The complete poems of Dr. Joseph Beaumont :: :: University of Virginia Library

The complete poems of Dr. Joseph Beaumont

... For the first time collected and edited: With memorial-introduction, notes and illustrations, glossarial index, and portrait &c. by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart

Beaumont, Joseph (1616-1699)

I, II.

VOL. I.

MINOR POEMS IN ENGLISH AND LATIN.

POEMS On several Occasions.

LOVE's Eye.

The Oath.

Eloquence.

Scripture Translated.

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POEMS On several Occasions.

243

LOVE's Eye.

I

Bold Proverb! do not thus blaspheme:
What, is Love blind? why, GOD is Love,
And can'st thou Blindness charge on Him
Who is all Eye? Do but remove
False Prejudice, and thou shalt find
'Tis Passion, and not Love is blind.

II

Love's of so quick a sight, that He
Aforehand with his Object is,
And into dark Futurity
With præsciential Rays doth press.
How strange were Heav'n's fam'd Bliss, which lies
In Vision, had Heav'n's King no Eyes!

III

Hast thou not heard how He set ope
Those Eyelids into broad day sight,
Which Nature's Seal had dammed up
With a deep-lay'd annealed Night?
And how can He in Blindness live
Who, spite of Nature, Eyes can give?

IV

And wonder not that by a Clay,
(The likeliest thing to close them up)
He them unlock'd; this was the way
His own Divinity to ope:
A way which none but He could take,
Who Man at first of Clay did make.

V

But if by Love thy meaning were
Vain Cupid, I consent with thee;
Blindness herself would never dare
To count herself more blind than He:
And justly He doth want his Sight,
Who joys in none but Deeds of Night.

The Oath.

I

Yes, As I live, I'll do't.—Nay stay
My Friend, if that be all, I may
Not rest on this Security;
Your swearing by
Your Life, doth but my Faith deter,
For you but by a Vapour swear.

II

Your Life! what Lease makes Life your own?
May not your flitting Breath be blown
Away by every moment's Blast?
Future, and past,
Quite out of thy possession are,
And present's gone as soon as here.

III

What mean'st thou then by As I Live?
Death can thy Confidence deceive,
And make thee dye a perjur'd Man
Precisely when
Thou'rt swearing by thy Life: Take heed,
That Oath thy Essence doth exceed:

IV

An Oath, which only doth become
The mighty Mouth of GOD, from whom
Life learn'd to live.—Ah, mortal Wight,
I sooner might
Yield on thy Credit to rely,
If thou but swearest, As I Dye!

244

Eloquence.

I

To speak or write
Things which dare meet the searching Light;
Solid Discourses pois'd with fit
Judgment, and trimm'd with handsome Wit;
Sweet Numbers, which can Pleasure's Soul distill,
And thro' the willing Heart their Conquests thrill;

II

Words tuned by
The heavenly Sphere's high Melody;
Which with Devotion's Musick ring,
And the Creator's Glory sing;
Words which with charming ravishment surprize,
And all the Hearers' Souls imparadise;

III

Is brave, I grant:
And yet no certain argument
But he who thus doth speak or write
May be a Brat of swarthy Night;
Nor must we think to calculate the Men
By the sole Horoscope of Tongue or Pen.

IV

The Hand which paints
The Glories of sin-conquering Saints,
And makes the Deaths of Martyrs able
To breath fresh Life on a dead Table,
Upon a wicked Arm too often grows:
'Tis them, and not himself the Painter draws.

V

That Man for me
Not in whose Words, but Deeds I see
Zeal's gallant Flames. I dare not found
Substantial Worth upon a Sound:
His only is the solid Excellence
Of Rhetorick, whose Life's his Eloquence.

Scripture Translated.

I

Of Babes in Christ is this your care,
To let them dang'rous Weapons wear?
What you esteem the safely-handled Word,
Is sharper than a two-edg'd Sword:
Must Children's fond Temerity
With two-edg'd Tools intrusted be?

II

Yes, Sophister, with this they may:
Altho' themselves with it they slay,

245

Their Sacrifice gives Heav'n the best content,
When they a broken Heart present:
And only by this Sword they can
Cut off their old condemned Man.

III

The sturdy Heretick it is,
And not the tender Babe, whom this
Weapon doth arm for Mischief: that wild Wight
Under Hell's Dragon loves to fight:
But Heaven's most gentle Lamb of all
Meek harmless Babes, is General.

IV

And He doth by his own sweet might
Teach them to weild this Sword aright.
To God thou need'st not lend thy Caution thus,
For fear his Gift prove dangerous:
Thou may'st thy Preachers, but 'tis odd
Methinks, for Man to silence God.

