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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 | The poems of George Daniel |  |
5
POEMS Written upon Severall Occasions.
Pascitur in vivis Livor: post fata quiescit,
Cum suus ex merito quemque tuetur honos.
[Ovid, Amores, 1. 15. ll. 39–40.]
Cum suus ex merito quemque tuetur honos.
[Ovid, Amores, 1. 15. ll. 39–40.]
7
Coat of Arms and Portrait.
This Shadow, overshadowed, is a Tipe
Of my full Selfe; if you (who see't) are ripe
To Iudge of Art, behold: a twofold grace
In one Small Draught; my Fortune, and my Face;
Tis all the Pencill could; for only Men
Can draw their inward Selves, wth their owne Pen;
Of my full Selfe; if you (who see't) are ripe
To Iudge of Art, behold: a twofold grace
In one Small Draught; my Fortune, and my Face;
Tis all the Pencill could; for only Men
Can draw their inward Selves, wth their owne Pen;
But our Pens flatter; and wee stranglie raise
False beauties, in the mind; as in the face
The mercinarie Hand; and sometime put
A gracefull mole, for a dull morphewed Spot;
Soe neare, is man himself; that to his owne
Self, he dissembles, and will not be knowne;
False beauties, in the mind; as in the face
The mercinarie Hand; and sometime put
A gracefull mole, for a dull morphewed Spot;
Soe neare, is man himself; that to his owne
Self, he dissembles, and will not be knowne;
Thus wee deluded are; yet, let me Say;
If wee know not our selves; none other may:
If wee know not our selves; none other may:
G. Daniel: 23 martij: 1646.
9
An Addresse By the Author:
not impertinent to the following Poems.
Au Lecteur.
Phancies
are but our owne; and though wee give
'Em birth, perhaps they have noe right to Live;
Why? doe wee wast our Inke and oyle, in vaine?
Wasting our Nights and Dayes in fruitles paine
To bring a Monster forth? a Prodigie?
Or strange Chimæra, of our Fantasie?
What End have wee in this? Is't not Enough
If to our Selves, wee our owne Follies know?
If wee poure out, for other Men to Eat
They'r full, as well as wee, with their owne Meat;
The World's a tottring Stage; and Mankind All
Is but one Antike Individuall;
From time to Time, the Same; noe Age can boast
The better Interlude; for what wee most
Admire, (before our Selves;) or what we lest
Can Iudge of, (After) has nor worst, nor best.
This Mockshow, this Coloss', this Maister-peice
Of Nature, (as wee call it, when wee please
Our partiall frailties) is that bruitish Thing,—
Degenerate, Foolish, giddy, wavering,
Voluptuous, Bloodie, Proud, Insatiate
Lump of Corruption,—which they wondred at
Twelve Centuries a goe; and Time shall bring
To its last point, iust such another Thing.
There is noe wonder, if within the Sphere
Of Nature, ought Irregular appeare:
Wee, are that odde Incorrigible peice
Of Error; tis within vs, the Excess,
Defect, or what wee call Deformitie
To hinder Nature's first made Harmonie.
'Em birth, perhaps they have noe right to Live;
Why? doe wee wast our Inke and oyle, in vaine?
Wasting our Nights and Dayes in fruitles paine
To bring a Monster forth? a Prodigie?
Or strange Chimæra, of our Fantasie?
What End have wee in this? Is't not Enough
If to our Selves, wee our owne Follies know?
If wee poure out, for other Men to Eat
They'r full, as well as wee, with their owne Meat;
The World's a tottring Stage; and Mankind All
Is but one Antike Individuall;
From time to Time, the Same; noe Age can boast
The better Interlude; for what wee most
Admire, (before our Selves;) or what we lest
10
This Mockshow, this Coloss', this Maister-peice
Of Nature, (as wee call it, when wee please
Our partiall frailties) is that bruitish Thing,—
Degenerate, Foolish, giddy, wavering,
Voluptuous, Bloodie, Proud, Insatiate
Lump of Corruption,—which they wondred at
Twelve Centuries a goe; and Time shall bring
To its last point, iust such another Thing.
There is noe wonder, if within the Sphere
Of Nature, ought Irregular appeare:
Wee, are that odde Incorrigible peice
Of Error; tis within vs, the Excess,
Defect, or what wee call Deformitie
To hinder Nature's first made Harmonie.
This, when I looke at, and my Atome take
(A Sand of the rude Heape,) I seeke to make
It cleane; and Softly rubbe away the Slime;
I sleeke it Faire; and weare it, for a Time
My Boast, my Iewell; or more Ideot-like
I sett it in my Cap, where all Eyes Strike
Vpon it; and I, foole, am pleas'd to heare
Them rate it high; as though this Graine did beare
Proportion to a Piramid; this, clawes
My Nature, for a while; but Time, (which drawes
All Things to Irksomenes;) brings in a packe
Of Vanities, whil'st I forgett this Knacke;
Careles, I lay it by; whil'st the rude Heape,
(Which rolleth ever) it away doth Sweepe,
Into the wombe of that insatiate Gulph
Which Lethe, some doe call.—
(A Sand of the rude Heape,) I seeke to make
It cleane; and Softly rubbe away the Slime;
I sleeke it Faire; and weare it, for a Time
My Boast, my Iewell; or more Ideot-like
I sett it in my Cap, where all Eyes Strike
Vpon it; and I, foole, am pleas'd to heare
Them rate it high; as though this Graine did beare
Proportion to a Piramid; this, clawes
My Nature, for a while; but Time, (which drawes
All Things to Irksomenes;) brings in a packe
Of Vanities, whil'st I forgett this Knacke;
Careles, I lay it by; whil'st the rude Heape,
11
Into the wombe of that insatiate Gulph
Which Lethe, some doe call.—
Then I run on, forgetting All had past;
And my poor Sand, lyes mixt, and gravell'd fast;
Chips, Strawes, and Feathers, Bulrushes, and Flowers,
Then take me vp; and make my dayes but Howers;
But as a Child,—not pleas'd with any long,—
To get a Rattle, these away are flung.
What shall I next? what next shall please my Eye;
For All is nothing, but Varietie;
Thus roll I Sisyphean Stones, and play
(Which he can never) all my time away.
And my poor Sand, lyes mixt, and gravell'd fast;
Chips, Strawes, and Feathers, Bulrushes, and Flowers,
Then take me vp; and make my dayes but Howers;
But as a Child,—not pleas'd with any long,—
To get a Rattle, these away are flung.
What shall I next? what next shall please my Eye;
For All is nothing, but Varietie;
Thus roll I Sisyphean Stones, and play
(Which he can never) all my time away.
Late by the Streame, thus did I playing Sit
With Cockle-Shells, (a Pas-time not vnfitt
To my Discretion): Some, as wise as I,
Had Shittle-cockes; (and made them finely flye)
Another sort, had Whirligigs; and Some
At Cheek-stones play'd, or Cherry-pit; of Foame
Others would blow a Sphære, from out a Shell,
And run to catch it, like a Starre when't fell;
Thus Severally; but I, as Serious
As any, to my Folly; Glorious
At each Encounter; and a Victorie
I priz'd, to all my Ioye's Monopolie;
When in the height of All, as Shells must breake,
Mine broke; and I discountenaunct, goe seeke
A fresh one on the Shore; where one I found,
And hot for the Encounter, dress it round;
I washt and Scratcht, and tooke a mightie paine
(For it was worth All that;) till not one graine
Of Sand, or Dirt, was Easy to be seene;
Not Troian Hector, in his Armour Sheene,
Appear'd more Glorious; then my Champion was
Fitt for the Lists, and I to leave the place,
Where I to such high purpose, had bene toyling;
When some kind Influence, (greived at ye oft foyling
Of weake mortalitye) told me, I tooke
Ioy, in my owne Destruction; bade me looke
To what I had bene doing; for that Mudde
I threw away, was my owne Slime; and Stood
All that remain'd, of what I valued once
My dearest Part; gather againe, what Chance
And Providence, are pleas'd to give; once more
Be thy owne Keeper; from this dismall Shore
Not many doe returne.—It ceas'd; I stood
A verie Statua, dull as my owne Mudde;
Not Flint-wrapt Niobe, more stone did rise:
My blood was Corral, and my Breath was Ice;
Extasied from all Sence, to thinke what low
Delusions drew me; and I knew not how;
For all the Sordid Follyes, which I sought
With Earnestnes, were now before me brought,
A Spectacle of Horror; I must breake
This marble of my Shame, my Shame to Speake.
