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 |
 | I. |
|
|
|
|
|
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
| LVII. |
| LVIII. |
| LIX. |
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| III, IV. |
|
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. | Idyll 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
 | The poems of George Daniel |  |
Idyll 2.
But yt I know my heart, I could contemne
All Government, & Quarrell wth the Name,
Or wth as great an Ease assert the Hand
Of any wch wee see, or vnderstand.
Since Man has lost himselfe, it is but Iust
He suffer, to the Libertie he lost;
For once that word had weight, & whineing Man
Hangs to the Plumme; let fall, a Child againe;
Squints or'e his Shoulders & is either caught
Backe into Hell; or Stands a Heap of Salt;
Astonishment, or Fury, fills him vp
Beyond his Faith, or yet beyond his Hope.
All Government, & Quarrell wth the Name,
Or wth as great an Ease assert the Hand
Of any wch wee see, or vnderstand.
Since Man has lost himselfe, it is but Iust
He suffer, to the Libertie he lost;
For once that word had weight, & whineing Man
Hangs to the Plumme; let fall, a Child againe;
Squints or'e his Shoulders & is either caught
Backe into Hell; or Stands a Heap of Salt;
Astonishment, or Fury, fills him vp
Beyond his Faith, or yet beyond his Hope.
'Tis easie to speake hard; but where we groane
Vnder the Yoake, wee rather vse our owne;
Passions sitt heavy; Tirant greife, may lay
A Wast in Witt, and force it any way;
As tender Soules, tost in a flood of feares
When they want wordes express themselves in tears;
For Nature Charg'd, assayes the weakest part
And pressing Thoughts, tumble downe, hills of Art;
The Iutty of Discretion, & the wide
Meadow of Fancy, drownéd in the Tide;
Stand, neither Fence nor Beautie; one drown'd heape
And not an Arke! poore Man! how shall he Scape!
Vnder the Yoake, wee rather vse our owne;
Passions sitt heavy; Tirant greife, may lay
A Wast in Witt, and force it any way;
As tender Soules, tost in a flood of feares
When they want wordes express themselves in tears;
For Nature Charg'd, assayes the weakest part
And pressing Thoughts, tumble downe, hills of Art;
The Iutty of Discretion, & the wide
Meadow of Fancy, drownéd in the Tide;
214
And not an Arke! poore Man! how shall he Scape!
Wee've wrapt our selfe yet warmer, & ye Corke
Boyes the lost Anchor; if it be our worke,
To Combat Seas, & Riot in the Deepe;
Strike a bold Arme, 'tis ours; methinks I sleepe
Now on a Dolphin's back; Ship-threat'ninge Shoales
Bind nearer Shore; the monstrous Whale (wch Roles
The Ocean, wth his Breath, & Yawnes the Brine
As its recesse) his wonted path declines.
What feare ye old Harpe Strikes! for 'tis not all
Fable you read; Pithægorus may Call
Wisedome, by many Names; & Somewhat nere
Divinitie, give to the Nations here;
Silence a happines here taught, as though
Words were soe much a Dagger; did I know
'T wiser were not to Speake then where to Speake
May ease the Pang, I'de hold; but these are weake
Dreames, in Beatitude, & Sickly Tasts
Of Somewhat, for a cure, wch over-hasts
The fainted Spirits, & a Caspian Trance
Whistles the Blood new measures to her Dance;
For Feavered Minds, who their owne Pallats dresse
Wth hopes & Feares, Shift Sides, & find noe Ease.
Let vs not dreame our Time; though Fame pursued
Make dangers Easie, cōmentaried Blood
Transforms the Sheet, & horrid Murder made;
Glory keepes Shop, and makes it a free Trade;
Empire, the Law of Armes; wee over-paint
Iustice, still sworded, but her Scales doth want.
Boyes the lost Anchor; if it be our worke,
To Combat Seas, & Riot in the Deepe;
Strike a bold Arme, 'tis ours; methinks I sleepe
Now on a Dolphin's back; Ship-threat'ninge Shoales
Bind nearer Shore; the monstrous Whale (wch Roles
The Ocean, wth his Breath, & Yawnes the Brine
As its recesse) his wonted path declines.
What feare ye old Harpe Strikes! for 'tis not all
Fable you read; Pithægorus may Call
Wisedome, by many Names; & Somewhat nere
Divinitie, give to the Nations here;
Silence a happines here taught, as though
Words were soe much a Dagger; did I know
'T wiser were not to Speake then where to Speake
May ease the Pang, I'de hold; but these are weake
Dreames, in Beatitude, & Sickly Tasts
Of Somewhat, for a cure, wch over-hasts
The fainted Spirits, & a Caspian Trance
Whistles the Blood new measures to her Dance;
For Feavered Minds, who their owne Pallats dresse
Wth hopes & Feares, Shift Sides, & find noe Ease.