V

Yet if he will in Latin teach,
He shall thy License have to preach,
And Sermons he ad Clerum when he please
May freely make. But have not these
Lay simple Souls more need, good Sir,
Than your learn'd Scholars, Him to hear?

VI

Come, come; 'twas ne'er Saint Peter's mind
The Spirit's Sword should be confin'd,
And under his Keys locked up: 'tis you
Who in your Latin Scabbard now
Keep it so close, I more than fear
That Rust, at least, it gathers there.

VII

Then draw it out, for shame, and let
Careful Translations furbish it:
The oft'ner thus you draw it, you will see
It brighter, and more genuine be.
Draw, draw; if not for Laymen, yet
For your own Priests it may be fit.

Life's Uncertainty.

I

What ail'st thou, to complain of what
Thy Heart believeth not?
Why cry'st thou out on Life's Uncertainty,
And yet preparest not to dye?
Either thy Mock-Repinings spare,
Or else be true to thine own Fear.

II

Yet let me tell thee, hadst thou wise
And right-discerning Eyes,
Thou might'st an advantageous Courtesy
In Life's Uncertainty espy,
And ground to thank thy Lord, that he
Let it not out by Lease to thee.

III

This was the way Love did contrive
To make thee truly live
Before thou dy'st, and after thou art dead:
The only way thy Heart to lead
On in devout religious Care,
And holy profitable Fear.

IV

Thy brittle Life's Inconstancy
Alarms thee constantly
To stand upon thy never-sleeping guard,
And Night and Day keep watch and ward:
By which strict Discipline may'st thou
In thy Lord's service perfect grow.

V

So wilt thou suffer no sly Sin
Thy hold to undermine;
So shalt thou sift by wise Examination
The bottom of each fair Temptation:
For Spies Temptations are, and sent
To murder thee in compliment.

VI

Wert thou for any term secure
That this Life should endure,
Alas, how eas'ly would'st thou yield to set
Up all thy Rest and Joys in it!
And never strive that Life to gain,
Which shall for evermore remain.

VII

But now be brave, and throw disdain
On what thou find'st so vain.
Is not thy Soul eternal? and can she
On this short Vapour doating be?
A Vapour, which each minute may
Break, toss, and mock, and puff away!

S. PETER'S Cock.

I

With what indiff'rence read I how
The Cock did by his signal Crow
Alarm Saint Peter's Heart!
No Echo in my Breast I felt,
Into the thought of my own Guilt
To make my Conscience start.

II

But ah! sweet Lord of Lenity,
Have not ungrateful faithless I
Deny'd Thee more than thrice?
And has the Cock not warned me
To think of both myself and Thee
By crowing more than twice?

246

III

Should all my Life be brought to trial,
It would appear but a Denial
Of what I owe to Thee:
Yet no such terrible Temptation
As Peter's was, e'er made invasion
Upon my Loyalty.

IV

Alas! the Cock, who by his Crow
Doth terror upon Lions throw,
Hath never frighted me:
I bolder am than they, for I
Tho' but a Worm, have dared thy
Almighty Majesty.

V

Sweet Jesu, it must be the Art
Of Love, which seizeth this my Heart
With penitent pious Fear:
Soft Strokes will steal themselves into
The Flint of that hard Soul, which no
Fierce Violence can tear.

VI

O turn to me thy gracious Eye,
And with its dear Artillery
Shoot, shoot my Bosom thro';
My Heart, tho' deaf unto the stroke
Of Sound, may learn to hear a Look,
And broken, Weeper grow.

VII

Thy blessed Look knows how to speak
Louder than any Voice, and shake
The sturdiest Heart asunder:
For in the radiant Treasury,
Great Lord, of thy Soul-conquering Eye,
Both Lightning dwells and Thunder.

The Master.

[_]

S. Matth. 11. 29.

I

Would thy Ambition paint thy Story
With Learning's never-fading Glory?
Thy aim is brave and high,
If thou thy Master warily
Dost choose; for such a choice, to thee
Will half the way to Learning be.

II

Looks thy Election now about
To find some Man or other out,
Whom Wisdom's Fame doth crown?
Take heed: for Error's plainly grown
So epidemical, that she
Becomes an human Property.

III

Look higher then; thine Eye advance
Above that Cloud of Ignorance
Which blinds this World below:
Hark how the heav'nly Master now
His Scholars woo's;—Come all, says he,
Who would be learn'd, and Learn of Me.

IV

Who would not learn of Him? and yet
How few Disciples does he get!
All Oracles are dumb
But His; and yet how slow we come
To only Him! how fondly we
Fain would, yet would not learned be!

V

For Knowledge still doth tempt us all,
Nor fell we by our fatal Fall
From that Ambition, which
For the forbidden Fruit did itch:
But now true Knowledge on no Tree
Can grow, but that which once bare Thee.

