lord, upon mine head an ear, But that the music of Thy works should hear. Each toe, each finger, framed by Thy skill, Ought ointments to distil. Ambrosia, nectar, wine should flow From every joint I owe, Or things more rich; while they Thy holy will Are instruments adapted to fulfill.
III
They ought, my God, to be the pipes And conduits of Thy praise. Men's bodies were not made for stripes, Nor anything but joys. They were not made to be alone: But made to be the very throne Of Blessedness, to be like Suns, whose rays, Dispersed, scatter many thousand ways. They drink in nectars, and disburse again In purer beams, those streams, Those nectars which are caus'd by joys, And as the spacious main Doth all the rivers, which it drinks, return, Thy love receiv'd doth make the soul to burn.
IV
Elixirs richer are than dross, And ends are more divine Than are the means; but dung and loss Materials (tho' they shine Like gold and silver) are, compar'd To what Thy Spirit doth regard, Thy will require, Thy love embrace, Thy mind Esteem, Thy nature most illustrious find. These are the things wherewith we God reward. Our love He more doth prize, Our gratitude is in His eyes Far richer than the skies. And those affections which we do return, Are like the love which in Himself doth burn.
V
We plough the very skies, as well As earth; the spacious seas Are ours; the stars all gems excel. The air was made to please The souls of men: devouring fire Doth feed and quicken man's desire. The orb of light in its wide circuit moves, Corn for our food springs out of very mire, Our fuel grows in woods and groves; Choice herbs and flowers aspire To kiss our feet: beasts court our loves.[J] How glorious is man's fate! The laws of God, the works He did create, His ancient ways, are His and my Estate.
THE ENQUIRY
I
Men may delighted be with springs, While trees and herbs their senses please, And taste even living nectar in the seas: May think their members things Of earthly worth at least, if not divine, And sing because the earth for them doth shine:
II
But can the Angels take delight, To see such faces here beneath? Or can perfumes indeed from dung-hills breathe? Or is the world a sight Worthy of them? Then may we mortals be Surrounded with eternal Clarity.
III
Even holy angels may come down To walk on Earth, and see delights, That feed and please, even here, their appetites. Our joys may make a crown For them. And in His Tabernacle men may be Like palms we mingled with the Cherubs see.
IV
Men's senses are indeed the gems, Their praises the most sweet perfumes, Their eyes the thrones, their hearts the Heavenly rooms, Their souls the diadems, Their tongues the organs which they love to hear, Their cheeks and faces like to theirs appear.
V
The wonders which our God hath done, The glories of His attributes, Like dangling apples or like golden fruits, Angelic joys become. His wisdom shines on Earth; His love doth flow, Like myrrh or incense, even here below.
VI
And shall not we such joys possess, Which God for man did chiefly make? The Angels have them only for our sake! And yet they all confess His glory here on Earth to be divine, And that His Godhead in His works doth shine.
THE CIRCULATION
I
As fair ideas from the sky, Or images of things, Unto a spotless mirror fly, On unperceived wings, And lodging there affect the sense, As if at first they came from thence; While being there, they richly beautify The place they fill, and yet communicate Themselves, reflecting to the seer's eye; Just such is our estate. No praise can we return again, No glory in ourselves possess, But what derived from without we gain, From all the mysteries of blessedness.
II
No man breathes out more vital air Than he before sucked in: Those joys and praises must repair To us, which 'tis a sin To bury in a senseless tomb. An earthly wight must be the heir Of all those joys the holy Angels prize, He must a king before a priest become, And gifts receive or ever sacrifice. 'Tis blindness makes us dumb: Had we but those celestial eyes, Whereby we could behold the sum Of all His bounties, we should overflow With praises did we but their causes know.
III
All things to Circulations owe Themselves; by which alone They do exist; they cannot shew A sigh, a word, a groan, A colour or a glimpse of light, The sparkle of a precious stone, A virtue, or a smell, a lovely sight, A fruit, a beam, an influence, a tear, But they another's livery must wear, And borrow matter first, Before they can communicate. Whatever's empty is accurst: And this doth shew that we must some estate Possess, or never can communicate.
IV
A sponge drinks in the water, which Is afterwards exprest. A liberal hand must first be rich: Who blesseth must be blest. The thirsty earth drinks in the rain, The trees suck moisture at their roots, Before the one can lavish herbs again, Before the other can afford us fruits. No tenant can raise corn or pay his rent, Nor can even have a lord, That has no land. No spring can vent, No vessel any wine afford Wherein no liquor's put. No empty purse, Can pounds or talents of itself disburse.
V
Flame that ejects its golden beams Sups up the grosser air; To seas that pour out their streams In springs, those streams repair; Receiv'd ideas make even dreams. No fancy painteth foul or fair But by the ministry of inward light, That in the spirits cherisheth its sight. The moon returneth light, and some men say The very sun no ray Nor influence could have, did it No foreign aids, no food admit. The earth no exhalations would afford, Were not its spirits by the sun restored.
VI
All things do first receive, that give: Only 'tis God above, That from and in Himself doth live; Whose all-sufficient love Without original can flow And all the joys and glories shew Which mortal man can take delight to know. He is the primitive eternal spring The endless ocean of each glorious thing. The soul a vessel is, A spacious bosom, to contain All the fair treasures of His bliss, Which run like rivers from, into the main, And all it doth receive returns again.
AMENDMENT
I
That all things should be mine, This makes His bounty most divine: But that they all more rich should be, And far more brightly shine, As used by me; It ravisheth my soul to see the end, To which this work so wonderful doth tend.
II
That we should make the skies More glorious far before Thine eyes Than Thou didst make them, and even Thee Far more Thy works to prize, As used they be Than as they're made, is a stupendous work, Wherein Thy wisdom mightily doth lurk.
III
Thy greatness, and Thy love, Thy power, in this, my joy doth move; Thy goodness, and felicity In this exprest above All praise I see: While Thy great Godhead over all doth reign, And such an end in such a sort attain.
IV
What bound may we assign, O God, to any work of thine! Their endlessness discovers thee In all to be Divine; A Deity That will for evermore exceed the end Of all that creature's wit can comprehend.
V
Am I a glorious spring Of joys and riches to my King? Are men made Gods? And may they see So wonderful a thing As God in me? And is my soul a mirror that must shine Even like the sun and be far more divine?
VI
Thy Soul, O God, doth prize The seas, the earth, our souls, the skies; As we return the same to Thee They more delight Thine eyes, And sweeter be As unto thee we offer up the same, Than as to us from Thee at first they came.
VII
O how doth Sacred Love His gifts refine, exalt, improve! Our love to creatures makes them be In Thine esteem above Themselves to Thee! O here His goodness evermore admire! He made our souls to make His creatures higher.
THE DEMONSTRATION
I
The highest things are easiest to be shewn, And only capable of being known. A mist involves the eye While in the middle it doth live; And till the ends of things are seen The way's uncertain that doth stand between. As in the air we see the clouds Like winding sheets or shrouds, Which, though they nearer are, obscure The sun, which, higher far, is far more pure.
II
Its very brightness makes it near the eye, Tho' many thousand leagues beyond the sky. Its beams by violence Invade, and ravish distant sense. Only extremes and heights are known, No certainty, where no perfection's, shewn. Extremities of blessedness Compel us to confess A God indeed, Whose excellence In all His works must needs exceed all sense.
III
And for this cause incredibles alone May be by demonstration to us shewn. Those things that are most bright Sun-like appear in their own light, And nothing's truly seen that's mean: Be it a sand, an acorn, or a bean, It must be cloth'd with endless glory, Before its perfect story (Be the spirit ne'er so clear) Can in its causes and its ends appear.
IV
What can be more incredible than this, Where may we find a more profound abyss? What Heavenly height can be Transcendent to this Summity! What more desirable object can Be offered to the soul of hungering man! His gifts as they to us come down Are infinite and crown The soul with strange fruitions; yet Returning from us they more value get.
V
And what than this can be more plain and clear? What truth than this more evident appear? The Godhead cannot prize The sun at all, nor yet the skies, Or air, or earth, or trees, or seas, Or stars, unless the soul of man they please. He neither sees with human eyes, Nor needs Himself seas, skies, Or earth, or any thing: He draws No breath, nor eats or drinks by Nature's laws.
VI
The joy and pleasure which His soul doth take In all His works is for His creatures' sake. So great a certainty We in this holy doctrine see That there could be no worth at all In any thing material, great, or small, Were not some creature more alive, Whence it might worth derive. God is the spring whence things come forth, Souls are the fountains of their real worth.
VII
The joy and pleasure which His soul doth take In all His works is for His creatures' sake. Yet doth He take delight That's altogether infinite In them even as they from Him come, For such His love and goodness is, the sum Of all His happiness doth seem, At least in His esteem, In that delight and joy to lie Which is His blessed creatures' melody.
VIII
In them He sees, and feels, and smells, and lives, In them affected is to whom He gives: In them ten thousand ways, He all His work again enjoys All things from Him to Him proceed By them: are His in them: as if indeed His Godhead did itself exceed. To them He all conveys; Nay, even Himself! He is the End To whom in them Himself, and all things tend.
THE ANTICIPATION
I
My contemplation dazzles in the End Of all I comprehend, And soars above all heights, Diving into the depths of all delights. Can He become the End, To whom all creatures tend, Who is the Father of all Infinites? Then may He benefit receive from things, And be not Parent only of all springs.