With Cockle-Shells, (a Pas-time not vnfitt
To my Discretion): Some, as wise as I,
Had Shittle-cockes; (and made them finely flye)
Another sort, had Whirligigs; and Some
At Cheek-stones play'd, or Cherry-pit; of Foame
Others would blow a Sphære, from out a Shell,
And run to catch it, like a Starre when't fell;
Thus Severally; but I, as Serious
As any, to my Folly; Glorious
At each Encounter; and a Victorie
I priz'd, to all my Ioye's Monopolie;
When in the height of All, as Shells must breake,
Mine broke; and I discountenaunct, goe seeke
A fresh one on the Shore; where one I found,
12
I washt and Scratcht, and tooke a mightie paine
(For it was worth All that;) till not one graine
Of Sand, or Dirt, was Easy to be seene;
Not Troian Hector, in his Armour Sheene,
Appear'd more Glorious; then my Champion was
Fitt for the Lists, and I to leave the place,
Where I to such high purpose, had bene toyling;
When some kind Influence, (greived at ye oft foyling
Of weake mortalitye) told me, I tooke
Ioy, in my owne Destruction; bade me looke
To what I had bene doing; for that Mudde
I threw away, was my owne Slime; and Stood
All that remain'd, of what I valued once
My dearest Part; gather againe, what Chance
And Providence, are pleas'd to give; once more
Be thy owne Keeper; from this dismall Shore
Not many doe returne.—It ceas'd; I stood
A verie Statua, dull as my owne Mudde;
Not Flint-wrapt Niobe, more stone did rise:
My blood was Corral, and my Breath was Ice;
Extasied from all Sence, to thinke what low
Delusions drew me; and I knew not how;
For all the Sordid Follyes, which I sought
With Earnestnes, were now before me brought,
A Spectacle of Horror; I must breake
This marble of my Shame, my Shame to Speake.
What can I doe (Alas)? but gather in
The little Dirt, which formerly was mine;
A fixèd bodie, orient and bright;
Now a foule mixture, darke in my owne Sight;
As to my Reason, the first Chaos was.
I must goe on; Man, while he has in chase
The world, and obiects vaine, looseth himselfe;
And his poore Sand, turnes wreck't into the Shelfe
Of bruitish Appetite; the Labour's over
If from this Syrte's wee our Sand recover.
13
A fixèd bodie, orient and bright;
Now a foule mixture, darke in my owne Sight;
As to my Reason, the first Chaos was.
I must goe on; Man, while he has in chase
The world, and obiects vaine, looseth himselfe;
And his poore Sand, turnes wreck't into the Shelfe
Of bruitish Appetite; the Labour's over
If from this Syrte's wee our Sand recover.
Where am I now? enveloped as Deepe
To my owne wonder, as my Shame can creepe;
The vast Abisse of nature's vnsearch't wombe
(Mother to Reason, Ignorance's Tombe)
Were a prodigious Title, to enhance
My numbers weighty, and my Name advance;
This might blow vp a Spirrit of that fire
Who loves to Speake, what others but Admire;
For who can Speake, what cannot be exprest?
Readers, know little, and the writer Least.
To my owne wonder, as my Shame can creepe;
The vast Abisse of nature's vnsearch't wombe
(Mother to Reason, Ignorance's Tombe)
Were a prodigious Title, to enhance
My numbers weighty, and my Name advance;
This might blow vp a Spirrit of that fire
Who loves to Speake, what others but Admire;
For who can Speake, what cannot be exprest?
Readers, know little, and the writer Least.
Love is noe more a Ray, from that devine
Flame, then this Fish-scale, Phœbus, is from thine;
Tis a low bruit Affection, now, which binds
In Sensuall Fetters, lowe Earth-seeking minds;
Gold, and Desire, is Love; let minde and Face
Warme Cottages, and be the milkmaid's Grace;
Wee higher tend; Fruition, of that all-
Compounded Evill, is the thing wee call
Love, not improperlie;—and is not witt
Worthy a name? that can be Parasit'?
Clawe my yong Lord, or make my Ladie smile,
With quaint Devises, worthy well her while?
Getting a goodly deale of patronage;
And my Lord's word, The wonder of his Age.
Soe are they both—: but Witt, is growne, of Late
Like the Trunke-hose, laught at, and out of Date.
The Drum, beats loud, to fright our Villages,
Swords are the Pens, which everie Day encrease;
Our Laws, are writt in Blood; and carv'd with Steele,
Worthy the Authors—: but I hope wee feele
Some ghostly Comfort yet; Religion
Has put of late, her best Apparell on;
And wee are all a wooeing fitt to ride,
Who should bring in this faire one, fitt for Bride:
Well; wee have tryed Enough, and rifled Each
Below the Cloaths vnto the naked breech;
And left em Soe; and soe alas they goe,
Poore Ladies, to this Day, and Like to doe;
What Age has ever yet bene free of these?
Tis true, the last King was a man of Peace;
Yet sawcye Qvills would note some blemish int;
And his fam'd Predecessors, though in print,
And painted Cloath, they make her verie fine;
Yes, and her Sister, who did love to Dine
On woodcocke Christians, roasted for the nonce
With Gutts and All;—or if wee should Advance
To bugbeare Harrie, whose imperious breath
Was Law enough;—Oh the fine Dagger sheath!
And Codpeice of that King!—Let Nero rise
Iustified, in his strange Impieties.
Flame, then this Fish-scale, Phœbus, is from thine;
Tis a low bruit Affection, now, which binds
In Sensuall Fetters, lowe Earth-seeking minds;
Gold, and Desire, is Love; let minde and Face
Warme Cottages, and be the milkmaid's Grace;
Wee higher tend; Fruition, of that all-
Compounded Evill, is the thing wee call
Love, not improperlie;—and is not witt
14
Clawe my yong Lord, or make my Ladie smile,
With quaint Devises, worthy well her while?
Getting a goodly deale of patronage;
And my Lord's word, The wonder of his Age.
Soe are they both—: but Witt, is growne, of Late
Like the Trunke-hose, laught at, and out of Date.
The Drum, beats loud, to fright our Villages,
Swords are the Pens, which everie Day encrease;
Our Laws, are writt in Blood; and carv'd with Steele,
Worthy the Authors—: but I hope wee feele
Some ghostly Comfort yet; Religion
Has put of late, her best Apparell on;
And wee are all a wooeing fitt to ride,
Who should bring in this faire one, fitt for Bride:
Well; wee have tryed Enough, and rifled Each
Below the Cloaths vnto the naked breech;
And left em Soe; and soe alas they goe,
Poore Ladies, to this Day, and Like to doe;
What Age has ever yet bene free of these?
Tis true, the last King was a man of Peace;
Yet sawcye Qvills would note some blemish int;
And his fam'd Predecessors, though in print,
And painted Cloath, they make her verie fine;
Yes, and her Sister, who did love to Dine
On woodcocke Christians, roasted for the nonce
With Gutts and All;—or if wee should Advance
To bugbeare Harrie, whose imperious breath
15
And Codpeice of that King!—Let Nero rise
Iustified, in his strange Impieties.
Scoure of[f] the Rust; and set an Edge on Witt,
Let each Line sparkle Courage; till wee Sitt
Constellated with Cæsar, in our owne
Or other's Flatterie; let Vertue (growne
Long out of vse) adde some graines to the Skale
Of what wee claime to; how shall it availe?
What doe wee see applauded, everie Day?
Vice in a vizard goes the safest way;
The goodly masques, of Faith, and Conscience,
Are worne to thrive by; be't without offence
I know none Honest, but to his owne Sight
In his owne Cause, is a Strange Hypocrite.
Let each Line sparkle Courage; till wee Sitt
Constellated with Cæsar, in our owne
Or other's Flatterie; let Vertue (growne
Long out of vse) adde some graines to the Skale
Of what wee claime to; how shall it availe?
What doe wee see applauded, everie Day?
Vice in a vizard goes the safest way;
The goodly masques, of Faith, and Conscience,
Are worne to thrive by; be't without offence
I know none Honest, but to his owne Sight
In his owne Cause, is a Strange Hypocrite.
The Great Aurelius, had a flight beyond
This Region, in the Sphære of his owne mind;
And I admire his Dictates, as they are
To him selfe-Precepts; what a Noble care
It is in man, to give that Seasoning
From his owne Fountaine, shall preserve the Spring.
(Through all the Ambages of Life's Affaire)
Backe to its liveing Source, vnmixt, and Cleare!
This Region, in the Sphære of his owne mind;
And I admire his Dictates, as they are
To him selfe-Precepts; what a Noble care
It is in man, to give that Seasoning
From his owne Fountaine, shall preserve the Spring.
(Through all the Ambages of Life's Affaire)
Backe to its liveing Source, vnmixt, and Cleare!
I can be pleas'd, when Lucian laughs at Witt,
And makes Philosophie, a Dizzard sitt;
Crack-brain'd Menippus, wisely did discerne
They taught the Things which they would never learne.
And makes Philosophie, a Dizzard sitt;
Crack-brain'd Menippus, wisely did discerne
They taught the Things which they would never learne.
