The poems of George Daniel ... From the original mss. in the British Museum: Hitherto unprinted. Edited, with introduction, notes, and illustrations, portrait, &c. By the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart: In four volumes |
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| XIX. |
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| XXI. |
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| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. | Chap. xxxviii. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
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 | Chap. xxxviii. The poems of George Daniel |  |
XXXVIII. Chap. xxxviii.
Give the Phisitian honour, not alone
Because of need, but for 's Creation;
For Medicine is from Heaven; heaven will blesse
A good endeavour, happie in Success;
Kings shall enrich him with a Pension,
His Wisedome gives him Exaltation;
Nobles will praise him, who by Science can
Apt Medicine, as by Creation:
It was ordain'd to Cure, or to prevent
A present Sicknes, or an imminent;
Wise Men despise not this; was not the flood
Of Marah bitter, by a Tree made good?
That Men might know in it a facultie
Of Vertue, Excellent to Glorifie
Him, in his Creatures; more, he doth impart
Knowledge to Man, to Moderate the Smart
Of rageing Vlcers; cure the Members vex't,
And free the Bodie in disease perplex't;
Art makes the Composition; but the Cure
Rests to a higher Will, 'bove Mortall power;
A Power that makes art happy in Successe,
Gives, at his pleasure, Health, Ioy, Wealth, & Peace.
Because of need, but for 's Creation;
For Medicine is from Heaven; heaven will blesse
A good endeavour, happie in Success;
Kings shall enrich him with a Pension,
His Wisedome gives him Exaltation;
Nobles will praise him, who by Science can
Apt Medicine, as by Creation:
It was ordain'd to Cure, or to prevent
A present Sicknes, or an imminent;
Wise Men despise not this; was not the flood
Of Marah bitter, by a Tree made good?
That Men might know in it a facultie
Of Vertue, Excellent to Glorifie
Him, in his Creatures; more, he doth impart
Knowledge to Man, to Moderate the Smart
Of rageing Vlcers; cure the Members vex't,
79
Art makes the Composition; but the Cure
Rests to a higher Will, 'bove Mortall power;
A Power that makes art happy in Successe,
Gives, at his pleasure, Health, Ioy, Wealth, & Peace.
“Be not deiect in Sicknes; though thou be
“Tortur'd in Body, let thy Mind be free;
“Let not the Feaver seize thy Nobler part,
“But pray to Heaven, with a perfect heart;
“Desist from Sin, in Almes be Conversant,
“Confess thy follies, & thy faults repent;
“Appease Heaven's fury wth thy Sacrifice,
“And seale thy Peace with off'rings; then advise
“With Art, for God allowes it; vse his Care,
“And honour him, for Sicknes may empaire
Thy boasted Strength, to fall into his hand,
By greife & Sad necessitie constrain'd;
His praiers goe with his Medicine, that, that may be
Of vse, & give the Bodie Sanitie;
Infirmitie, the Wage of Sin, & who
Hath never Sinned, need noe Phisitian know;
Lament my Son, poure forth aboundant tears,
Performe all duties to the silent Herse;
Not superficiall obsequies, but turne,
Wh A full heart, to Celebrate the vrne,
Of the Deceaséd; give him all the rites
Of holy Buriall, obscure all Delights
In his dear Memorie; but recall in time
Thy deprest Spiritts, in the loss of him,
To a fresh Light; for, know, immoderate greife
Confounds the vitalls & dissolveth life;
Sorrow is of the heart; a heart opprest,
Weares out a Life, in Sadnes & vnrest.
“Tortur'd in Body, let thy Mind be free;
“Let not the Feaver seize thy Nobler part,
“But pray to Heaven, with a perfect heart;
“Desist from Sin, in Almes be Conversant,
“Confess thy follies, & thy faults repent;
“Appease Heaven's fury wth thy Sacrifice,
“And seale thy Peace with off'rings; then advise
“With Art, for God allowes it; vse his Care,
“And honour him, for Sicknes may empaire
Thy boasted Strength, to fall into his hand,
By greife & Sad necessitie constrain'd;
His praiers goe with his Medicine, that, that may be
Of vse, & give the Bodie Sanitie;
Infirmitie, the Wage of Sin, & who
Hath never Sinned, need noe Phisitian know;
Lament my Son, poure forth aboundant tears,
Performe all duties to the silent Herse;
Not superficiall obsequies, but turne,
Wh A full heart, to Celebrate the vrne,
Of the Deceaséd; give him all the rites
Of holy Buriall, obscure all Delights
In his dear Memorie; but recall in time
Thy deprest Spiritts, in the loss of him,
80
Confounds the vitalls & dissolveth life;
Sorrow is of the heart; a heart opprest,
Weares out a Life, in Sadnes & vnrest.