II
The End doth want the means, and is the cause, Whose sake, by Nature's laws, Is that for which they are. Such sands, such dangerous rocks we must beware: From all Eternity A perfect Deity Most great and blessed he doth still appear; His essence perfect was in all its features, He ever blessed in His joys and creatures.
III
From everlasting He those joys did need, And all those joys proceed From Him eternally. From everlasting His felicity Complete and perfect was, Whose bosom is the glass, Wherein we all things everlasting see. His name is Now, His Nature is Forever: None can His creatures from their Maker sever.
IV
The End in Him from everlasting is The fountain of all bliss: From everlasting it Efficient was, and influence did emit, That caused all. Before The world, we do adore This glorious End. Because all benefit From it proceeds: both are the very same, The End and Fountain differ but in Name.
V
That so the End should be the very Spring Of every glorious thing; And that which seemeth last, The fountain and the cause; attained so fast That it was first; and mov'd The Efficient, who so lov'd All worlds and made them for the sake of this; It shews the End complete before, and is A perfect token of His perfect bliss.
VI
The End complete, the means must needs be so, By which we plainly know, From all Eternity, The means whereby God is, must perfect be. God is Himself the means Whereby He doth exist: And as the Sun by shining's cloth'd with beams, So from Himself to all His glory streams, Who is a Sun, yet what Himself doth list.
VII
His endless wants and His enjoyments be From all Eternity Immutable in Him: They are His joys before the Cherubim. His wants appreciate all, And being infinite, Permit no being to be mean or small That He enjoys, or is before His sight: His satisfactions do His wants delight.
VIII
Wants are the fountains of Felicity; No joy could ever be Were there no want. No bliss, No sweetness perfect were it not for this. Want is the greatest pleasure Because it makes all treasure. O what a wonderful profound abyss Is God! In whom eternal wants and treasures Are more delightful, since they both are pleasures.
IX
He infinitely wanteth all His joys; (No want the soul e'er cloys.) And all those wanted pleasures He infinitely hath. What endless measures, What heights and depths may we In His felicity Conceive! Whose very wants are endless pleasures. His life in wants and joys is infinite, And both are felt as His Supreme Delight.
X
He's not like us; possession doth not cloy, Nor sense of want destroy; Both always are together; No force can either from the other sever. Yet there's a space between That's endless. Both are seen Distinctly still, and both are seen for ever. As soon as e'er He wanteth all His bliss, His bliss, tho' everlasting, in Him is.
XI
His Essence is all Act: He did that He All Act might always be. His nature burns like fire; His goodness infinitely does desire To be by all possesst; His love makes others blest. It is the glory of His high estate, And that which I for evermore admire, He is an Act that doth communicate.
XII
From all to all Eternity He is That Act: an Act of bliss: Wherein all bliss to all That will receive the same, or on him call, Is freely given: from whence 'Tis easy even to sense To apprehend that all receivers are In Him, all gifts, all joys, all eyes, even all At once that ever will or shall appear.
XIII
He is the means of them, they not of Him. The Holy Cherubim, Souls, Angels from Him came Who is a glorious bright and living Flame, That on all things doth shine, And makes their face divine. And Holy, Holy, Holy is His Name: He is the means both of Himself and all, Whom we the Fountain, Means, and End do call.
THE RECOVERY
I
To see us but receive, is such a sight As makes His treasures infinite! Because His goodness doth possess In us, His own, and our own Blessedness. Yea more, His love doth take delight To make our glory infinite; Our blessedness to see Is even to the Deity A Beatific vision! He attains His Ends while we enjoy. In us He reigns.
II
For God enjoy'd is all His End. Himself He then doth comprehend When He is blessed, magnified, Extoll'd, exalted, prais'd, and glorified, Honor'd, esteem'd, belov'd, enjoy'd, Admired, sanctified, obeyed, That is received. For He Doth place His whole felicity In that: who is despised and defied, Undeified almost if once denied.
III
In all His works, in all His ways, We must His glory see and praise; And since our pleasure is the end, We must His goodness, and His love attend. If we despise His glorious works, Such sin and mischief in it lurks That they are all made vain; And this is even endless pain To Him that sees it: Whose diviner grief Is hereupon (ah me!) without relief.
IV
We please His goodness that receive: Refusers Him of all bereave. As bridegrooms know full well that build A palace for their bride. It will not yield Any delight to him at all If she for whom he made the hall Refuse to dwell in it, Or plainly scorn the benefit. Her act that's woo'd yields more delight and pleasure If she receives, than all the pile of treasure.
V
But we have hands, and lips, and eyes, And hearts and souls can sacrifice; And souls themselves are made in vain If we our evil stubbornness retain. Affections, praises, are the things For which He gave us all those springs; They are the very fruits Of all those trees and roots, The fruits and ends of all His great endeavours, Which He abolisheth whoever severs.
VI
'Tis not alone a lively sense, A clear and quick intelligence, A free, profound, and full esteem; Tho' these elixirs all and ends do seem: But gratitude, thanksgiving, praise, A heart returned for all those joys, These are the things admired, These are the things by Him desired: These are the nectar and the quintessence, The cream and flower that most affect His sense.
VII
The voluntary act whereby These are repaid is in His eye More precious than the very sky. All gold and silver is but empty dross, Rubies and sapphires are but loss, The very sun, and stars and seas Far less His spirit please: One voluntary act of love Far more delightful to His soul doth prove, And is above all these as far as love.
ANOTHER
I
He seeks for ours as we do seek for His; Nay, O my Soul, ours is far more His bliss Than His is ours; at least it so doth seem Both in His own and our esteem:
II
His earnest love, His infinite desires, His living, endless, and devouring fires, Do rage in thirst and fervently require A love 'tis strange it should desire.
III
We cold and careless are, and scarcely think Upon the glorious spring whereat we drink. Did He not love us we could be content: We wretches are indifferent!
IV
He courts our love with infinite esteem, And seeks it so that it doth almost seem Even all His blessedness. His love doth prize It as the only Sacrifice.
V
'Tis death, my soul, to be indifferent, Set forth thyself unto thy whole extent, And all the glory of His passion prize, Who for thee lives, who for thee dies.
VI
His goodness made thy love so great a pleasure, His goodness made thy soul so great a treasure To thee and Him: that thou mightst both inherit, Prize it according to its merit.
VII
There is no goodness nor desert in thee, For which thy love so coveted should be; His goodness is the fountain of thy worth; O live to love and set it forth.
VIII
Thou nothing giv'st to Him, He gave all things To thee, and made thee like the King of Kings: His love the fountain is of Heaven and Earth, The cause of all thy joy and mirth.
IX
Thy love is nothing but itself, and yet So infinite is His that He doth set A value infinite upon it. Oh! This, canst thou careless be, and know!
X
Let that same goodness, which being infinite, Esteems thy love with infinite delight, Tho' less than His, tho' nothing, always be An object infinite to thee.
XI
And as it is the cause of all esteem, Of all the worth which in thy love doth seem, So let it be the cause of all thy pleasure, Causing its being and its treasure.
LOVE
I
O nectar! O delicious stream! O ravishing and only pleasure! Where Shall such another theme Inspire my tongue with joys or please mine ear! Abridgment of delights! And queen of sights! O mine of rarities! O Kingdom wide! O more! O cause of all! O glorious Bride! O God! O Bride of God! O King! O soul and crown of everything!
II
Did not I covet to behold Some endless monarch, that did always live In palaces of gold, Willing all kingdoms, realms, and crowns to give Unto my soul! Whose love A spring might prove Of endless glories, honors, friendships, pleasures, Joys, praises, beauties and celestial treasures! Lo, now I see there's such a King, The fountain-head of everything!
III
Did my ambition ever dream Of such a Lord, of such a love! Did I Expect so sweet a stream As this at any time! Could any eye Believe it? Why all power Is used here; Joys down from Heaven on my head do shower, And Jove beyond the fiction doth appear Once more in golden rain to come To Danæ's pleasing fruitful womb.
IV
His Ganimede! His life! His Joy! Or He comes down to me, or takes me up That I might be His boy, And fill, and taste, and give, and drink the cup. But those (tho' great) are all Too short and small, Too weak and feeble pictures to express The true mysterious depths of Blessedness. I am His image, and His friend, His son, bride, glory, temple, end.
THOUGHTS.--I
I
Ye brisk, divine and living things, Ye great exemplars, and ye heavenly springs, Which I within me see; Ye machines great, Which in my spirit God did seat, Ye engines of felicity; Ye wondrous fabrics of His hands, Who all possesseth that He understands; That ye are pent within my breast, Yet rove at large from East to West, And are invisible, yet infinite, Is my transcendent and my best delight.
II
By you I do the joys possess Of yesterday's-yet-present blessedness; As in a mirror clear, Old objects I Far distant do even now descry, Which by your help are present here. Ye are yourselves the very pleasures, The sweetest, last, and most substantial treasures: The offsprings and effects of bliss By whose return my glory is Renew'd and represented to my view: O ye delights, most pure, divine, and true!
III
Ye thoughts and apprehensions are The Heavenly streams which fill the soul with rare Transcendent perfect pleasures. At any time As if ye still were in your prime, Ye open all His heavenly treasures. His joys accessible are found To you, and those things enter which surround The soul. Ye living things within! Where had all joy and glory been Had ye not made the soul those things to know, Which seated in it make the fairest shew?
IV
I know not by what secret power Ye flourish so: but ye within your bower More beautiful do seem, And better meat Ye daily yield my soul to eat, Than even the objects I esteem Without my soul. What were the sky, What were the sun, or stars, did ye not lie In me, and represent them there Where else they never could appear! Yea, what were bliss without such thoughts to me, What were my life, what were the Deity?