I'me Slow in my owne Nature; Dull, and Rude;
Indifferent, in my humor; Solitude
Affects me cheifly; bashfull, have noe feat
Nor iocund humour, to ingratiate;
Yet not Averse, but rather hammer out
What I approve, then Carry mirth about;
I commend freedome; Mirth, I love, beyond
My Genius, and Adore it in my mind;
But cannot be Facete; some Gesture sitts
Still in my Face, which noe full mirth befitts;
And when I force it in, it comes as patt
To make me Laugh, because I know not what
I first meant, should be Ieast; a thousand things
Passe, with the Garbe, when the maine Storie brings
Little to Iudgement; now let me recite
Things not vnworthy, and I spoyle 'em quite.
I have noe gracefull Meine nor faire Accost,
Noe Foyle; Even Diamonds grow dim, in my Dust.
16
Affects me cheifly; bashfull, have noe feat
Nor iocund humour, to ingratiate;
Yet not Averse, but rather hammer out
What I approve, then Carry mirth about;
I commend freedome; Mirth, I love, beyond
My Genius, and Adore it in my mind;
But cannot be Facete; some Gesture sitts
Still in my Face, which noe full mirth befitts;
And when I force it in, it comes as patt
To make me Laugh, because I know not what
I first meant, should be Ieast; a thousand things
Passe, with the Garbe, when the maine Storie brings
Little to Iudgement; now let me recite
Things not vnworthy, and I spoyle 'em quite.
I have noe gracefull Meine nor faire Accost,
Noe Foyle; Even Diamonds grow dim, in my Dust.
In my Discourse I'me common; but can keepe
A trusted Secret, as the Centre deepe,
Within my Bosome; I could never love
One Individuall Atome, much above
Another; I admire; to all I am
Each severall Species; for the glorious Name
Of freindship and Affection, though it draw
My Nature aptly, yet I find it rawe
And but a Phlegme, where I would most expresse:
Now tis a Flame within me; and I lesse
Consider my owne Interest, then the Claime
Another has vnto me, in that Name.
A trusted Secret, as the Centre deepe,
Within my Bosome; I could never love
One Individuall Atome, much above
Another; I admire; to all I am
Each severall Species; for the glorious Name
Of freindship and Affection, though it draw
My Nature aptly, yet I find it rawe
And but a Phlegme, where I would most expresse:
Now tis a Flame within me; and I lesse
Consider my owne Interest, then the Claime
Another has vnto me, in that Name.
17
Now whether Education, or what else
I doe not know, perhaps from principles
Of Constitution, some vnwonted Awe,
Something, vnder what Name I doe not know,
Strikes me, in maiestie; and though I praise
All Government, as Government; I raise
My Selfe, with more Delight, to looke vpon
A monarch's Scepter, then the Axe, or Gowne.
I doe not know, perhaps from principles
Of Constitution, some vnwonted Awe,
Something, vnder what Name I doe not know,
Strikes me, in maiestie; and though I praise
All Government, as Government; I raise
My Selfe, with more Delight, to looke vpon
A monarch's Scepter, then the Axe, or Gowne.
This, when I wondring fixe at; I behold
Our Royall master, in Afflictions old;
But vig'orous in vertue, and Dispred
In all his Princelie Rayes; not hindered
As the Eclipsèd Sun, by the moon's dull
Hydropticke bodie, to obscure him full;
But Charles, whose more illustrious Beams strike throw'
The giddie planet, that the world may know
Tis but her Errant motion; Hee, the Same
Light, to the world; Health and Life-bringing Flame:
Soe Father Saturne, by his Sawcie Son,
Seaven yeare agoe, was interpos'd; tis Runne
I hope out, in our Iland; Meteors must
After a while, burne out, and dye ith' Dust:
But the great Luminaries carrie Flame
T' enrich the world, and make it worth a Name.
Our Royall master, in Afflictions old;
But vig'orous in vertue, and Dispred
In all his Princelie Rayes; not hindered
As the Eclipsèd Sun, by the moon's dull
Hydropticke bodie, to obscure him full;
But Charles, whose more illustrious Beams strike throw'
The giddie planet, that the world may know
Tis but her Errant motion; Hee, the Same
Light, to the world; Health and Life-bringing Flame:
Soe Father Saturne, by his Sawcie Son,
Seaven yeare agoe, was interpos'd; tis Runne
I hope out, in our Iland; Meteors must
After a while, burne out, and dye ith' Dust:
But the great Luminaries carrie Flame
T' enrich the world, and make it worth a Name.
Freedome, and love of Truth, is all I boast;
I know but little, Hee that knowes the most
Is not an Inch beyond me; I can Sitt
Pleased in my owne; Hee's plungèd in his witt;
For Knowledge is a Qvicksand; where wee can
Not free our selves, till wee the burthen, man,
Devest; our Flesh, the Scales which doe obscure
Our Intellectuall Eyes; and Death's the Cure:
Then chang'd, wee move another Nature; See
And know things trulie, as they truly bee
In their owne Causes; till when, wee pursue
A Wildgoose-Chase, to what none ever knew;
Hee that knew All, knew nothing; or at least
Knew, all Hee knew was Follie with the rest.
I know but little, Hee that knowes the most
Is not an Inch beyond me; I can Sitt
Pleased in my owne; Hee's plungèd in his witt;
18
Not free our selves, till wee the burthen, man,
Devest; our Flesh, the Scales which doe obscure
Our Intellectuall Eyes; and Death's the Cure:
Then chang'd, wee move another Nature; See
And know things trulie, as they truly bee
In their owne Causes; till when, wee pursue
A Wildgoose-Chase, to what none ever knew;
Hee that knew All, knew nothing; or at least
Knew, all Hee knew was Follie with the rest.
Then bring me wine; Call in the merrie Crue,
Let petty Sphæres their heightned Peggs vp-Scrue
To rival with the greater; and disperse
Our frolicke Ioyes, to all the vniverse;
Soe Poets are themselves; let Dulnes Sitt
On the dry brow; wee live in mirth and witt;
Be sprightly, as the morne; Anticipate
Time, in his motion; and Astonish Fate
To make our owne; while the dull Sisters winke
And passe our Threds, Halfe-drunke, to see vs Drinke.
Let petty Sphæres their heightned Peggs vp-Scrue
To rival with the greater; and disperse
Our frolicke Ioyes, to all the vniverse;
Soe Poets are themselves; let Dulnes Sitt
On the dry brow; wee live in mirth and witt;
Be sprightly, as the morne; Anticipate
Time, in his motion; and Astonish Fate
To make our owne; while the dull Sisters winke
And passe our Threds, Halfe-drunke, to see vs Drinke.
Are there noe Females in the house come in?
Coy Modesties, where have you Absent bene?
From what, your Wishes rectified, prefer
To our Desires; A Day, has bene a Yeare;
Strike vp a louder Note while wee advance
Preparatoryes, to our Daliance.
Coy Modesties, where have you Absent bene?
From what, your Wishes rectified, prefer
To our Desires; A Day, has bene a Yeare;
Strike vp a louder Note while wee advance
Preparatoryes, to our Daliance.
Me thinkes, againe I thirst; Swell me a Boule,
Lesse Emptie, then the Ayre; Let misers howle
At their slow Incomes; tis a Noble prize
To laugh at fortune and the World despise.
Lesse Emptie, then the Ayre; Let misers howle
19
To laugh at fortune and the World despise.
This hideous Peice of madnes has perchance,
I th' Scæne, less Envie, and lesse Arrogance
Then some wee call Discretions; perhaps lesse
Impietie; but Sin, who can Expresse?
Tis all within vs; and our Thoughts scarce know
What tis wee would, or what wee would not Doe;
Soe then wee whine, vpon our Errors past,
And Swimme our Brains in Follye to the Last.
I th' Scæne, less Envie, and lesse Arrogance
Then some wee call Discretions; perhaps lesse
Impietie; but Sin, who can Expresse?
Tis all within vs; and our Thoughts scarce know
What tis wee would, or what wee would not Doe;
Soe then wee whine, vpon our Errors past,
And Swimme our Brains in Follye to the Last.
Our Fancies are our Follies; and our Boast
Is all our Crime; Strange Paradox! almost
To Stifle Reason; yet it is most true
I've found it, in my Selfe; and Soe may You:
Is all our Crime; Strange Paradox! almost
To Stifle Reason; yet it is most true
I've found it, in my Selfe; and Soe may You:
Ut Surgam Cado.
Munitus, et clausus, contra externa
intra me maneo;
a curis omnibus Securus,
praeter vnam,
vt fractum, subactumq: hunc animum,
rectæ Rationi, ac Deo subiiciam;
et animo
coeteras res humanas.
intra me maneo;
a curis omnibus Securus,
praeter vnam,
vt fractum, subactumq: hunc animum,
rectæ Rationi, ac Deo subiiciam;
et animo
coeteras res humanas.