Let vs not dreame our Time; though Fame pursued
Make dangers Easie, cōmentaried Blood
Transforms the Sheet, & horrid Murder made;
Glory keepes Shop, and makes it a free Trade;
215
Iustice, still sworded, but her Scales doth want.
'Tis a sad Truth, & though the story faile
Eaten by Time, & Cunninge to availe
The Pedigree of Power; Old Nimrod's Dust
(Too mighty for one Vrne) breakes ope the Chest
And rides vpon all windes; where every graine
Springs Tirant, & the world yet feeles his Raigne.
Such propagating Iellyes, nere distill
Without their Mandrakes; whose first hissings kill.
How much more fatall, more emproved Slime,
When Gallowes-Spawne, but only threatens him
Whose lucke, or Curiositie, dislodg'd
Him first; but these dire Basilisks keepe Edg'd
Vnto all Commers; & as Safe endure
Her Sight (wer all writ true) as breathing Power.
Eaten by Time, & Cunninge to availe
The Pedigree of Power; Old Nimrod's Dust
(Too mighty for one Vrne) breakes ope the Chest
And rides vpon all windes; where every graine
Springs Tirant, & the world yet feeles his Raigne.
Such propagating Iellyes, nere distill
Without their Mandrakes; whose first hissings kill.
How much more fatall, more emproved Slime,
When Gallowes-Spawne, but only threatens him
Whose lucke, or Curiositie, dislodg'd
Him first; but these dire Basilisks keepe Edg'd
Vnto all Commers; & as Safe endure
Her Sight (wer all writ true) as breathing Power.
When the Mad Youth of Macedon, (whose Pride
Scorn'd Phillip, Father, would be Deified;)
Had Swept the panting East, & horrid Crimes
Open'd his way to Conquest, in the Times;
Fatt Persia, t'his Voluptuous Appetite
Fell, like her boasted Bird, one Morsell Bitt;
Rage triumpht in his Will; & fury claw'd
His helpers; & the world, by one, was aw'd.
One, who abate his errors, and display
His faire Side from what flatterie can Say
Was Equall'd in his Hoast; the Drunken edge
Of Iealousie, strikes Vertue; Insolent Rage
Tramples downe Pietie; & though wee keepe
Reverence, to Faith, when wee see Cæsar weepe
O're Pompey's head; who smiles not to delude
Himselfe, in such a Pitty? who pursued
Ambition, through their Empire; German Wasts
Manur'd with Native Blood, & sped as fast
(Lavish in Murders) as their Rhine; wch gives
Noe pause, till the wide Ocean him receives.
Hee plow'd Iberian Sands; well-peopled Gaule,
Lay'd desart; proud in Blood; & wears butt All
The Tropheyes of his Arme, rude servitour
To Puttocks; layd the Earth, one Table o're
For empty Wolves; ye Slaughter-man of Fate;
And as he had not yet attained the height
Of Horror, in Distinction; Hee must act
His owne portentous Dreame; Rome though Sack't,
His Mother, soe polluted, was not All;
But he must make her Childless; & ye fall
Of her long-boasted Senate, paves the new
Name of his Glory; yet hee's Modest too,
And off'red Soveraigntie refuses, more
To Swell himselfe; Names vary, not the Power.
'Tis not the fatall Rex, doth only Sting;
A Commonwealth's a Tirant, as a King;
And gown'd Austerity, though it may weare
More Face, is but the Arme which threatens here.
Scorn'd Phillip, Father, would be Deified;)
Had Swept the panting East, & horrid Crimes
Open'd his way to Conquest, in the Times;
Fatt Persia, t'his Voluptuous Appetite
Fell, like her boasted Bird, one Morsell Bitt;
Rage triumpht in his Will; & fury claw'd
His helpers; & the world, by one, was aw'd.
One, who abate his errors, and display
His faire Side from what flatterie can Say
Was Equall'd in his Hoast; the Drunken edge
Of Iealousie, strikes Vertue; Insolent Rage
216
Reverence, to Faith, when wee see Cæsar weepe
O're Pompey's head; who smiles not to delude
Himselfe, in such a Pitty? who pursued
Ambition, through their Empire; German Wasts
Manur'd with Native Blood, & sped as fast
(Lavish in Murders) as their Rhine; wch gives
Noe pause, till the wide Ocean him receives.
Hee plow'd Iberian Sands; well-peopled Gaule,
Lay'd desart; proud in Blood; & wears butt All
The Tropheyes of his Arme, rude servitour
To Puttocks; layd the Earth, one Table o're
For empty Wolves; ye Slaughter-man of Fate;
And as he had not yet attained the height
Of Horror, in Distinction; Hee must act
His owne portentous Dreame; Rome though Sack't,
His Mother, soe polluted, was not All;
But he must make her Childless; & ye fall
Of her long-boasted Senate, paves the new
Name of his Glory; yet hee's Modest too,
And off'red Soveraigntie refuses, more
To Swell himselfe; Names vary, not the Power.