V
O ye Conceptions of delight! Ye that inform my soul with life and light! Ye representatives, and springs Of inward pleasure! Ye joys, ye ends of outward treasure! Ye inward and ye living things! The thought or joy conceived is The inward fabric of my standing bliss: It is the very substance of my mind Transform'd and with its objects lined, The quintessence, elixir, spirit, cream: 'Tis strange that things unseen should be supreme.
VI
The eye's confined, the body's pent In narrow room: limbs are of small extent, But thoughts are always free; And as they're best So can they even in the breast Rove o'er the world with liberty: Can enter ages, present be In any kingdom, into bosoms see. Thoughts, thoughts can come to things and view What bodies can't approach unto: They know no bar, denial, limit, wall, But have a liberty to look on all.
VII
Like bees they fly from flower to flower, Appear in every closet, temple, bower, And suck the sweet from thence No eye can see: As tasters to the Deity, Incredible their excellence, For evermore they will be seen, Nor ever moulder into less esteem. They ever shew an equal face, And are immortal in their place: Ten thousand Ages hence they are as strong, Ten thousand Ages hence they are as young.
THOUGHTS.--II
I
A delicate and tender thought The quintessence is found of all He wrought; It is the fruit of all his works, Which we conceive, Bring forth, and give, Yea and in which the greater value lurks. It is the fine and curious flower Which we return and offer every hour; So tender is our Paradise That in a trice It withers strait and fades away If we but cease its beauty to display.
II
Why things so precious should be made So prone, so easy, and so apt to fade It is not easy to declare; But God would have His creatures brave, And that too by their own continual care. He gave them power every hour Both to erect and to maintain a tower, Which he far more in us doth prize Than all the skies, That we might offer it to Him, And in our souls be like the Seraphim.
III
That temple David did intend Was but a thought, and yet it did transcend King Solomon's. A thought we know Is that for which God doth enrich With joys even Heaven above and Earth below. For that all objects might be seen He made the orient azure and the green: That we might in his works delight And that the sight Of those His treasures might enflame The soul with love to Him, He made the same.
IV
This sight which is the glorious End Of all His works and which doth comprehend Eternity and time and space, Is far more dear, And far more near To Him, than all His glorious dwelling-place. It is a spiritual world within, A living world and nearer far of kin To God than that which first he made. While that doth fade This therefore ever shall endure Within the soul as more divine and pure.
[THE INFLUX]
I
Ye hidden nectars, which my God doth drink, Ye heavenly streams, ye beams divine, On which the angels think, How quick, how strongly do ye shine! Ye images of joy that in me dwell, Ye sweet mysterious shades That do all substances excel, Whose glory never fades; Ye skies, ye seas, ye stars, or things more fair, O ever, ever unto me repair!
II
Ye pleasant thoughts! O how that sun divine Appears to-day which I did see So sweetly then to shine Even in my very infancy! Ye rich ideas which within me live Ye living pictures here, Ye spirits that do bring and give All joys; when ye appear Even Heaven itself and God, and all in you Come down on earth and please my blessed view.
III
I never glorious great and rich am found, Am never ravished with joy, Till ye my soul surround: Till ye my blessedness display No soul but stone, no man but clay am I, No flesh, but dust, till ye Delight, invade and move my eye, And do replenish me; My sweet informers and my living treasures, My great companions and my only pleasures!
IV
O what incredible delights, what fires, What appetites, what joys do ye Occasion, what desires, What heavenly praises! While we see What every Seraphim above admires! Your Jubilee and trade, Ye are so strangely and divinely made Shall never, never fade: Ye ravish all my soul: Of you I twice Will speak, for in the dark y'are Paradise.
THOUGHTS.--III
Thoughts are the Angels which we send abroad, To visit all the parts of God's abode. Thoughts are the things wherein we all confess The quintessence of sin and holiness Is laid. All wisdom in a thought doth shine, By thoughts alone the soul is made divine. Thoughts are the springs of all our actions here On earth, tho' they themselves do not appear. They are the springs of beauty, order, peace, The city's gallantries, the fields' increase. Rule, government, and kingdoms flow from them, And so doth all the New Jerusalem, At least the glory, splendour, and delight, For 'tis by thoughts that even she is bright. Thoughts are the things wherewith even God is crown'd, And as the soul without them's useless found, So are all other creatures too. A thought Is even the very cream of all He wrought. All holy fear, and love, and reverence, With honour, joy, and praise, as well as sense, Are hidden in our thoughts. Thoughts are the things That us affect: The honey and the stings Of all that is are seated in a thought, Even while it seemeth weak, and next to nought. The matter of all pleasure, virtue, worth, Grief, anger, hate, revenge, which words set forth, Are thoughts alone. Thoughts are the highest things, The very offspring of the King of Kings. Thoughts are a kind of strange celestial creature That when they're good, they're such in every feature. They bear the image of their Father's face, And beautify even all His dwelling-place: So nimble, volatile, and unconfined, Illimited, to which no form's assigned, So changeable, capacious, easy, free, That what itself doth please a thought may be. From nothing to infinity it turns, Even in a moment: Now like fire it burns, Now's frozen ice: Now shapes the glorious sun, Now darkness in a moment doth become. Now all at once: Now crowded in a sand, Now fills the hemisphere, and sees a land: Now on a sudden's wider than the sky, And now runs parile with the Deity. 'Tis such that it may all or nothing be, And's made so active, voluble, and free Because 'tis capable of all that's good, And is the end of all when understood. A thought can clothe itself with all the treasures Of God, and be the greatest of His pleasures. It all His laws, and glorious works, and ways, And attributes and counsels, all His praise It can conceive and imitate, and give: It is the only being that doth live. 'Tis capable of all perfection here, Of all His love and joy and glory there. It is the only beauty that doth shine, Most great, transcendent, heavenly, and divine. The very best or worst of things it is, The basis of all misery or bliss. Its measures and capacities are such, Their utmost measure we can never touch. Here ornament on ornament may still Be laid; beauty on beauty, skill on skill, Strength still on strength, and life itself on life, 'Tis Queen of all things, and its Maker's wife. The best of thoughts is yet a thing unknown, But when 'tis perfect it is like His own: Intelligible, endless, yet a sphere Substantial too: In which all things appear, All worlds, all excellencies, senses, graces, Joys, pleasures, creatures, and the angels' faces. It shall be married ever unto all, And all embrace, tho' now it seemeth small. A thought my soul may omnipresent be, For all it toucheth which a thought can see. O that mysterious Being! Thoughts are things Which rightly used make His creatures Kings.
DESIRE
I
For giving me desire, An eager thirst, a burning ardent fire, A virgin infant flame, A Love with which into the world I came, An inward hidden heavenly love, Which in my soul did work and move, And ever me inflame With restless longing, heavenly avarice, That never could be satisfied, That did incessantly a Paradise Unknown suggest, and something undescried Discern, and bear me to it; be Thy Name for ever praised by me.
II
My parched and withered bones Burnt up did seem: my soul was full of groans: My thoughts extensions were: Like paces, reaches, steps they did appear: They somewhat hotly did pursue, Knew that they had not all their due, Nor ever quiet were: But made my flesh like hungry, thirsty ground, My heart a deep profound abyss, And every joy and pleasure but a wound, So long as I my Blessedness did miss. O Happiness! A famine burns, And all my life to anguish turns!
III
Where are the silent streams, The living waters and the glorious beams, The sweet reviving bowers, The shady groves, the sweet and curious flowers, The springs and trees, the heavenly days, The flow'ry meads, and glorious rays, The gold and silver towers? Alas! all these are poor and empty things! Trees, waters, days, and shining beams, Fruits, flowers, bowers, shady groves and springs, No joy will yield, no more than silent streams; Those are but dead material toys, And cannot make my heavenly joys.
IV
O Love! Ye amities, And friendships that appear above the skies! Ye feasts and living pleasures! Ye senses, honours, and imperial treasures! Ye bridal joys! ye high delights That satisfy all appetites! Ye sweet affections, and Ye high respects! Whatever joys there be In triumphs, whatsoever stand In amicable sweet society, Whatever pleasures are at His right hand, Ye must before I am divine, In full propriety be mine.
V
This soaring, sacred thirst, Ambassador of bliss, approached first, Making a place in me That made me apt to prize, and taste, and see. For not the objects but the sense Of things doth bliss to souls dispense, And make it, Lord, like thee, Sense, feeling, taste, complacency, and sight, These are the true and real joys, The living, flowing, inward, melting, bright, And heavenly pleasures; all the rest are toys: All which are founded in Desire, As light in flame and heat in fire.
THOUGHTS.--IV
In Thy presence there is fullness of Joy, and at Thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore.