20
To his honoured friend ye authour vpon his Poems.
When w'th thy gallant Warwick thou begins,Cosen, thou masters Muse, a style yt wins
oratorie to admiration of verse;
Degraded prose, vnflidg'd yet to reherse
an honourable note, soares not to Say
Nevil, who made them Kinges was more then they:
Whiles that great Courage wh disposèd them,
both gaue & tooke ye dandled Diadem.
more by thy quainter pen ye armie bleeds
and frisher farr than their heroick deedes.
But when thy Missalanie doth disband
thy strickter Sence (deare freind) wche doth comānd
Varietie to ramble here & there,
Flowers bandy sent, birds they inchant ye aire:
This wh is paradox I boldly give
Thy memory; when thou art dead thou'lt Live.
Tho: Crompton.
21
Vpon a Reviewe of Virgil, translated by Mr. Ogilby.
This, not to Virgil, whom I did Admire;Not led by Custome, but a secret fire
Shot through my Soule, from his abundant Ray;
And not by Votes, led to what others Say;
I did, and doe admire Him; and I thought
A brave Adventure 'twas, who ever brought
Him, to speake current English, in the rate
Our Langvage carries now; but I may Say't
(Without a Boast) vpon this second veiwe,
This Qvill has done All that, and doth pursue
The heights of fancye, equall to his owne,
In a quicke flame, and full expression;
In weight, and number, great as the first Soule
inflamèd Virgil; moveing on the whole
Bodie, with the same Sinnewes, not a Nerve
Lost, to its vse; (lest Life, & Blood might Sterve
Within obstructed Channels;) everie veine
Rises, as High, and to be seene as plaine.
May wee beleive the Rants, some Chimists make,
To consume Bodies, which againe shall take
Being and forme; (a Resurrective Tipe
From dust & Ashes,) th' individuall, ripe
To all its former beauties, they can raise
Numerically iust, to what it was;
22
Yonge Heads; & profit old Huniades,
Who has found out ye true Elixir; which
T' attempt, makes others poore, has made Him, rich.
But Wee, who move beyond Philosophye
In these Experiments, will credit thee
Great Oracle of Samos; and averre
Soules are not lost, or Dye, but doe transfer;
And the great Genius of ye Mantuan, fir'd
In a fit Clay, now breaths the same admir'd
Accents, which never any durst assay
To imitate, or open, to this Day;
But one, who with a rude & tedious Qvill
Doth wound his Readers, & his Author, Kill;
Virgil is dull & Lost; and only Phaer
Resolves his words, verball Interpreter.
Such, in a Prose, to duller Heads, may Stand
With honest meaning; But let noe bold hand
Attempt a Poet, 'cause he learnèd once
To construe Latin; and soe caught, by chance,
A Flye, in yawning; ther's a rule beyond
Your Syntax; tis a Sympathie of mind;
A Soule enricht with sacred flame, to all
The Author's Spirrit, in th' originall;
A Genius, to the primitive conceit;
Con-centricke wheels, with motion, to ye great
Idea fixt; not Skip & catch by turnes,
Or make his owne, while the rack'd Author mourns,
23
Open ye folds, and draw the veile away;
Some, now tormented thus; for all Soules have
Not Rest, when their cold Bodies kisse the Grave;
But Sensible in some things, suffer to
The iniuries Posteritie may doe
Vpon their Labours; Some, (in those blest Shades
Lost to their owne, by what noe time invades
As they bequeath'd it; in another tongve
Another Note, they know not what they Sung;)
Frequent the Corners & ashamèd sitt
Vnder vnverdant Trees; their Hands commit
Outrage on holy boughs; for through ye Place
Is nothing witherd: but still-virent Bayes
Narcissus, Hyacinth, Sweet Asphodel,
(And what our Langvage may not reach to tell)
Appeare, and make Elizium but one Grove;
Only ye Skirts, some Soules (less happie) rove;
Whose Relicts, handled by foule Thumbs, have lost
Their native Lustre; These, (who left, to boast
Numbers, which not vnworthily have plac'd
Them in Elizium, yet) on Earth disgrac'd
Would beg a Pasport, (but, who can convey
Soules, happie-seated) to revisit Day;
There, they must vexe; at lest, not there posses
Entire fruition, of a perfect Peace;
Till Time, (which fitts the Earth, to make one place
Of many orbes) shall throw away his Glasse;
24
The Author, and enthrone him in his State;
Here (till repairèd thus) they not inherit;
The weed, they would put on, they cannot weare it;
Triflers, on Earth, are tugging at ye Sleeves,
Ruffle ye folds, and the full Skirt vpheav's.
Soe this restorèd Maro, for a while
(Time is not measur'd there) pinch't, in ye toyle
Of all his Glorie, suffer'd; now, hee treads
Free, as Musæus, & ye clearest Heads
Of that blest confine; if a Limit may
Be set, where nothing bounds; for Place, they Say
Is but our Image; high, & purgèd Soules
Leave Time & Place, to dull earthporing fooles;
There, like Himselfe, in his first Station
Hee moves, vnchangèd in ye version;
All Hee now doth, (& not wth care) is but
To Harbinger his learnèd name, who put
New Robes of Glory on his great Remains;
Radiant, as Light; & Truth-like, free from Stains;
There, Hee prepares them, to receive a Gvest
Worthy their Harmony, their Ioy, their Rest;
And frames loud Pæans, Him to gratulate,
Worthily plac'd neare to his owne high Seate.
Soe did Great Homer, and Theocritus
Take Qvarters vp, for Virgil's living Muse;
Though to a different Honour Homer sung,
He caught his from Him, not to doe him wrong;
25
Gave his Corne-Chaplets, Virgil's better boast,
When Hee arriv'd; Hee now his owne hath torne
In equall parts, equally to adorne
His freind; for 'tis vnlawfull any (but
Virgill's owne Selfe) another's wreath on putt;
They may participate, Soe share it there,
As they have Rivall'd in their fancyes here.
What more, may not be told; tis only left
To those who shall enioy those Ioyes, a gift;
Mean-while, iust Admirations may raise
Merit, on Earth; to give desert, a place
Beyond ye mouth of Envie; thus I yeild
My double Tribute; Hee that cannot weild
Armes, must confer his Power another way;
All cannot all things dexterously assay;
And that I may not end, without a breath
From Virgill's mouth; take it, as I bequeath
It to ye world, in Honour of this Pen,
Who made Him speake, a Dialect, for men
To wonder at; a worke worthy his Bayes
See; now Ascanius keeps an Equall pace.
July 2nd 1647. G. Daniel:
26
A Vindication of Poesie.
Truth Speakes of old, the Power of Poesie;
Amphion, Orpheus, Stones and Trees could move;
Men, first by verse, were taught Civilitie;
'Tis knowne, and granted; yet would it behove
Mee, with the Ancient Singers, here to Crowne
Some later Qvills, Some Makers of our owne.
Amphion, Orpheus, Stones and Trees could move;
Men, first by verse, were taught Civilitie;
'Tis knowne, and granted; yet would it behove
Mee, with the Ancient Singers, here to Crowne
Some later Qvills, Some Makers of our owne.
Who has not heard Mæonides' loud Straine?
Macedon's Envie? who did never yet
(That has of Numbers heard, but) heare againe
The Ascrean Pipe? or great Musæus' witt?
Who has not heard of Heroes, Demigods?
Of Centaurs? Cyclop's? Sacred ffounts, and woods?
Macedon's Envie? who did never yet
(That has of Numbers heard, but) heare againe
The Ascrean Pipe? or great Musæus' witt?
Who has not heard of Heroes, Demigods?
Of Centaurs? Cyclop's? Sacred ffounts, and woods?
See antique Rome; and though you see her plaine,
In honest Ennius; can you but admire
Pious Æneas? or the Mantuan,
As Sweet in feilds, as statelie, in Troies' fire?
Not Euxine Pontus, nor the Tirant's Lust
Shall make Fame be less glorious, Fate lesse Iust.
In honest Ennius; can you but admire
Pious Æneas? or the Mantuan,
As Sweet in feilds, as statelie, in Troies' fire?
Not Euxine Pontus, nor the Tirant's Lust
Shall make Fame be less glorious, Fate lesse Iust.
For after Death, dyes Envye; all men find
Honour due to their merits; this, he taught
And this, he found; live Ovid (vnconfined)
To better mention; beyond a Thought
Of o cur vidi; never more exclaime;
Hee wrong'd his owne, and added to thy Name.
Honour due to their merits; this, he taught
27
To better mention; beyond a Thought
Of o cur vidi; never more exclaime;
Hee wrong'd his owne, and added to thy Name.