'Tis not the fatall Rex, doth only Sting;
A Commonwealth's a Tirant, as a King;
And gown'd Austerity, though it may weare
More Face, is but the Arme which threatens here.
How could I Pitty Rage; or foole my owne
Reason, to praise hands of Destruction;
I should lament his Name, who Tirant once
Over the World, lash't home, when threatned France
And Italy Subdued, Seal'd Empire, nigh
To Carthage; I could mourne that Prodigie
Whipt by the Surly Gowne; Emulous in
His Glory, feare his Power; for 'tis noe Sin
To thinke Men wicked; & the Itch of Rule
Prompts any meanes; noe Villanie soe foule
Soe neare to ruine, but they must attempt.
Poore Hanniball, is now in Banishment;
And seemes now old to beg a Life; whose hand
Repreiv'd the world; ev'n those who now Cōmand
The inexorable Roman, were but what
One Step had given; Handy-Capps in Fate;
He who (if Names be proper,) frighted once
The Civill World: worne out, by Puissance
Of Faction; to a Barbarous King doth flye;
And hoary, has but Power, alone to Dye.
Reason, to praise hands of Destruction;
I should lament his Name, who Tirant once
217
And Italy Subdued, Seal'd Empire, nigh
To Carthage; I could mourne that Prodigie
Whipt by the Surly Gowne; Emulous in
His Glory, feare his Power; for 'tis noe Sin
To thinke Men wicked; & the Itch of Rule
Prompts any meanes; noe Villanie soe foule
Soe neare to ruine, but they must attempt.
Poore Hanniball, is now in Banishment;
And seemes now old to beg a Life; whose hand
Repreiv'd the world; ev'n those who now Cōmand
The inexorable Roman, were but what
One Step had given; Handy-Capps in Fate;
He who (if Names be proper,) frighted once
The Civill World: worne out, by Puissance
Of Faction; to a Barbarous King doth flye;
And hoary, has but Power, alone to Dye.
Now let Agrippa laugh, whilst we survay
A nearer Draught; the Hecticke has ye Day
To cease in, but drinks Marrow; till the whole
Frame, fall a Ruine; let the Subiect ffoole
Who Squares by others Lines, or drawes a Scheme
To please himselfe, by Fancy, feares redeeme;
Let him conferre a forme; & Regulate
Distempers, incident to any State:
The harmeles Lumpe, of his Invention;
Yet licke it vp, to Life, Dominion.
It Spreads an Arméd Paw; & runs ye Ile
Bear in full Shape, to Ravin, wast, & Spoyle.
A nearer Draught; the Hecticke has ye Day
To cease in, but drinks Marrow; till the whole
Frame, fall a Ruine; let the Subiect ffoole
Who Squares by others Lines, or drawes a Scheme
To please himselfe, by Fancy, feares redeeme;
Let him conferre a forme; & Regulate
Distempers, incident to any State:
The harmeles Lumpe, of his Invention;
Yet licke it vp, to Life, Dominion.
218
Bear in full Shape, to Ravin, wast, & Spoyle.
Y'are yet as wide, of what we would propose
As had you Studied, Seaven yeare, the Prose,
Of the wild German Riddler; & wee wheele
Noe further with the Time, then to reveale
The folly of all Seekinges; Not the Name
Tickles mee yet; who cannot to ye frame
Allotted, Serve, is Rebell to the Vow
Made in offence; to be observéd too;
For 'twas the easy mulct, when Man had lost
Himselfe, & Scorn'd Creation; to be thrust
Servile to his owne Hand; & He who bore
The Image of his Maker, wth the Power,
Imediately consign'd, Ambitious
Of more, lost That; & delves the Infamous
Mine of his Follyes; that he might repent
His Error better, by the Punishment;
A Glasse of former Freedome; where the Eye
Yet Sees the Image; but Impossiblie
Attempted, Shunning the profane Embrace
Of Humane Armes; Slipps, Shaddow, in a Glasse.
As had you Studied, Seaven yeare, the Prose,
Of the wild German Riddler; & wee wheele
Noe further with the Time, then to reveale
The folly of all Seekinges; Not the Name
Tickles mee yet; who cannot to ye frame
Allotted, Serve, is Rebell to the Vow
Made in offence; to be observéd too;
For 'twas the easy mulct, when Man had lost
Himselfe, & Scorn'd Creation; to be thrust
Servile to his owne Hand; & He who bore
The Image of his Maker, wth the Power,
Imediately consign'd, Ambitious
Of more, lost That; & delves the Infamous
Mine of his Follyes; that he might repent
His Error better, by the Punishment;
A Glasse of former Freedome; where the Eye
Yet Sees the Image; but Impossiblie
Attempted, Shunning the profane Embrace
Of Humane Armes; Slipps, Shaddow, in a Glasse.
| The poems of George Daniel | |