Thoughts are the wings on which the soul doth fly, The messengers which soar above the sky, Elijah's fiery chariot, that conveys The soul, even here, to those eternal joys. Thoughts are the privileged posts that soar Unto His throne, and there appear before Ourselves approach. These may at any time Above the clouds, above the stars may climb. The soul is present by a thought; and sees The New Jerusalem, the palaces, The thrones, and feasts, the regions of the sky, The joys and treasures of the Deity. His wisdom makes all things so bright and pure, That they are worthy ever to endure. His glorious works, His laws and counsels are, When seen, all like Himself, beyond compare. All ages with His love and glory shine, As they are His all Kingdoms are Divine. Whole hosts of Angels at His throne attend, And joyful praises from His saints ascend. Thousands of thousands kneel before His face And all His benefits with joy embrace. His goodness makes all creatures for His pleasure, And makes itself His creatures' chiefest treasure. Almighty power doth itself employ In all its works to make itself the joy Of all His hosts, and to complete the bliss Which omnipresent and eternal is. His omnipresence is an Endless Sphere, Wherein all worlds as his delights appear: His bounty is the spring of all delight; Our blessedness, like His, is infinite. His glory endless is and doth surround And fill all worlds without or end or bound. What hinders then but we in Heaven may be Even here on Earth did we but rightly see? As mountains, chariots, horsemen all on fire, To guard Elisha did of old conspire, Which yet his servant could not see, being blind, Ourselves environ'd with His joys we find. Eternity itself is that true light That doth enclose us being infinite. The very seas do overflow and swim With precious nectars as they flow from Him. The stable Earth which we beneath behold, Is far more precious than if made of gold. Fowls, fishes, beasts, trees, herbs, and precious flowers, Seeds, spices, gums, and aromatic bowers, Wherewith we are enclos'd and serv'd each day By His appointment do their tributes pay, And offer up themselves as gifts of love, Bestowed on Saints, proceeding from above. Could we but justly, wisely, truly prize These blessings, we should be above the skies, And praises sing with pleasant heart and voice, Adoring with the Angels should rejoice. The fertile clouds give rain, the purer air, Is warm and wholesome, soft and bright and fair. The stars are wonders which His wisdom names, The glorious sun the knowing soul enflames. The very Heavens in their sacred worth, At once serve us and set His glory forth. Their influences touch the grateful sense, They please the eye with their magnificence; While in His temple all His saints do sing, And for His bounty praise their Heavenly King. All these are in His omnipresence, still As living waters from His throne they trill; As tokens of His love they all flow down Their beauty, use, and worth the soul do crown. Men are like Cherubims on either hand Whose flaming love by His divine command Is made a sacrifice to ours; which streams Throughout all worlds, and fills them all with beams. We drink our fill, and take their beauty in, While Jesus' blood refines the soul from sin. His grievous Cross is a supreme delight, And of all Heavenly ones the greatest sight. His Throne is near, 'tis just before our face, And all Eternity His dwelling-place, His dwelling-place is full of joys and pleasures, His throne a fountain of Eternal treasures. His omnipresence is all sight and love, Which whoso sees he ever dwells above. With soft embraces it doth clasp the soul, And watchfully all enemies control. It enters in and doth a temple find, Or make a living one within the mind, That, while God's omnipresence in us lies, His treasures might be all before our eyes: For minds and souls intent upon them here, Do with the Seraphim's above appear: And are like spheres of bliss, by love and sight, By joy, thanksgiving, praise, made infinite. O give me grace to see Thy face, and be A constant Mirror of Eternity. Let my pure soul, transformed to a thought Attend upon Thy Throne, and, as it ought, Spend all its time in feeding on Thy love, And never from Thy sacred presence move. So shall my conversation ever be In Heaven, and I, O Lord my God, with Thee!
GOODNESS
I
The bliss of other men is my delight, (When once my principles are right:) And every soul which mine doth see A treasury. The face of God is goodness unto all, And while He thousands to His throne doth call, While millions bathe in pleasures, And do behold His treasures, The joys of all On mine do fall, And even my infinity doth seem A drop without them of a mean esteem.
II
The light which on ten thousand faces shines, The beams which crown ten thousand vines With glory, and delight, appear As if they were Reflected only from them all for me, That I a greater beauty there might see. Thus stars do beautify The azure canopy: Gilded with rays, Ten thousand ways They serve me, while the sun that on them shines Adorns those stars and crowns those bleeding vines.
III
Where goodness is within, the soul doth reign. Goodness the only Sovereign! Goodness delights alone to see Felicity. And while the Image of His goodness lives In me, whatever He to any gives Is my delight and ends In me, in all my friends: For goodness is The spring of bliss, And 'tis the end of all it gives away And all it gives it ever doth enjoy.
IV
His goodness! Lord, it is His highest glory! The very grace of all His story! What other thing can me delight But the blest sight Of His eternal goodness? While His love, His burning love the bliss of all doth prove, While it beyond the ends Of Heaven and Earth extends, And multiplies Above the skies, His glory, love, and goodness in my sight Is for my pleasure made more infinite.
V
The soft and swelling grapes that on their vines Receive the lively warmth that shines Upon them, ripen there for me: Or drink they be, Or meat. The stars salute my pleased sense With a derived and borrowed influence: But better vines do grow, Far better wines do flow Above, and while The Sun doth smile Upon the lilies there, and all things warm, Their pleasant odours do my spirit charm.
VI
Their rich affections me like precious seas Of nectar and ambrosia please. Their eyes are stars, or more divine And brighter shine: Their lips are soft and swelling grapes, their tongues A quire of blessed and harmonious songs. Their bosoms fraught with love Are Heavens all Heavens above; And being Images of God they are The highest joys His goodness did prepare.
[THE SOUL'S GLORY]
In making bodies Love could not express Itself, or art; unless it made them less. O what a monster had in man been seen, Had every thumb or toe a mountain been! What worlds must he devour when he did eat? What oceans drink? Yet could not all his meat, Or stature, make him like an Angel shine; Or make his soul in glory more divine. A soul it is that makes us truly great, Whose little bodies make us more complete. An Understanding that is Infinite, An endless, wide, and everlasting sight, That can enjoy all things and nought exclude, Is the most sacred greatness may be viewed. 'Twas inconvenient that his bulk should be An endless hill; he nothing then could see: No figure have, no motion, beauty, place, No colour, feature, member, light, or grace: A body like a mountain is but cumber, An endless body is but idle lumber, It spoils converse, and Time itself devours, While meat in vain in feeding idle powers, Excessive bulk being most injurious found, To those conveniences which men have crown'd. His wisdom did His power here repress, God made man greater while He made him less.
[FINITE YET INFINITE]
His power bounded, greater is in might, Than if let loose 'twere wholly infinite. He could have made an endless Sea by this, But then it had not been a Sea of Bliss. Did water from the centre to the skies Ascend, 'twould drown whatever else we prize. The Ocean bounded in a finite shore, Is better far because it is no more, No use nor glory would in that be seen, His power made it endless in esteem. Had not the sun been bounded in its sphere, Did all the world in one fair flame appear, And were that flame a real infinite, 'Twould yield no profit, splendour, nor delight. Its corps confined and beams extended be Effects of wisdom in the Deity. One star made infinite would all exclude, An earth made infinite could ne'er be viewed. But one being fashioned for the other's sake, He bounding all, did all most useful make: And which is best, in profit and delight, Tho' not in bulk, they all are infinite.
ON NEWS
I
News from a foreign country came, As if my treasure and my wealth lay there: So much it did my heart enflame 'Twas wont to call my soul into mine ear, Which thither went to meet The approaching sweet, And on the threshold stood, To entertain the unknown Good. It hovered there As if 'twould leave mine ear, And was so eager to embrace The joyful tidings as they came, 'Twould almost leave its dwelling-place, To entertain that same.
II
As if the tidings were the things, My very joys themselves, my foreign treasure, Or else did bear them on their wings; With so much joy they came, with so much pleasure. My Soul stood at that gate To recreate Itself with bliss: And to Be pleased with speed. A fuller view It fain would take, Yet journeys back would make Unto my heart: as if 'twould fain Go out to meet, yet stay within To fit a place, to entertain, And bring the tidings in.
III
What sacred instinct did inspire My Soul in childhood with a hope so strong? What secret force mov'd my desire To expect my joys beyond the seas, so young? Felicity I knew Was out of view: And being here alone, I saw that happiness was gone From me! For this, I thirsted absent bliss, And thought that sure beyond the seas, Or else in something near at hand I knew not yet, (since nought did please I knew) my Bliss did stand.
IV
But little did the infant dream That all the treasures of the world were by: And that himself was so the cream And crown of all which round about did lie. Yet thus it was: The gem, The diadem, The ring enclosing all That stood upon this earthly ball; The Heavenly Eye, Much wider than the sky, Wherein they all included were, The glorious Soul that was the King Made to possess them, did appear A small and little thing!
[THE TRIUMPH]
I
A life of Sabbaths here beneath! Continual Jubilees and Joys! The days of Heaven, while we breathe On Earth! where sin all bliss destroys: This is a triumph of delights That doth exceed all appetites! No joy can be compared to this, It is a life of perfect bliss.
II
Or perfect bliss! How can it be? To conquer Satan and to reign In such a vale of misery, Where vipers, stings and tears remain, Is to be crowned with victory. To be content, divine, and free Even here beneath is great delight, And next the beatific sight.
III
But inward lusts do oft assail, Temptations work us much annoy; We'll therefore weep, and to prevail Shall be a more celestial joy. To have no other enemy But one; and to that one to die: To fight with that and conquer it, Is better than in peace to sit.
IV
'Tis better for a little time: For he that all his lusts doth quell, Shall find this life to be his prime, And vanquish sin and conquer hell. The next shall be his double joy, And that which here seemed to destroy Shall in the other life appear A root of Bliss; a pearl each tear.
[THE ONLY ILL]
I
Sin! O only fatal woe, That makes me sad and mourning go! That all my joys dost spoil, His Kingdom and my Soul defile! I never can agree With Thee.
II
Thou! Only Thou! O Thou alone, And my obdurate Heart of Stone, The poison and the foes Or my enjoyments and repose, The only bitter ill: Dost kill!