Loe yet another; he who has not heard
Pharsalia's Trumpet, never knew his ffate;
Corduba's Glorie; see the Poet smear'd
In guiltles Blood, triumph in Neroe's hate:
His name shall live; and he, that cannot raise
A verse to Lucan, dye without his praise.
Pharsalia's Trumpet, never knew his ffate;
Corduba's Glorie; see the Poet smear'd
In guiltles Blood, triumph in Neroe's hate:
His name shall live; and he, that cannot raise
A verse to Lucan, dye without his praise.
A noble Store, doth Italie produce,
Which hap'lie may advance, their fame as great;
Danazar, Petrarch, Tassoe's honored Muse:
Swift Arne, the Thuscan Soile, noe more shall beat,
Nor Swan-clad Po run Sweet, nor fame be Iust
If Dant forgotten be, or Arïost':
Which hap'lie may advance, their fame as great;
Danazar, Petrarch, Tassoe's honored Muse:
Swift Arne, the Thuscan Soile, noe more shall beat,
Nor Swan-clad Po run Sweet, nor fame be Iust
If Dant forgotten be, or Arïost':
Nor shall the Muse of that French Eagle dye,
Devine Sire Bartas; and the happie writt
Of Bellay, here shall live eternallie,
Eternizing his name, in his owne Witt;
From hence, by a Short passage, wee are come
To veiw the Treasure of our witts at home.
Devine Sire Bartas; and the happie writt
Of Bellay, here shall live eternallie,
Eternizing his name, in his owne Witt;
From hence, by a Short passage, wee are come
To veiw the Treasure of our witts at home.
I am not bound to honour Antique names;
Nor am I led, by other Men to Chuse
Any thing worthy, which my Iudgment blames;
Heare better Straines, though by a later muse;
The Sweet Arcadian Singer first did raise
Our Langvage Current, and deserved his Baies;
Nor am I led, by other Men to Chuse
28
Heare better Straines, though by a later muse;
The Sweet Arcadian Singer first did raise
Our Langvage Current, and deserved his Baies;
That Lord of Pen'herst; Penherst whose sad walls
Yet mourne their Master, in the Belgicke fray
Vntimelie lost; to whose deare ffuneralls
The Medwaie doth its constant Tribute paye;
But glorious Penherst, Medwaie's waters once
With Mincius shall, and Mergeline advance.
Yet mourne their Master, in the Belgicke fray
Vntimelie lost; to whose deare ffuneralls
The Medwaie doth its constant Tribute paye;
But glorious Penherst, Medwaie's waters once
With Mincius shall, and Mergeline advance.
The Shepherd's Boy, best knowen by that name,
Colin; vpon his homely oaten Reed
With Roman Titirus may share in ffame;
But when a higher path hee seems to tread,
Hee is my wonder; for who yet has seene
Soe Cleare a Poeme as his Faierie Queene?
Colin; vpon his homely oaten Reed
With Roman Titirus may share in ffame;
But when a higher path hee seems to tread,
Hee is my wonder; for who yet has seene
Soe Cleare a Poeme as his Faierie Queene?
The Sweetest Swan of Avon, to ye faire
And Cruel Delia, passionatelie Sings;
Other men's weaknesses and follies are
Honour and Witt in him; each Accent brings
A Sprig, to Crowne him Poet; and Contrive
A Monument, in his owne worke, to live.
And Cruel Delia, passionatelie Sings;
Other men's weaknesses and follies are
Honour and Witt in him; each Accent brings
A Sprig, to Crowne him Poet; and Contrive
A Monument, in his owne worke, to live.
Draiton is sweet and Smooth; though not exact
Perhaps, to stricter Eyes; yet he shall live
Beyond their Malice. To the Sceane, and Act,
Read Comicke Shakespeare; or if you would give
Praise to a Iust Desert, crowning the Stage
See Beaumont, once the honour of his Age.
Perhaps, to stricter Eyes; yet he shall live
29
Read Comicke Shakespeare; or if you would give
Praise to a Iust Desert, crowning the Stage
See Beaumont, once the honour of his Age.
The reverent Donne, whose quill God purely fil'd
Lives to his Character; & though he claime
A greater glory, may not be exil'd
This commōwealth; ye entrance of his fame
Thus as ye Sun, to either Hemisphere
Still ye same Light Hee movèd wh vs here.
Lives to his Character; & though he claime
A greater glory, may not be exil'd
This commōwealth; ye entrance of his fame
Thus as ye Sun, to either Hemisphere
Still ye same Light Hee movèd wh vs here.
But as a Poet; all ye softnesses
The Shadow, Light, ye Ayre, & Life, of Love;
The Sharpnes of all Witt; ev'n bitternes
Makes Satire Sweet; all wit did God emprove
'Twas flamed in him, 'Twas but warm vpon
His Embers; He was more; & yt is Donne.
The Shadow, Light, ye Ayre, & Life, of Love;
The Sharpnes of all Witt; ev'n bitternes
Makes Satire Sweet; all wit did God emprove
'Twas flamed in him, 'Twas but warm vpon
His Embers; He was more; & yt is Donne.
Here pause a little; for I would not Cloy
The curious Eare, with recitations;
And meerly looke at names; attend with Ioy
Vnto an English Qvill, who rivall'd once
Rome, not to make her blush; and knowne of late
Vnenvied ('cause vnequall'd) Laureate.
The curious Eare, with recitations;
And meerly looke at names; attend with Ioy
Vnto an English Qvill, who rivall'd once
Rome, not to make her blush; and knowne of late
Vnenvied ('cause vnequall'd) Laureate.
This, this was Ionson; who in his owne name
Carries his praise; and may he shine alone;
I am not tyed to any generall ffame,
Nor fixèd by the Approbation
Of great ones; But I speake without pretence,
Hee was, of English Drammatickes, the Prince.
Carries his praise; and may he shine alone;
30
Nor fixèd by the Approbation
Of great ones; But I speake without pretence,
Hee was, of English Drammatickes, the Prince.
Be glad, illiterate English; yt ye may,
Heare Lucan, in your best of Langvage speake;
Lucan, ye mouth of Story, Sung by Maye,
To yt his owne; his owne, soe truly like
The Roman Genius, as you cannot say,
This was by Lucan done, or yt by Maye.
Heare Lucan, in your best of Langvage speake;
Lucan, ye mouth of Story, Sung by Maye,
To yt his owne; his owne, soe truly like
The Roman Genius, as you cannot say,
This was by Lucan done, or yt by Maye.
Let Naso sing his best; and once lament
That best, did want his last life-giving hand;
His works, our Sands, though now in banisēnt
A Stranger, in a wild & remote Land,
Has polisht out, & imps his wing, to flye,
Beyond Rome's Eagles, & her Emperye.
That best, did want his last life-giving hand;
His works, our Sands, though now in banisēnt
A Stranger, in a wild & remote Land,
Has polisht out, & imps his wing, to flye,
Beyond Rome's Eagles, & her Emperye.
Now leaves he there; but as he had Disdaigned
Her witt, or Empire, confind to his reach;
The holy Ground, he treads; wh though they gaind
They never got; he did; & now doth teach
To vs dull Ilanders, ye inspirèd Layes
Which David sung; & wh ye Preacher sayes.
Her witt, or Empire, confind to his reach;
The holy Ground, he treads; wh though they gaind
They never got; he did; & now doth teach
To vs dull Ilanders, ye inspirèd Layes
Which David sung; & wh ye Preacher sayes.
The noble Overburie's Qvill, has left
A better Wife, then he could ever find;
I will not search too deep, lest I should lift
Dust from the dead; Strange power of womankind,
To raise, and ruine; for all he will claime
Is from that Sex; his Birth, his Death, his Fame.
A better Wife, then he could ever find;
31
Dust from the dead; Strange power of womankind,
To raise, and ruine; for all he will claime
Is from that Sex; his Birth, his Death, his Fame.
But I spin out too long; let me draw vp
My thred, to honour names of my owne time,
Without their Evlogies, for it may Stop
With Circumstantiall Termes, a wearie Rhime;
Suffice it if I name 'em; that for me
Shall stand, not to refuse their Evlogie.
My thred, to honour names of my owne time,
Without their Evlogies, for it may Stop
With Circumstantiall Termes, a wearie Rhime;
Suffice it if I name 'em; that for me
Shall stand, not to refuse their Evlogie.
The noble ffalkland, Digbie, Carew, Maine
Beaumond, Sands, Randolph, Allen, Rutter, May,
The Devine Herbert, and the ffletchers twaine,
Habinton, Shirley, Stapilton; I stay
Too much on names; yet may I not forget
Davenant, and Suckling, eminent in witt.
Beaumond, Sands, Randolph, Allen, Rutter, May,
The Devine Herbert, and the ffletchers twaine,
Habinton, Shirley, Stapilton; I stay
Too much on names; yet may I not forget
Davenant, and Suckling, eminent in witt.