Correct thy Passion, let thy greife decline;
Know 'tis now his ffate, & it must be thine;
From death is noe retreate; he shall not have
Ioy in thy Tears, mispent vpon his Grave;
Thinke 'twas decreed, & moderate thy Sorrow,
'Tis mine to Day, & may be Thine to morrow;
He resteth happie, let him rest in Peace,
Comfort thy selfe, let needles sorrowes cease.
Know 'tis now his ffate, & it must be thine;
From death is noe retreate; he shall not have
Ioy in thy Tears, mispent vpon his Grave;
Thinke 'twas decreed, & moderate thy Sorrow,
'Tis mine to Day, & may be Thine to morrow;
He resteth happie, let him rest in Peace,
Comfort thy selfe, let needles sorrowes cease.
Leasure doth adde to Learneing, in the Quest
Of Wisedome Studious; Learneing is not Rest,
But a retire from noise, from worldly Care;
To Ioy in Raptures, ffixe vpon the ffaire
Ideas of Beatitude, to find
Things beyond Knowledge, wth a perfect mind.
Of Wisedome Studious; Learneing is not Rest,
But a retire from noise, from worldly Care;
To Ioy in Raptures, ffixe vpon the ffaire
Ideas of Beatitude, to find
Things beyond Knowledge, wth a perfect mind.
How is the Plow-man Wise? his wisedome rests
To cast vp furrowes, & converse with Beasts;
To strike his whip, & to direct his Teeme;
Talkes of his Cattle, & of nought but Them.
In like, all Crafts-Men, Serious in their Trade,
Alas, what doth their Toile to Wisedome adde?
One grindeth stones, another makes them bright,
Another cutts them, makes it his delight
To grave Exactly; and another, strife
Is in his heart to Paralel the Life,
And Limne perfection; tortur's his poore braine,
To Modell beautie; and another, vaine
As he, t' out doe the Pencill, gives the same
Wrought by the Needle, in a curious frame.
The Smith his Anvill loveth, makes a ffire;
The very vtmost of his low desire,
To apt the Mettall; thrusts his scorchéd Browes
Into the flames; vntroubled in his vse,
The Hammer's clatter, to confound his sense,
And distract capable Intelligence;
His Eyes walke with his hammers, & his blisse
Is in his Labour; knowes noe ioy but this.
The Potter makes his Labour his Delight,
And Spends his Time, Bright day & pensive Night,
Serious, to Mold Earth, & proportion Clay,
Reiecting This, & chuseing th' other way;
Then trimmes the worke, & puts a Subtle glosse
Vpon the Mettall, busied in his Drosse;
These depend to their worke, & all Employ
Their Wisedome in their Labour, place a Ioy
In their endeavors; bend their faculties
To perfect trifles; ah! how fondly Wise!
'Tis true they stand the Rafters to a State,
T' vphold the Body, make it Rich & Greate;
And thus they serue; but to the high affaire
Of Sacred Iustice or th' Imperiall Chaire,
They are not Chosen; they not know the Course
Of Law in Iustice; nor the height, the force
Of Government; they are vnfitt att all
To debate rights, or things materiall;
Only to drudge, & in their Sweat maintaine
The Publicke glorie, for a private paine.
To cast vp furrowes, & converse with Beasts;
To strike his whip, & to direct his Teeme;
Talkes of his Cattle, & of nought but Them.
In like, all Crafts-Men, Serious in their Trade,
Alas, what doth their Toile to Wisedome adde?
One grindeth stones, another makes them bright,
Another cutts them, makes it his delight
To grave Exactly; and another, strife
Is in his heart to Paralel the Life,
And Limne perfection; tortur's his poore braine,
81
As he, t' out doe the Pencill, gives the same
Wrought by the Needle, in a curious frame.
The Smith his Anvill loveth, makes a ffire;
The very vtmost of his low desire,
To apt the Mettall; thrusts his scorchéd Browes
Into the flames; vntroubled in his vse,
The Hammer's clatter, to confound his sense,
And distract capable Intelligence;
His Eyes walke with his hammers, & his blisse
Is in his Labour; knowes noe ioy but this.
The Potter makes his Labour his Delight,
And Spends his Time, Bright day & pensive Night,
Serious, to Mold Earth, & proportion Clay,
Reiecting This, & chuseing th' other way;
Then trimmes the worke, & puts a Subtle glosse
Vpon the Mettall, busied in his Drosse;
These depend to their worke, & all Employ
Their Wisedome in their Labour, place a Ioy
In their endeavors; bend their faculties
To perfect trifles; ah! how fondly Wise!
'Tis true they stand the Rafters to a State,
T' vphold the Body, make it Rich & Greate;
And thus they serue; but to the high affaire
Of Sacred Iustice or th' Imperiall Chaire,
They are not Chosen; they not know the Course
Of Law in Iustice; nor the height, the force
Of Government; they are vnfitt att all
82
Only to drudge, & in their Sweat maintaine
The Publicke glorie, for a private paine.
| Chap. xxxviii. The poems of George Daniel | |