III
Oh! I cannot meet with thee, Nor once approach thy memory, But all my joys are dead, And all my sacred treasures fled, As if I now did dwell In Hell.
IV
Lord! O hear how short I breathe! See how I tremble here beneath A sin! its ugly face More terror than its dwelling-place Contains, (O dreadful sin) Within!
THE RECOVERY
Sin! wilt thou vanquish me! And shall I yield the victory? Shall all my joys be spoiled, And pleasures soiled By thee! Shall I remain As one that's slain And never more lift up the head? Is not my Saviour dead! His blood, thy bane, my balsam, bliss, joy, wine, Shall thee destroy; heal, feed, make me divine.
[THE GLORY OF ISRAEL]
I
In Salem dwelt a glorious King, Rais'd from a shepherd's lowly state, That did His praises like an angel sing Who did the world create. By many great and bloody wars He was advanced unto thrones: But more delighted in the stars Than in the splendour of his precious stones. Nor gold nor silver did his eye regard: The works of God were his sublime reward.
II
A warlike champion he had been, And many feats of chivalry Had done: in kingly courts his eye had seen A vast variety Of earthly joys: yet he despised Those fading honours and false pleasures Which are by mortals so much prized; And placed his happiness in other treasures: No state of life which in this world we find Could yield contentment to his greater mind.
III
His fingers touched his trembling lyre, And every quivering string did yield A sound that filled all the Jewish quire, And echoed in the field. No pleasure was so great to him As in a silent night to see The moon and stars: a Cherubim Above them even here he seemed to be. Enflamed with love it was his great desire, To sing, contemplate, ponder, and admire.
IV
He was a prophet and foresaw Things extant in the world to come: He was a judge and ruled by a law That than the honeycomb Was sweeter far: he was a sage, And all his people could advise; An oracle whose every page Contained in verse the greatest mysteries: But most he then enjoy'd himself when he Did as a poet praise the Deity.
V
A shepherd, soldier, and divine, A judge, a courtier, and a king, Priest, angel, prophet, oracle did shine At once when he did sing. Philosopher and poet too Did in his melody appear; All these in him did please the view Of those that did his Heavenly music hear, And every drop that from his flowing quill Came down did all the world with nectar fill.
VI
He had a deep and perfect sense Of all the glories and the pleasures That in God's works are hid; the excellence Of such transcendent treasures Made him on earth an Heavenly King, And fill'd his solitudes with joy; He never did more sweetly sing Than when alone, tho' that doth mirth destroy: Sense did his soul with Heavenly life inspire And made him seem in God's celestial quire.
VII
Rich, sacred, deep and precious things Did here on earth the man surround: With all the glory of the King of Kings He was most strangely crown'd. His clear soul and open sight Among the Sons of God did see Things filling angels with delight; His ear did hear their Heavenly melodie And when he was alone he all became, That Bliss implied, or did increase his fame.
VIII
All arts he then did exercise; And as his God he did adore, By secret ravishments above the skies He carried was before He died. His soul did see and feel What others know not; and became, While he before his God did kneel, A constant Heavenly pure seraphic flame. O that I might unto his throne aspire, And all his joys above the stars admire.
ASPIRATION
I
Unto the spring of purest life Aspires my withered heart, My soul confined in this flesh Employs both strength and art Working, struggling, suing still From exile home to part.
II
Who can utter the full joy Which that high place doth hold, Where all the buildings founded are On orient pearls untold, And all the work of those high rooms Doth shine with beams of gold!
III
The season is not changed, but still Both sun and moon are Bright, The Lamb of this fair city is That clear immortal Light Whose presence makes eternal day Which never ends in night.
IV
Nay all the Saints themselves shall shine As bright as brightest sun, In fullest Triumph crowned they To mutual joys shall run, And safely count their fights and foes When once the war is done.
V
For being freed from all defect They feel no fleshly war, Or rather both the flesh and mind At length united are, For joying in so rich a peace They can admit no jar.
VI
For ever cheerful and content They from mishaps are free; No sickness there can threaten health, Nor young men old can be: There they enjoy such happy state That in't no change they see.
VII
Who know the Knower of all things What can they choose but know? They all behold each other's hearts And all their secrets shew: One act of will and of not will From all their minds do flow.
VIII
Though all their merits diverse be According to their pains, Yet Love doth make that every one's Which any other gains, And all which doth belong to one To all of them pertains.
IX
O Happy Soul which shall behold Thy King still present there, And mayst from thence behold the world Run round, secure from fear, With stars and planets, moon and sun, Still moving in their sphere!
X
O King of Kings give me such strength In this great War depending, That I may here prevail at length, And ever be ascending, Till I at last arrive to Thee, The Source of all Felicity!
[This poem is not Traherne's, though I have copied it from his manuscript volume of "Meditations and Devotions." It is a translation of S. Peter Damiani's hymn, "Ad Perennis Vitæ Fontem," which has been many times rendered into English. The above translation is from "The Meditations, Manuall, and Soliloquia of the Glorious Doctour, St. Augustine," 1631. But it is much abridged and altered in Traherne's version, and for that reason I have printed it here. Those who wish to refer to the original version will find it among the "Inedited Sacred Poems," at the end of Mr. W. T. Brooke's edition of Giles Fletcher's "Christ's Victory and Triumph."]
[SUPPLICATION][K]
I
Come, Holy Ghost, Eternal God, Our hearts with Life inspire, Enkindle zeal in all our Souls, And fill us with Thy Heavenly fire.
II
Send forth Thy Beams and let Thy Grace Upon my spirit shine, That I may all Thy works enjoy, Revive, sing praises, be Divine.
AN HYMN UPON ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S DAY
I
What powerful Spirit lives within! What active Angel doth inhabit here! What heavenly light inspires my skin, Which doth so like a Deity appear! A Living Temple of all ages, I Within me see A Temple of Eternity! All Kingdoms I descry In me.
II
An inward Omnipresence here Mysteriously like His within me stands Whose knowledge is a Sacred Sphere That in itself at once includes all lands. There is some Angel that within me can Both talk and move, And walk and fly and see and love, A man on earth, a man Above.
III
Dull walls of clay my Spirit leaves, And in a foreign Kingdom doth appear, This great Apostle it receives Admires His works and sees them, standing here. Within myself from East to West I move As if I were At once a Cherubim and Sphere, Or was at once above And here.
IV
The Soul's a messenger whereby Within our inward Temple we may be Even like the very Deity In all the parts of His Eternity. O live within and leave unwieldy dross! Flesh is but clay! O fly my Soul and haste away To Jesus' Throne or Cross-- Obey!
POEMS EXTRACTED FROM TRAHERNE'S "CHRISTIAN ETHICKS"
[All the following poems (excepting those in the "Appendix") are taken from Traherne's "Christian Ethicks." That they are all from his own pen cannot, I think, be doubted. They are entirely in his manner, and have little or no resemblance to that of any other poet. As the reader will see, I have, where necessary, quoted a few sentences from Traherne's prose in order to render the design of the verses more intelligible.]
[From pp. 344-5]
How glorious the Counsel and Design of God is for the Atchieving of this Great End, for the making of all Vertues more compleat and Excellent, and for the Heightening of their Beauty and Perfection we will exemplifie here in the Perfection of Courage. For the Height and depth and Splendor of every Vertue is of great Concernment to the Perfection of the Soul since the Glory of its Life is seated in the Accomplishment of its essence, in the fruit it yieldeth in its Operations. Take it in Verse made long ago upon this occasion--
For Man to Act as if his Soul did see The very Brightness of Eternity; For Man to Act as if his Love did burn Above the Spheres, even while it's in its Urne; For Man to Act even in the Wilderness, As if he did those Sovereign Joys possess, Which do at once confirm, stir up, enflame, And perfect Angels; having not the same! It doth increase the value of his Deeds, In this a Man a Seraphim exceeds. To Act on Obligations yet unknown, To Act upon Rewards as yet unshewn, To keep Commands whose Beauty's yet unseen, To Cherish and retain a Zeal between Sleeping and waking; shews a constant care, And that a deeper Love, a Love so rare, That no Eye Service may with it compare. The Angels, who are faithful while they view His Glory, know not what themselves would do, Were they in our Estate! A Dimmer Light Perhaps would make them erre as well as We And in the Coldness of a darker Night Forgetful and Lukewarm Themselves might be. Our very Rust shall cover us with Gold, Our Dust shall sprinkle[L] while their Eyes behold The Glory Springing from a feeble State, Where meer Belief doth, if not conquer Fate Surmount and pass what it doth Antedate.
[From p. 326]
In Matters of Art the force of Temperance is undeniable. It relateth not only to our Meats and Drinks, but to all our Behaviours, Passions, and Desires.
All Musick, Sawces, Feasts, Delights and Pleasures, Games, Dancing, Arts consist in govern'd Measures; Much more do Words and Passions of the Mind In Temperance their sacred Beauty find.