Waller not wants ye glory of his verse;
And meets a noble praise, in every Line;
What should I adde in honour? to reherse
Admirèd Cleaveland! by a verse of mine?
Or give ye glorious muse of Denham praise?
Soe with'ring Brambles stand, to liveing Bayes.
And meets a noble praise, in every Line;
What should I adde in honour? to reherse
Admirèd Cleaveland! by a verse of mine?
Or give ye glorious muse of Denham praise?
Soe with'ring Brambles stand, to liveing Bayes.
32
These may suffice; not only to advance
Our English honour, but for ever crowne
Poesie 'bove the reach of Ignorance;
Only dull fooles vnmoved, admire their owne
Stupiditie; and all beyond their Sphere
Is Madnes, and but tingling in the Eare.
Our English honour, but for ever crowne
Poesie 'bove the reach of Ignorance;
Only dull fooles vnmoved, admire their owne
Stupiditie; and all beyond their Sphere
Is Madnes, and but tingling in the Eare.
Great Flame (whose raies at once, have power to peirce
The frosted Skull of Ignorance, and Close
The mouth of Envie); if I bring a verse
Vnapt to move, my admiration fflowes
With humble Love, and Zeale in the intent
To a Cleare Rapture, from the Argument.
The frosted Skull of Ignorance, and Close
The mouth of Envie); if I bring a verse
Vnapt to move, my admiration fflowes
With humble Love, and Zeale in the intent
To a Cleare Rapture, from the Argument.
To Time and Honour.
Faire Albion, of the world thou fairest Ile!And thou Deare Yorkshire, thou my native Soyle,
My Nurse, my Mother; oh, how can I pay
My Gratitude? Muse! teach me what to Say;
How shall I praise thee most? let me looke backe
To former Ages, and I heare 'em Speake
With almost wonder; what prodigious name
Can boast he Saw, he went, and overcame,
ffurther then some of ours? Third Edward's Son,
Son of brave Sire! how did he overrun
The face of ffrance? and Victorie Create
In his owne fortune; pardon, if I say't,
33
Pronounc'd with Admiration and ffeare;
Not that Great Alexander, nor the name
Of Punicke Hannibal, nor Cæsar's ffame,
Outshine his Glories; had he seene a Day
As large in Time, he'd beene as great as they;
Him Shall I praise? or his brave father most?
Or his great Grandsire? or of Richard boast?
That Richard Lion's-heart; and from that Stemme
Bring downe the Glorie, to fifth Harrie's name,
Or the fowerth Edward; these and many more
(Though not in ffame) in Blood-inferior,
Might I repeat; but better let them goe
To swell huge Chronicle in ffolio.
How shall I praise thee most? in thy full peace!
Thy nat'rall Bounties, and the large increase
Which everie yeare forth brings; thy inborne wealth,
Thy selfe-existence, where wee need noe Stealth
Of Marchants to enrich vs; but might rest
Safe in our Selves, with native bounties blest;
Shall I praise one, or All? for All are thine.
Noe more will I admire the Southerne Shine,
Nor Easterne perfumes, nor the wealth o'th' west;
But thinke thee fairest, Sweetest, richest, Best;
fforgetting Chaucer, and Dan Lidgate's Rhime;
Loe here, the Glorie of our modern time,
A learnèd Age; Since great Elizae's reigne
And peace came in; the proud Italian
34
The English (though not Equall) next him now.
The noble Sidney, crown'd with liveing Bayes;
And Spencer, cheif, (if a peculiar praise
May pass, and from the rest not derogate)
The learnèd Jonson, whose Dramaticke State
Shall stand admir'd Example, to reduce
Things proper, to the light, or buskind Muse.
Many the present Age afford, of which
Heare ffalkland, Digbie, Beaumond, Carew, Rich,
In their Composures Severall; with whom
Maye, Allein, Randolph, Shirley, Rutter come;
Sons of thy wombe all these; with whom may I
(Though in a weake and humble Poesie)
Thy glories Celebrate, and quitt the Score
Nature obligeth me; I aske noe more.
Not that I covet fame; let those high names
Inherite all the Glorie of their Thames,
And live to many ages, though I fall,
In scornèd Dust, and have noe name at all:
Suffice it I may sing vpon thy flood,
Neglected Humber; or my Muse (lesse proud)
Sport in the Sedges of my neighbouring Streame,
Poore as my verse, neither deserving name.
And may the village where I had my birth
Enclose as Due, my Bodie in her Earth.
35
A Pastorall Ode; The Eglogue is Lost.
Come leave the Citie's strife
And chuse a Countrie Life,
There place my Ioyes; and let my wandring mind
Be fixt, and there confin'd;
There, with my lovèd Sheepe,
And my owne Silvia, I as prince, can keepe,
Crowned Monarch, in her Brest,
Equall loving, equall Blest;
Come, come away, my thoughts, be fixèd here,
ffor greater pleasures have ye greater Care.
And chuse a Countrie Life,
There place my Ioyes; and let my wandring mind
Be fixt, and there confin'd;
There, with my lovèd Sheepe,
And my owne Silvia, I as prince, can keepe,
Crowned Monarch, in her Brest,
Equall loving, equall Blest;
Come, come away, my thoughts, be fixèd here,
ffor greater pleasures have ye greater Care.
What though I doe not find
My Galleries, there Lined
With Atticke hangings, nor Corinthian Plate,
(Ensignes of greater State
Placed for more ornament)
Is't in these vanities to find Content?
I doe not Covet these;
An humble Roofe may please
An humble mind; and who can tell? there may
Be troubled Thoughts in Downe, as well as Hay.
My Galleries, there Lined
With Atticke hangings, nor Corinthian Plate,
(Ensignes of greater State
Placed for more ornament)
Is't in these vanities to find Content?
I doe not Covet these;
An humble Roofe may please
An humble mind; and who can tell? there may
Be troubled Thoughts in Downe, as well as Hay.
36
Though Gray or Russet be
My height of Gayetie,
Though I nor Plush, nor gaudie Sattin have;
Enough, I doe none Crave:
What though, my Backe, or Thigh,
Not Cloathèd be with Woole, in Tirian Dye!
Nor Beaver's ffleece enrich
My Browes! tis not the Itch
Of Glorie takes me; I can often find
In Garments trimme, a Discomposèd mind.
My height of Gayetie,
Though I nor Plush, nor gaudie Sattin have;
Enough, I doe none Crave:
What though, my Backe, or Thigh,
Not Cloathèd be with Woole, in Tirian Dye!
Nor Beaver's ffleece enrich
My Browes! tis not the Itch
Of Glorie takes me; I can often find
In Garments trimme, a Discomposèd mind.
The Colchian Bird's to mee
Noe baite of Luxurie,
Nor doe I seeke th' Ionian Partridge, more
Then Hens, from my owne Doore;
The Lushious oyster is,
And Lobster, though of treeble price
Not moveing; neither seeke
I Spanish Wines, or Greeke,
To Stirre my Spirrits: I can gladly bee
Sated with lesse, and Shun the Luxurie.
Noe baite of Luxurie,
Nor doe I seeke th' Ionian Partridge, more
Then Hens, from my owne Doore;
The Lushious oyster is,
And Lobster, though of treeble price
Not moveing; neither seeke
I Spanish Wines, or Greeke,
To Stirre my Spirrits: I can gladly bee
Sated with lesse, and Shun the Luxurie.
What tho' perhaps I want
Beauties, and have no hant
Where I may wanton, and quench lustfull fires;
Noe need; for those desires
I doe not harbour; Soe
I flye the Sin, and the occasion too;
ffor Silvia is to me
More then varietie;
In her deare Eyes I ioy, and can take thence
A fflame of Modestie and Innocence.
Beauties, and have no hant
Where I may wanton, and quench lustfull fires;
Noe need; for those desires
I doe not harbour; Soe
I flye the Sin, and the occasion too;
37
More then varietie;
In her deare Eyes I ioy, and can take thence
A fflame of Modestie and Innocence.
Noe Lustfull Raptures me
Hold in Captivitie;
I seeke noe wanton mistress, I can Spend
(And wish time might not End,)
Daies, and Years, with Silvia;
Shee, to my pleasèd Thoughts, is more then they
Can fancie, in their Dreams;
I would, these foule extreames,
Not less then Scylla, or Charibdis Shun;
There is an Isthmus, I would fixe vpon.
Hold in Captivitie;
I seeke noe wanton mistress, I can Spend
(And wish time might not End,)
Daies, and Years, with Silvia;
Shee, to my pleasèd Thoughts, is more then they
Can fancie, in their Dreams;
I would, these foule extreames,
Not less then Scylla, or Charibdis Shun;
There is an Isthmus, I would fixe vpon.