The Lesson. ibid.

I

What Lesson reads Heav'n's Master now
Is't not too high for Worms below?
Can most immeasurable He
Shroud in our scant capacity?
Does not the very plainest Alphabet
Of Heav'nly Wisdom pose our quickest Wit?

II

Know then, that tho' He Sovereign be
In Wisdom's glorious Monarchy;
He's so in Mercy's too, and can
Stoop to the lowest Form of Man.
He who himself unto the Cross did bow,
Will not disdain to teach true Wisdom now.

III

Witness his easy Lesson, which
Tho' Heav'nly, doth no higher reach
Than Lowliness: and who is he
Who here can want Capacity?
Descent's Earth's natural Motion, and how
Can it be hard for Sons of Clay to bow?

IV

Come learn of Me, for meek am I
And lowly, cryeth the Most High.
Ne'er didst thou in Lyceum, ne'er
In the grave Porch this Lesson hear;
The lofty Academy ne'er could reach
So high as this most lowly Lesson's pitch.

V

O study then with all thy Art
This Lesson how to get by Heart:
By Heart, by Heart it must be got,
And not upon thy outside float.
Meekness is then right built, when thou canst find
Her Ground-work in the bottom of thy Mind.

247

Anger.

I

My Friend, run quickly to thy Glass,
And read thy Cure in thine own Face.
Why should the Scorpion be
The readiest Remedy
For his own Poison, and not thou?
Apply, apply; 'twill do, I know.

II

See what black Clouds thy Brow deform
With grim Threats of th'approaching Storm!
Lo! how thy pallid Cheek
And trembling Lips do seek
To make thee understand, how thou
Art posting to self-torture now!

III

Look how thy working troubled Eye
In its own Fire doth strangely fry!
What Frowns plow up the grace
Of thy disturbed Face,
Preventing Time, and making thee
In one hour old and wrinkled be!

IV

On mine rely not, but receive
The Warning that thyself do'st give:
Did'st ever view a Sight
Fuller of ugly Fright?
Be calmer then, in mercy to
Thy tortur'd self, tho' not thy Foe.

The Times.

I

Why slander we the Times?
What Crimes
Have Days and Years, that we
Thus charge on them Iniquity?
If we would rightly scan,
'Tis not the Times are bad, but Man.

II

Constant Obedience they
Do pay
To their great Maker; and
Do we do so? Nay, never stand
To study Shifts; 'tis plain
'Tis our Blot which the Times doth stain.

III

If thy Desire it be
To see
The Times prove good, be thou
But such thyself, and surely know
That all thy Days to thee
Shall, spite of Mischief, happy be.

The Rich Scorner.

[_]

S. Luke 16. 21.

I

What? shall thy Dogs more courteous
Be, than thyself, to Lazarus?
Shall their Tongues court his Sores, and thine mean while
His Misery revile?
Strange Metamorphosis! which thus doth make
The Master strive to bark, the Dogs to speak.

II

Take heed: the Play may soon be done:
For in Life's Comedy not one
Of all the Acts but well may be the last.
O do but then forecast
What thy high Part will prove, when thou shalt be
Quite level'd by the just Catastrophe.

III

May not thine Exit follow'd be
With hellish Hissings? May not he
His Plaudit find clap'd by fair Angels' Wings?
Come, come, great Sir, these things
Are not vain Fancy's Froth; Life, tho' it be
A Play, will prove a real History.

Home.

I

Home's Home, altho' it reached be
Thro' Wet and Dirt and Night; tho' heartily
I welcom'd was, yet something still,
Methinks, was wanting to fulfil
Content's odd Appetite: no cheer,
Say I, so good as that which meets me here,

II

Here, here at Home: Not that my Board
I find with quainter, richer Dainties stor'd;
No, my high Welcome all in this
Cheap simple Word presented is,
My Home; a Word so dearly sweet,
That all Variety in it I meet.

III

When I'm abroad, my Joys are so,
And therefore they to me seem Strangers too:
I may salute them lovingly,
But must not too familiar be;
Some ceremonious Points there are
Which me from Pleasure's careless Freedom bar.

IV

There must my Mirth's Tunes taken be
Not by mine own, but by my Convive's Key:
My Words and Smiles must temporize,
And I myself a Sacrifice
Must on that Humour's Altar yield,
Which there the Company shall please to build.

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V

If there on every Dish I tast,
'Tis not myself, but some Disease I feast;
My Friend suspects if I forbear,
That I neglect him and his Cheer:
Nor is it easy to prevent
Or mine own Mischief, or his Discontent.

VI

But Home, sweet Home, releaseth me
From anxious Joys, into the Liberty
Of unsollicitous Delight;
Which howsoever mean and slight
By being absolutely free
Enthrones me in Contentment's Monarchy.