[From pp. 347-9]
If you say it would be Beneficial to God or to that Spectator or that intelligible Power, that Spirit for whom it was made: It is apparent that no Corporeal Being can be serviceable to a Spirit but only by the Beauty of those Services it performeth to other Corporeals that are capable of receiving them, and that therefore all Corporeals must be limited and bounded for each other's sake. And for this Cause it is that a Philosophical Poet said:
As in a Clock, 'tis hinder'd Force doth bring The Wheels to order'd Motion by a Spring; Which order'd Motion guides a steddy Hand In useful sort at Figures just to stand; Which, were it not by Counter-ballance staid, The Fabrick quickly would aside be laid As wholly useless: So a Might too Great But well proportion'd makes the World compleat. Power well-bounded is more Great in Might Than if let loose 'twere wholly Infinite. He could have made an endless Sea by this, But then it had not been a Sea of Bliss; A Sea that's bounded in a finite shore Is better far because it is no more. Should Waters endlessly exceed the Skies They'd drown the World, and all whate'er we prize. Had the bright Sun been Infinite its Flame Had burnt the World, and quite consumed the same. That Flame would yield no splendour to the Sight, 'Twould be but Darkness though 'twere Infinite. One Star made Infinite would all exclude, An Earth made Infinite could ne'er be view'd. But all being bounded for each other's sake, He, bounding all, did all most useful make; And which is best, in Profit and Delight Though not in Bulk, he made all Infinite! He, in his Wisdom, did their use extend By all, to all the World from End to End. In all Things all Things service do to all; And thus a Sand is Endless, though most small, And every Thing is truly Infinite In its Relation deep and exquisite.
[From p. 383 in Chapter XXV On Meekness]
Were all the World a Paradise of Ease 'Twere easie then to live in Peace. Were all men Wise, Divine, and Innocent, Just, Holy, Peaceful and Content, Kind, Loving, True and alwaies Good As in the Golden-Age they stood; 'Twere easie then to live In all Delight and Glory, full of Love, Blest as the Angels are above.
But we such Principles must now attain (If we true blessedness would gain) As those are which will help to make us reign Over Disorders, Injuries, Ingratitudes, Calamities, Affronts, Oppressions, Slanders, Wrongs, Lies, Angers, bitter Tongues; The reach of Malice must surmount, and quell The very Rage and Power of Hell.
[From pp. 394-9]
OF MEEKNESS
I
Mankind is sick, the World distemper'd lies Opprest with Sins and Miseries. Their Sins are Woes; a long corrupted Train Of Poyson, drawn from Adam's vein, Stains all his seed, and all his Kin Are one Disease of Life within; They all torment themselves! The World's one Bedlam, or a greater Cave Of Mad-men that do alwaies rave.
II
The Wise and Good like kind Physicians are, That strive to heal them by their Care; They Physick and their Learning calmly use Although the Patient them abuse, For since the Sickness is (they find) A sad Distemper of the Mind, All railings they impute, All Injuries, unto the sore Disease They are expresly come to ease.
III
If we would to the World's distempered Mind Impute the Rage which there we find, We might, even in the midst of all our Foes Enjoy and feel a sweet Repose, Might pity all the Griefs we see, Anointing every Malady With precious Oil and Balm; And while ourselves are calm, our Art improve To rescue them and show our Love.
IV
But let's not fondly our own selves beguile; If we Revile 'cause they Revile, Ourselves infected with their sore Disease Need other's Helps to give us ease; For we more Mad than they remain, Need to be cut, and need a Chain Far more than they. Our Brain Is craz'd, and if we put our Wit to theirs, We may be justly made their Heirs.
V
But while with open eyes we clearly see The brightness of His Majesty; While all the World by Sin to Satan sold, In daily Wickedness grows old, Men in chains of Darkness lye, In Bondage and Iniquity, And pierce and grieve themselves! The dismal Woes wherein they crawl, enhance The peace of our Inheritance.
VI
We wonder to behold our selves so nigh To so much Sin and Misery, And yet to see our selves so safe from harm! What Amulet, what hidden Charm Could fortifie and raise the Soul So far above them and controul Such fierce Malignity? The brightness and the glory which we see Is made a greater Mystery.
VII
And while we feel how much our God doth love The Peace of Sinners, how much move And sue, and thirst, intreat, lament, and grieve For all the Crimes in which they live, And seek and wait and call again, And long to save them from the pain Of Sin, from all their Woe! With greater thirst as well as grief we try, How to relieve their Misery.
VIII
The life and splendour of Felicity, Whose floods so overflowing be, The streams of Joy which round about his Throne Enrich and fill each Holy One, Are so abundant, that we can Spare all, even all to any Man! And have it all ourselves! Nay, have the more! We long to make them see The sweetness of Felicity.
IX
While we contemplate their Distresses, how Blind Wretches, they in bondage bow, And tear and wound themselves, and vex and groan, And chafe and fret so near His Throne know not what they ail, but lye Tormented in their Misery, (Like Mad-men that are blind) In works of darkness nigh such full Delight: That they might find and see the sight,
X
What would we give! that these might likewise see The Glory of His Majesty The joy and fulness of that high delight Whose Blessedness is infinite! We would even cease to live, to gain Them from their misery and pain, And make them with us reign, For they themselves would be our greatest Treasures, When sav'd our own most Heavenly Pleasures.
XI
O holy Jesus who didst for us die, And on the Altar bleeding lie, Bearing all torment, pain, reproach, and shame, That we, by vertue of the same, Though enemies to God, might be Redeem'd and set at liberty: As thou didst us forgive, So meekly let us love to others shew, And live in Heaven on Earth below.
XII
Let's prize their Souls, and let them be our Gems, Our Temples and our Diadems, Our Brides, our Friends, our fellow-Members, Eyes, Hands, Hearts and Souls, our Victories, And Spoils and Trophies, our own Joys! Compar'd to Souls all else are Toys; O Jesus, let them be Such unto us as they are unto Thee, Vessels of Glory and Felicity!
XIII
How will they love us, when they find our Care Brought them all thither where they are! When they conceive what terror 'tis to dwell In all the punishments of Hell; And in a lively manner see, O Christ, eternal Joys in thee! How will they all delight In praising Thee for us with all their might! How sweet a Grace, how infinite!
[From p. 425]
OF CONTENTMENT
Contentment is a sleepy thing If it in Death alone must die; A quiet Mind is worse than Poverty, Unless it from Enjoyment spring! That's Blessedness alone that makes a King! Wherein the Joys and Treasures are so great, They all the powers of the Soul employ, And fill it with a Work compleat, While it doth all enjoy. True Joys alone Contentment do inspire, Enrich Content and make our Courage higher. Content alone's a dead and silent Stone; The real life of Bliss Is Glory reigning in a Throne, Where all Enjoyment is. The Soul of Man is so inclin'd to see, Without his Treasures no man's Soul can be, Nor rest content Uncrown'd! Desire and Love Must in the height of all their Rapture move, Where there is true Felicity. Employment is the very life and ground Of Life itself; whose pleasant Motion is The form of Bliss: All Blessedness a life with Glory Crown'd: Life! Life is all; in its most full extent Stretcht out to all things, and with all Content!
[From p. 456, Of Magnanimity]
And if the Glory and Esteem I have, Be nothing else than what my Silver gave, If, for no other ground, I am with Love or Praises crown'd, 'Tis such a shame, such vile, such base Repute, 'Tis better starve than eat such empty Fruit.
APPENDIX
The poems in the foregoing pages are derived (as I have already explained) from three separate MS. volumes, and from the author's prose volume, entitled "Christian Ethicks." The bulk of them (ending with "Goodness") are from the folio volume. The remainder--with the exception of the three which are from the volume of "Meditations and Devotions"--are from the prose volume entitled "Centuries of Meditations." I have printed all the poems which I have found in these various sources, with one exception. This is a poem which appears in the folio volume, but which is there crossed through as though marked for suppression.[M] Whether this mark of suppression was made by the author or by another person there are no means of judging; but as the poem in question is, as I think, somewhat below the level of its companions, I have thought it better to reserve it for the appendix than to print it between the poems "Thoughts" I. and II., where it occurs in the MS.
BLISS
I
All Bliss Consists in this, To do as Adam did, And not to know those superficial Toys Which in the Garden once were hid. Those little new-invented things, Cups, saddles, crowns are childish joys, So ribbands are and rings, Which all our happiness destroys.
II
Nor God In His abode, Nor Saints, nor little boys, Nor Angels made them; only foolish men, Grown mad with custom, on those toys, Which more increase their wants, do dote, And when they older are do then Those baubles chiefly note With greedier eyes, more boys tho' men.
To enable the reader to judge whether my hypothesis that the author of "A Serious and Patheticall Contemplation of the Mercies of God" is also the author of the other poems contained in the present volume, is well or ill-founded, I will now print the three poems which appear in the above-mentioned work. They are as follows:
[LIFE'S BLESSEDNESS]
While I, O Lord, exalted by Thy hand Above the skies, in glory seem to stand, The skies being made to serve me, as they do, While I thy Glories in thy Goodness view. To be in Glory higher than the skies Is greater bliss than 'tis in place to rise Above the Stars: More blessed and divine To live and see than like the Sun to shine. O what Profoundness in my Body lies For whom the Earth was made, the Sea, the Skies! So greatly high our human Bodies are That Angels scarcely may with these compare: In all the heights of Glory seated, they Above the Sun in Thine eternal day Are seen to shine; with greater gifts adorned Than Gold with Light or Flesh with Life suborned; Suns are but Servants, Skies beneath their feet; The Stars but Stones; Moons but to serve them meet. Beyond all heights above the World they reign In thy great Throne ordained to remain. All Tropes are Clouds; Truth doth itself excel, Whatever Heights Hyperboles can tell.