The gaudie Citie's pride,
Nor what they boast beside,
Nor their full Treasures, nor their furnisht roomes,
Where Silken Madam comes;
Not all the Cloaths they weare
Nor their high feastings, and luxurious fare;
Not Madam's selfe, can make
Mee, countrie Life forsake;
Noe; let them riot, revel, feast, and vant
Their garments rich as these, the Sin I want.
Nor what they boast beside,
Nor their full Treasures, nor their furnisht roomes,
Where Silken Madam comes;
Not all the Cloaths they weare
Nor their high feastings, and luxurious fare;
Not Madam's selfe, can make
Mee, countrie Life forsake;
Noe; let them riot, revel, feast, and vant
Their garments rich as these, the Sin I want.
Ile shun Court Care, and the proud Citie's strife,
Center my Ioyes, in a poore Countrie Life.
Center my Ioyes, in a poore Countrie Life.
38
The Spring.
Now the Springe enters; now the Sun doth CheareThe quick'ned Earth; and trees by Cold made bare
Now gin to bud; the Earth doth now begin
To flourish, in her Sweet and glorious Trimme;
The Silver Streams bound vp by winter's Cold
Glide fairly, where they murmurèd of old;
The goodly meadowes, russet late, and Dead,
In a fresh Dresse, are now apparelled;
The mountaine tops are bared, and where the Snow
Late covered, the Spring begins to Shew.
Thither, the Lads, dull'd with the winter's rest,
To ioy in wonted Sports, doe gladly hast;
Now Ioyes the Industrious Bee, and the Ant now
(Embleme of Providence) her selfe doth Show,
Warme in her winter's Store; doth now againe
Labour, and make provision, to sustaine
Her little bodie, for the after-day;
Now flyes the maggot, in her paintings gay,
(Signe of faire weather) and doth now invite
Decrepit years, to tas't the Spring's delight.
I will not call the Cuckooe, with the Spring,
(Vnnatural foolish Bird) let her voyce ringe
T' affright the Citie, and an Omen carrie
Of ffate, to fooles, and old men, when they marrie;
But here the Redbrest and gray Linnets Singe,
39
To gaine yond' highest Sprig, and there doth pay
A Ceremonious Himne, to welcome day;
Whilst from that Grove, the haples Philomel
Sweetly, though Sadly, doth her Storie tell;
The little Dazies, shake their Deawie Locks,
The ambitious woodbine climbs againe, and mocks
The tardie Gilliflower; the lillye in
Her liveing Robe of Innocence, doth Shine;
ffor those of Cost and Art, to me are poor:
Nature is Rich, and Curious in her Store;
And this same Marigold, or violet here,
To the transplanted Tulip, I preferre;
Loe, where the Larke, borne on her active wing,
Pouers forth her Song of Ioy, vnto the Spring;
Lambs ioyous friske, and play now each with other,
Neglect the Teate, and leave the Ewe, their mother;
Inspirèd with the Time, may my Muse frame
Notes with the Larke, be Sportive with the Lambe.
40
The Difference.
I knew him here alive, whose everie Breath
Was Health, and med'cine 'gainst Disease and Death;
Kept constant Times of Sleepe, and could not Eate
But at set times, and of such kind of Meat;
This, was grosse feeding, th' other, was foule & nought;
And such men, to infirmities that brought;
This, full of Humor, that, decayed the Blood;
This, was a binder; th' other was not good;
Hee kept a Diet in his drinke, nor would
Hee tast this, t'was too hot; and that, too cold;
This, too too searching was; and that, did bring
Inevitable Death, or a worse thing;
But ffeumotorie, Wormewood, Sage, Rosemarie,
Bettonie, and such moe, as make me wearie
In the recitall; tunn'd in Liquor vp
Each, to his Season; and that soveraigne Cup
Of Antimonie cheifly (which he taught
With as much Zeale as he from whom 'twas bought:)
Hee kept 'em in a booke, the Cures 't had done,
Of Sores, and Sicknes, all beneath the Sun;
ffrom Raging ffeavers, even to that wee call
A Beggar's Ague,—why, it Cures 'em all;
ffrom the poore Village Scabbe, to the hot Pox,
And all the Sores tooke from vnwholsome Smocks;
It cures (almost a Miracle to see),
The new-found Rickets, halfe-lost Leprosie;
Wer't possible, 't would bring a Maidenhead
Backe to the Partie, and revive the Deade;
ffor 't has, from such an one, tane halfe a Score
Odde doting years; from such, as many more;
It has made an old Crazèd vsurer be seene
Neglect his twenties, dote vpon fifteene;
It has done feats, such as the Bath nor Spau
Ere boasted; Such as England never Saw;
Some, in his owne Experience; Some, he tooke
ffrom worshipfull good Credit; and his Booke,
It was the Best, he ever knew; and Hee
Had read from Galen, downe to Alestree;
Hee'd tell me soe; and say, he oft could take
Things from th' Posteriors of an Almanacke,
Very behoofull to the Regimen
Of health; the Times, and Seasons, How and when
Wee should apply all med'cine, in an Hower
Soe Criticall, it might our Health assure;
When best to Bath, and when 't was fitt to bleed,
By way of Nature, or by way of need;
When everie nat'rall office most prevailes;
Knew when to blow his nose, or pare his Nailes;
In everie thing precise; now, this he'ed eat,
And the next meale, th' other was wholsome meat;
ffruits, Some were waterish; windye Some; and then
These, taken moderately, were good agen;
To bedward, take this; next your heart, tomorrow,
Eat this, or Drinke, and it will heale you thorow;
This may your breakefast be; thus you may dine;
Sup thus; but take a glass of this betweene;
In anie Case, thus would he talke, and Strive
With Cost, and Care, to keep himselfe alive;
Hee Studied Med'cine, and obsequiouslye
Ador'd his Custome; Yet I saw him Dye.
Was Health, and med'cine 'gainst Disease and Death;
Kept constant Times of Sleepe, and could not Eate
But at set times, and of such kind of Meat;
This, was grosse feeding, th' other, was foule & nought;
And such men, to infirmities that brought;
This, full of Humor, that, decayed the Blood;
This, was a binder; th' other was not good;
Hee kept a Diet in his drinke, nor would
Hee tast this, t'was too hot; and that, too cold;
This, too too searching was; and that, did bring
Inevitable Death, or a worse thing;
But ffeumotorie, Wormewood, Sage, Rosemarie,
Bettonie, and such moe, as make me wearie
In the recitall; tunn'd in Liquor vp
Each, to his Season; and that soveraigne Cup
Of Antimonie cheifly (which he taught
With as much Zeale as he from whom 'twas bought:)
Hee kept 'em in a booke, the Cures 't had done,
Of Sores, and Sicknes, all beneath the Sun;
ffrom Raging ffeavers, even to that wee call
A Beggar's Ague,—why, it Cures 'em all;
41
And all the Sores tooke from vnwholsome Smocks;
It cures (almost a Miracle to see),
The new-found Rickets, halfe-lost Leprosie;
Wer't possible, 't would bring a Maidenhead
Backe to the Partie, and revive the Deade;
ffor 't has, from such an one, tane halfe a Score
Odde doting years; from such, as many more;
It has made an old Crazèd vsurer be seene
Neglect his twenties, dote vpon fifteene;
It has done feats, such as the Bath nor Spau
Ere boasted; Such as England never Saw;
Some, in his owne Experience; Some, he tooke
ffrom worshipfull good Credit; and his Booke,
It was the Best, he ever knew; and Hee
Had read from Galen, downe to Alestree;
Hee'd tell me soe; and say, he oft could take
Things from th' Posteriors of an Almanacke,
Very behoofull to the Regimen
Of health; the Times, and Seasons, How and when
Wee should apply all med'cine, in an Hower
Soe Criticall, it might our Health assure;
When best to Bath, and when 't was fitt to bleed,
By way of Nature, or by way of need;
When everie nat'rall office most prevailes;
Knew when to blow his nose, or pare his Nailes;
In everie thing precise; now, this he'ed eat,
And the next meale, th' other was wholsome meat;
42
These, taken moderately, were good agen;
To bedward, take this; next your heart, tomorrow,
Eat this, or Drinke, and it will heale you thorow;
This may your breakefast be; thus you may dine;
Sup thus; but take a glass of this betweene;
In anie Case, thus would he talke, and Strive
With Cost, and Care, to keep himselfe alive;
Hee Studied Med'cine, and obsequiouslye
Ador'd his Custome; Yet I saw him Dye.