[THE RESURRECTION]
Then shall each Limb a spring of Joy be found, And every member with its Glory crown'd: While all the Senses, fill'd with all the Good That ever Ages in them understood Transported are: Containing Worlds of Treasure At one delight with all their Joy and Pleasure, From whence, like Rivers, Joy shall ever flow, Affect the Soul, though in the Body grow, Return again and make the Body shine Like Jesus Christ, while both in one combine. Mysterious Contracts are between the Soul, Which touch the Spirits and by those its Bowl; The Marrow, Bowels, Spirits, melt and move, Dissolving ravish, teach them how to love. He that could bring the Heavens thro' the eye, And make the World within the Fancy lie, By beams of Light that closing meet in one, From all the parts of His celestial Throne, Far more than this in framing Bliss can do, Inflame the Body and the Spirit too: Can make the Soul by Sense to feel and see, And with her Joy the Senses wrap'd to be: Yea, while the Flesh or Body subject lies To those Affections which in Souls arise; All holy Glories from the Soul redound, And in the Body by the Soul abound, Are felt within and ravish ev'ry Sense With all the Godhead's glorious Excellence, Who found the way Himself to dwell within, As if even Flesh were nigh to Him of kin: His Goodness, Wisdom, Power, Love Divine, Make by the Soul convey'd the Body shine, Not like the Sun (that earthly Darkness is) But in the strengths and heights of all this bliss, For God designed thy Body for His sake, A Temple of the Deity to make.
THE WAYS OF WISDOM
"Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace."
These sweeter far than lilies are, No roses may with these compare! How these excel No tongue can tell, Which he that well and truly knows With praise and joy he goes! How great and happy's he that knows his ways To be divine and heavenly Joys: To whom each city is more brave Than walls of pearl and streets which gold doth pave: Whose open eyes Behold the skies; Who loves their wealth and beauty more Than kings love golden ore! Who sees the heavenly ancient ways Of God the Lord with joy and praise, More than the skies With open eyes Doth prize them all; yea, more than gems, And regal diadems; That more esteemeth mountains, as they are, Than if they gold and silver were: To whom the sun more pleasure brings Than crowns and thrones and palaces to kings: That knows his ways To be the joys And way of God--those things who knows With joy and praise he goes!
I do not think it is necessary to spend much time or ink in endeavouring to prove that the author of these three poems must have been also the writer of the other poems contained in this volume. Unless it be contended that no conclusion as to authorship can be drawn from similarity of style, sentiment, and peculiarities of expression, I do not see how it is possible for any one who carefully considers the matter to entertain a reasonable doubt about it. Not even the hypothesis of imitation by one author of the style of another can here be entertained--for no man can imitate what is not known to him.
Every poet has his special topics, his favourite terms of expression, his peculiar vocabulary, and even his pet rhymes, which are bound to appear often in his verse. I think it may be truly said that there is nothing in the three poems taken from "A Serious and Patheticall Contemplation of the Mercies of God" which cannot be paralleled in the other poems contained in this volume. All are characterised by the same fervent piety, the same command of expression and musical diction, the same dwelling upon the ideas that though God is necessary to man, yet man also is necessary to God, and that the body (instead of being, according to the ordinary theological belief, a _corpus vile_ of corruption) is "a spring of Joy" crowned with glory; and the same continual allusions to the great natural phenomena. When to these resemblances we add the many small coincidences of words and phrases which are always recurring in the poems, the evidence of common authorship becomes too strong to be resisted.
Perhaps it may be worth while to quote a few instances of these resemblances out of the many which might be given. In the second stanza of "The Person" we have
Men's hands than angels' wings Are truer wealth even here below.
In "Life's Blessedness" we have
So greatly high our human bodies are That Angels scarcely may with them compare.
In the fifth stanza of "The Estate" we have
The laws of God, the Works he did create, His ancient ways, are His and my Estate.
In "The Ways of Wisdom" we have
Who sees the heavenly ancient ways.
In "Thoughts IV." we have
The very heavens in their sacred worth At once serve us and set his Glory forth.
In "Life's Blessedness" we have
The skies being made to serve me, as they do, While I Thy Glories in Thy Goodness view.
In "The Influx" we have
No soul but stone, no man but clay am I.
In "Life's Blessedness" we have
The stars but stones.
The reader will doubtless have observed that our poet was very fond of using "treasure" and a "pleasure" as rhymes. He seldom omits to bring them in in a poem of any length, and it will be observed that they are introduced in "The Resurrection." Certain defective rhymes (or no rhymes) also occur pretty frequently, as "lay," "joy," "away," "enjoy." In "The Ways of Wisdom" we have "ways" and "joys."
I think I have produced evidence enough to convince the reader of the soundness of my contention: if not, I will undertake to produce a good deal more. It is fortunate, indeed, that "A Serious and Patheticall Contemplation" should have stolen into print (for neither at the time of its publication nor subsequently does it appear to have attracted any attention), since without it we should have had no clue to the authorship of these poems.
* * * * *
Mr. W. T. Brooke has discovered in the British Museum a broadside with the following title, "A Congratulatory Poem on the Right Honourable S^r Orlando Bridgman, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal of England," which, he suggests, may possibly have been written by the author of the poems here printed. But though it is a poem of considerable merit, it has, in my opinion, no correspondence in style with Traherne's poems. A few lines from it, however, will not be altogether out of place here:
Were all your own Rolls searcht scarce should we find That noble seat filled with so fit a mind: So brave a mind as baseness ne'er allays, So great a mind as greatness cannot raise, So just a mind as interest can't seduce, So wise a mind as colours can't abuse, So large a mind as largest Trusts do crave, So calm a mind as Equity should have. High Courtships construed in the present tense, Law's Oracle without perplexed sense, A sober piety in a virtuoso, And an Orlando without Furioso.
TRAHERNE'S "SERIOUS AND PATHETICALL CONTEMPLATION OF THE MERCIES OF GOD"
This book would hardly be complete without some account of the above work. It is a small 12mo volume of 146 pages, with an engraved frontispiece. It is written--excepting the three pieces of verse which I have already printed--in a kind of unrhymed verse, which is curiously suggestive of the style of Whitman's "Leaves of Grass," particularly in the frequent passages in which the author enumerates or catalogues, as the American poet does, every object he can think of which bears any relation to his theme. There were, of course, more points of unlikeness than of likeness between the two poets, but they at least resembled each other in their invincible optimism, as well as in the points mentioned above. Whitman could not have known of the existence of the "Serious and Patheticall Contemplation"; but had it been accessible to him, it might well have been suspected that he was under some obligations to it.
The booklet consists of a series of "Thanksgivings" for the Body, the Soul, the Glory of God's Works, the Blessedness of God's Ways, the Wisdom of His Word, &c. There is much poetry and beauty of expression in these "Thanksgivings," and they are valuable also for the light which they occasionally throw upon passages in the poems which might else seem obscure. Thus the following passages from the "Thanksgiving for the Body" may be profitably compared with "The Salutation" and "Wonder":
I will praise Thee, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made, marvellous are Thy works; and that my Soul knoweth right well.
My substance was not hid from Thee when I was made in secret and curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.
Thine eyes did see my substance yet being unperfect; and in thy book all my members were written; which in continuance were fashioned when as yet there was none of them.
* * * * *
O Lord! Thou hast given me a body, Wherein the glory of Thy Power shineth, Wonderfully composed above the beasts, Within distinguished into useful parts, Beautified without with many ornaments. Limbs rarely pois'd, And made for Heaven: Arteries fill'd With celestial spirits: Veins wherein blood floweth, Refreshing all my flesh. Like rivers: Sinews fraught with the mystery Of wonderful strength, Stability, Feeling. O blessed be Thy glorious Name! That Thou hast made it A Treasury of Wonders, Fit for its several Ages; For Dissections, For Sculptures in Brass, For Draughts in Anatomy, For the contemplation of the Sages.
I quote the following passage from "A Thanksgiving and Prayer for the Nation" not merely because it is fine in itself, but also because it affords us yet another interesting glimpse of the author's personality:
O Lord, the children of my people are Thy peculiar treasures, Make them mine, O God, even while I have them, My lovely companions, like Eve in Eden! So much my treasure that all other wealth is without them But dross and poverty. Do they not adorn and beautifie the World, And gratify my Soul which hateth Solitude! Thou, Lord, hast made thy servant a sociable creature, for which I praise thy name, A lover of company, a delighter in equals; Replenish the inclination which Thyself hath implanted, And give me eyes To see the beauty of that life and comfort Wherewith those by their actions Inspire the nations. Their Markets, Tillage, Courts of Judicature, Marriages, Feasts and Assemblies, Navys, Armies, Priests and Sabbaths, Trades and Business, the voice of the Bridegroom, Musical Instruments, the light of Candles, and the grinding of Mills Are comfortable, O Lord, let them not cease. The riches of the land are all the materials of my felicity in their hands: They are my Factors, Substitutes, and Stewards; Second Selves, who by Trade and Business animate my wealth, Which else would be dead and rust in my hands; But when I consider, O Lord, how they come unto thy Temples, fill thy Courts, and sing Thy praises, O how wonderful they then appear! What Stars, Enflaming Suns, Enlarging Seas Of Divine Affection, Confirming Paterns, Infusing Influence, Do I feel in these! Who are the shining light Of all the land (to my very Soul:) Wings and Streams Carrying me unto thee, The Sea of Goodness from whence they came.
Have we not here a very remarkable anticipation of the leading thought of Whitman's "Leaves of Grass"? Do we not see in both poets the same deep love of and delight in humanity, the same feeling of comradeship and brotherhood with all men, the same hunger for sympathy and reciprocal affection, the same pleasure in the common things of life and nature, and the same frank acceptance of things as they are, and not as they might be? I have said that there is more unlikeness than likeness between the poets--but is it really so? Does not the above passage show that beneath all apparent differences there was a fundamental resemblance in their characters? To say the least, there was this resemblance--that both of them found life supremely well worth living, and never doubted, even when the clouds were blackest, that the sun was shining beyond them.
THE WILL OF THOMAS TRAHERNE, AS REGISTERED IN THE PREROGATIVE COURT OF CANTERBURY
Memorandum that Thomas Traherne late of Teddington in the County of Midd Clerk deceased in the time of the sickness whereof he dyed and vpon or about the Seaven and Twentyth of September 1674 having sent for John Berdo Gent to come to him the said Thomas Traherne then lying sick at the Lady Bridgmans house in Teddington and the said Mr Berdo being come vnto him he the said Thomas Traherne being then of perfect mind and memory vsed these or the like words to the said Mr. Berdo viz^t. I haue sent for you to make my Will for mee or to that effect. Whereupon the said Mr Berdo asked of him the said Mr Thomas Traherne whether he would haue it made in Writing. To which the said Thomas Traherne answeared in these or the like words viz^t. Noe I haue not so much but that I can dispose of it by Word of Mouth or to that effect And the said Thomas Traherne being then of perfect mind and memory by Word of Mouth with an intent to make his Will and to settle and dispose of his Goods and Estate did vtter and speake these or the like words viz^t. I desire my Lady Bridgman and her daughter the Lady Charlott should haue each of them a Ring. And to you (speaking to the said Mr. Berdo) I give Tenn Pounds and to Mrs Cockson Tenn shillings and to Phillipp Landman ffyve shillings and to John Rowland the Gardiner ffyve shillings and to Mary the Laundry maid ffyve shillings and to all the rest of the servants half a crowne apeece. My best Hatt I give it to my brother Phillipp. And sister (speaking to Mrs Susan Traherne the wife of his brother Phillipp which Susan was then present) I desire you would keepe it for him. And all the rest of my Clothes that is worth your acceptance I give to you. And for those that are not worth your accepting I would have you to giue them to Phillipp Landman or to whome you please with my old Hatt. All my Books I give to my brother Phillipp. And (still speaking to the said Mrs Susan then present) I make you and my brother Phillipp my whole Executors which words or the like in effect The said Thomas Traherne being then of perfect mind and memory did then utter Animo testandi and with an intent that the same should stand and be as and for his last Will and Testament in the presence and hearing of John Berdo Alice Cockson and Mary Linum.
John Berdo Alice Cockson The Mark of Mary Linum.
* * * * *
Proved at London 22 Oct 1674 by Susan Traherne, one of the Executors, to whom administration was granted, power being reserved of making the like grant to Philip Traherne, the other executor, should he ask for the same.
Printed by BALLANTYNE & CO. LIMITED Tavistock Street, London
BOOKS WRITTEN OR EDITED BY
BERTRAM DOBELL
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SIDELIGHTS ON CHARLES LAMB
This work contains much new matter relating to Charles Lamb, his works and his friends. It comprises a number of essays, poems, and short articles, some of which are certainly by Lamb, while others are probably his. One of them, which is undoubtedly by Lamb, tells, under the guise of a humorous fiction, the story of a curious and hitherto unknown incident in the author's life. Other pieces contained in the volume, whether written by Lamb, or by imitators of his style, will be found to be of quite remarkable interest and curiosity.
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ROSEMARY AND PANSIES
"There's rosemary for you, that's for remembrance; pray, love, remember: and there's pansies, that's for thoughts."
_Hamlet_, Act iv. sc. 5.
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"Mr. Dobell's volume will be liked by all who value wit, humour, and sincerity in verse."--_The Observer._
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THE POETICAL WORKS OF JAMES THOMSON ("B.V.")
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THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT AND OTHER POEMS (Selected)
By JAMES THOMSON ("B.V.")
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A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY
By OLIVER GOLDSMITH
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WORKS PREPARING FOR PUBLICATION
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CENTURIES OF MEDITATION
By THOMAS TRAHERNE
Traherne is no less excellent as a prose writer than as a poet; indeed, I think it is not too much to say that his prose will bear comparison with that of any English writer of the seventeenth century. It is remarkable for its ease, spirit, eloquence, and suppleness--qualities which are not often found in combination in the writers of that period.
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THE POEMS OF WILLIAM STRODE
[1602-1645]
Now first collected from Manuscript and Printed Sources, together with his Play entitled
THE FLOATING ISLAND
_NOW FIRST REPRINTED_
There is no more singular circumstance in the history of English literature than the fact that the writings of so fine a poet as William Strode should have remained for such a length of time neglected and forgotten. He had a great reputation in his lifetime, and his poems were largely circulated in manuscript among the literary circles of the time. His play, entitled "The Floating Island," which had been performed before Charles I. and his Court in 1636, was published in 1655, with a preface in which the editors promised that if it met with a good reception, more of the author's writings should follow. This promise, however, owing perhaps to the political disturbances of the time, was never fulfilled; and Strode has ever since remained a mere shadow so far as any knowledge of his writings and personality is concerned. With the publication of this volume he will take the place to which he is entitled besides such poets as Carew, Cartwright, Randolph and Corbet.
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GLEANINGS FROM MANUSCRIPTS
BEING POEMS AND DRAMATIC WORKS OF THE SIXTEENTH AND SEVENTEENTH CENTURIES
Now first printed from manuscripts, most of which are in my own possession.
This series, which will, I hope, extend to three or four volumes, will consist chiefly of unprinted matter which I have discovered in the course of my researches among manuscripts of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The works of several authors not hitherto known to fame will be included in the contents of these volumes. Among them the names of Nicholas Oldisworth and M. Johnson may be particularly mentioned. Both of them are writers of very considerable merit, and are well worthy of being rescued from the obscurity in which they have so long rested. Another feature of the collection will be copies of the poems of many well-known writers, which will be printed because the manuscript versions which I possess exhibit many variations from the printed texts. Altogether, I venture to say that all scholars and students of our old literature will welcome these volumes and recognise their value.
* * * * *
_For further particulars of the above works, and of others which I have in contemplation, see a Prospectus which is now ready, and which will be forwarded on application._
FOOTNOTES:
[A] See "Archæologia," vol. xxxvii, p. 204.
[B] "Roman Forgeries" must have had some popularity in its time, for it is, unlike "Christian Ethicks," a tolerably common book. Fifteen years after its publication Dean Comber, a writer of some note in his day, published a work of similar character, and with the same title. As Traherne's book was published anonymously, Dean Comber has usually received credit for that as well as for his own work. The Dean was a man of considerable ability, and he would hardly have been pleased had he been told that he would only be remembered in future times as the writer who helped himself to a striking title at the expense of one who was far superior to himself in character and genius.
[C] See "Nova Solyma": an Anonymous Romance. With Introduction, Translation, &c., by the Rev. Walter Begley. (1903.)
[D] "Nature is the great spendthrift. She will burn up the world some day to attain what will probably seem to us a very inadequate end; and in order to have things stated at their worst, once for all, in English, she took a splendid genius and made him--an army schoolmaster; starved his intellect, starved his heart, starved his body. All the adversity of the world smote him; and that nothing should be wanting to her purpose Nature took care that the very sun should smite him also! Time will avenge him: he is among the immortals."--John Davidson, in the _Speaker_, June 17, 1899.
[E] This poem is included in the "Oxford Book of English Verse"; and the Rev. Orby Shipley has included two of Traherne's poems in his "Carmina Mariana."
[F] It is not only in "My Spirit" that we find traces of Traherne's Berkeleianism. See the "Hymn on St. Bartholomew's Day," "The Preparative," and various passages in other poems. I do not contend, however, that we have the idea in a clear and unmistakable form anywhere but in "My Spirit."
[G] This title was probably the invention of the publisher--one Samuel Keble--and not of the author.
[H] From certain indications in the folio manuscript, from which the bulk of the poems in the present volume are derived, it seems clear that there must be a considerable quantity of verse by Traherne which has not yet been recovered. Appended to several poems in the folio volume are references to other poems, as, for example, at the end of "Innocence," "An Infant Eye, p. 1," and "Adam, p. 12." Other poems thus mentioned are "News," "The Odor," "The Inheritance," "The Evidence," "The Center," and "Insatiableness." As the manuscript volume containing these pieces consisted of at least 142 pages, it seems likely that the present volume contains not more than one half of Traherne's poetical works. It may be hoped, but hardly expected, that the volume containing the poems mentioned above will some day be recovered. Possibly this mention of it may, if it still exists, lead to its eventual discovery.
[I] In Traherne's "Centuries of Meditations" this poem is preceded by the following note: "Upon those pure and virgin apprehensions which I had in my infancy I made this Poem."
[J] These five lines have an alternative reading:
The Sun itself doth in its glory shine, And gold and silver out of very mire, And pearls and rubies out of earth refine; While herbs and flowers aspire To touch and make our feet divine.
[K] It is doubtful whether this poem is by Traherne.
[L] (?) Sparkle.
[M] Several passages in other poems are thus marked. Usually where these marks appear--but not invariably so--there is a slight falling off in the author's inspiration. As these passages, however, could not be omitted without leaving palpable _lacunæ_ in the poems, I have taken no notice of them (save in one instance where I have suppressed a stanza which is clearly superfluous), preferring to leave the critical reader to discover such inequalities for himself.
Transcriber's Note:
1. Caret letters are shown as ^x.
2. Italics are shown as _xxx_.
3. All original spelling has been retained.