When loe, another; in a Careles kind
Gurmonds his Meat, and takes as he can find;
Hee neer examines Health, but as he needs,
Hee eats, or Drinkes; he never recks what breeds
Humors, or Bloods; Sweating, and Broyling hot,
Hee drinks cold water, and not knows a Iott
Of Cold, or Sickness for it; he can goe
Clad as in Summer, soe in frost and Snow;
Neer knew the Cup, nor needs it; and the hard
Names of Infirmities, make him more feard
Then any sickness, in it selfe; for these
Hee knowes, as Incident; and noe Disease
Has soe much Terror to him, soe much ill,
As an Apothecarie's misticke Bill;
ffears Death not more then Phisicke; and the Time
Observ'd by Star-gazers, concernes not him;
The moone he values not, nor much the Signe,
Vnles when virgo doth with Scorpio ioyne;
His Zodiack's Gemini; and then he reck's
Her thirteene Changes but to forty weeks;
Tis Venus Yeare, let Lunae's paler shine
Gvild Nunneries, and all her Months vntwine,
ffor poor despairing widdowes, that they may
Cherish fresh hopes of a new wedding Day.
And why are these lesse happie (but much more)
Then the poore Milksop, you have seene before?
Who like the Sottish Ape, with too great Care,
Looseth his dearling Cub, his health, vn'ware;
And then is glad to hug the hated whelpe,
Infirmitie: I doe not scorne the helpe
Of Phisicke, but contemne the rule, which some
Put themselves in, a Liveing Martirdome;
ffor who soe mad! (to Chuse,) would love disease,
With Trouble, rather then his Health, with Ease;
Yet some Men doe't: such wee can not wish worse
Then still to suffer in their owne made Curse
And may they langvish; for ev'n Charitie
ffaints to give Selfe-Sold Slaves their Libertie.
Gurmonds his Meat, and takes as he can find;
Hee neer examines Health, but as he needs,
Hee eats, or Drinkes; he never recks what breeds
Humors, or Bloods; Sweating, and Broyling hot,
Hee drinks cold water, and not knows a Iott
Of Cold, or Sickness for it; he can goe
Clad as in Summer, soe in frost and Snow;
Neer knew the Cup, nor needs it; and the hard
Names of Infirmities, make him more feard
Then any sickness, in it selfe; for these
Hee knowes, as Incident; and noe Disease
Has soe much Terror to him, soe much ill,
As an Apothecarie's misticke Bill;
ffears Death not more then Phisicke; and the Time
Observ'd by Star-gazers, concernes not him;
The moone he values not, nor much the Signe,
Vnles when virgo doth with Scorpio ioyne;
43
Her thirteene Changes but to forty weeks;
Tis Venus Yeare, let Lunae's paler shine
Gvild Nunneries, and all her Months vntwine,
ffor poor despairing widdowes, that they may
Cherish fresh hopes of a new wedding Day.
And why are these lesse happie (but much more)
Then the poore Milksop, you have seene before?
Who like the Sottish Ape, with too great Care,
Looseth his dearling Cub, his health, vn'ware;
And then is glad to hug the hated whelpe,
Infirmitie: I doe not scorne the helpe
Of Phisicke, but contemne the rule, which some
Put themselves in, a Liveing Martirdome;
ffor who soe mad! (to Chuse,) would love disease,
With Trouble, rather then his Health, with Ease;
Yet some Men doe't: such wee can not wish worse
Then still to suffer in their owne made Curse
And may they langvish; for ev'n Charitie
ffaints to give Selfe-Sold Slaves their Libertie.
44
Parted, per pale.
Whilest some Men Honours raise, from Dust and Sweat;And others labour to attaine the Seate
Of ffavour, with a Prince; and others strive
By groveling Industrie, but low to live;
I thanke my Equall Starrs, which soe dispose,
I'me neither Scorne nor Envie to my foes;
I am noe Extract of a Prince's blood;
Nor can I bring a line downe from the flood;
I can not reach from Brute, nor bring my name
Addition to the antique Brittish ffame;
The Norman Conquest pussles my dispute;
I dare not stand the tryall, in a suite;
Nor say, from such a Knight, or such a Lord,
I am deriv'd, and give a Herald's word.
I will not bring an Ancestor againe
ffrom such a Harrie, such an Edward's reigne;
Reputed then a Squire; nor buy a Roll
To boast my Predecessors by the Poll;
Or shew the severall Matches blazoned faire,
Baron, et ffemme, and tell you how they beare
Gules, or, vert, azure,—heathen words for Red,
Yellow, green, blue; how fairly am I sted
By fortune, that the Colours, which I claime
Hereditarie, to my house and Name,
Are but the Same, whereon, and with, I write,
45
I neither boast, nor Skorne, a faire discent,
Noble, and Herald-vouchèd Ancient;
But I contemne the vanitie of these
As I doe Infamie; I would not please
Arrogance, in a Sillable; but stand
Ioyed, to behold the honor and the Land,
(Drawne from a noble Ancestrie) survive,
And by a worthy Nephew, kept alive.
I was not borne soe low; but would I bring
Wind, to swell out the Bladder whence I spring,
It would appeare as Eminent, as high,
As those, who boast a longer Pedigree;
And if not burst by malice of this Age,
May stand as long; but, why should I presage
A Ruine to my selfe? when those who now
Put vp of late, and beare a hopefull brow
May die forgotten; when those, yet to spring,
Are fall'n, and none to speake of such a thing.
When those, who glorye Heralds bookes, and all
The Sin they sprung from, shall to nothing fall,
I may survive; But what! is Poetrie
Come to be Larded, with ranke Heraldrie?
Soe some Cookes spoile good Meat; yet not amisse,
ffor divers Palats; some like that, some this:
And much good as they relish, may they finde,
A Phesant, bacon-farc'd, or pure, in kind.
46
Woman Charactred.
Chast, as an aged Hermit, at his Death;ffaire, as the morning, sweeter then the Breath
Of Violets; and as the Turtle, true;
Where She affects, never enquiring new;
And (seing the world 'counts it an ornament)
She Shall be rich sufficient to Content;
Not starrs, but equall Sunns, are her faire Eyes,
Dressing the Sphere, where all perfection Lyes;
Soe sweetly modest, as in either Eye
(Without a gvide) men might read Chastitie;
The common Praise, of Lillie, and the Rose,
ffresh as in Iune, here in December growes;
Her necke, her brest, her wast; (for lower, I
Not dare to fall,) might ravish everie Eye;
To adorne these, Motion, which in soe faire state
Shee doth Expresse, Iuno might imitate;
Sober, to speake, but when her Accents come,
Minerva present, would be stricken dumbe;
A Mind beyond Expression; vertuous, more
Then Anchorites, even in their Dying Hower;
All these, in Woman; but which, which is Shee?
All women, are soe; or at least, should Bee.
47
Silvia revolted.
When I, vnto the fameles Devia, now
Vtter my song, the emptie winds disperse
My Laboured Numbers, and let noe man know
Their Soūd: ah! there have I, in mightie verse,
Had better Audience, of my fellow peeres;
The proud Amintas did not scorne, to bow
And give Attention; nor disdaine to ioyne
His verses, with the notes which then were mine.
Vtter my song, the emptie winds disperse
My Laboured Numbers, and let noe man know
Their Soūd: ah! there have I, in mightie verse,
Had better Audience, of my fellow peeres;
The proud Amintas did not scorne, to bow
And give Attention; nor disdaine to ioyne
His verses, with the notes which then were mine.
When hee, the bright Vrbana magnified;
And I my Silvia sung, in Equall Sound;
Silvia, the fairest, mortall ever Eyed;
But ah! my griefe! there is my heart's great wound.
Sylvia, whom once I almost Deified,
Revolted is; and newer Loves hath found.
Ah faithles Silvia; whether shall I flye,
ffor Passion, to enrage my Poesie.
And I my Silvia sung, in Equall Sound;
Silvia, the fairest, mortall ever Eyed;
But ah! my griefe! there is my heart's great wound.
Sylvia, whom once I almost Deified,
Revolted is; and newer Loves hath found.
Ah faithles Silvia; whether shall I flye,
ffor Passion, to enrage my Poesie.
Whither! but to the Eyes of Silvia false?
And dash my bitter Inke against their shine;
Defame that glorious feature; which exalts
Her name, to wonder, in some verse of mine;
Crie recreant, and recant what ever calls
Her faire, or worthy; Draw another Line
And what I said, vnsay; or shall I keepe
In modest limits; and let Passion Sleepe.
And dash my bitter Inke against their shine;
48
Her name, to wonder, in some verse of mine;
Crie recreant, and recant what ever calls
Her faire, or worthy; Draw another Line
And what I said, vnsay; or shall I keepe
In modest limits; and let Passion Sleepe.
I will not wrong her Name, which gave mine Life
In a Cleare Mention; She to whom I sung
A Thousand Sonnets, and brought Numbers rife,
To Celebrate her Glories; She who hung
My browes with virgin Chaplets; never greife
Shall blind my Iudgment, with soe foule a wrong;
But Silvia, in my verse, shall keepe a Seat,
Though me she Scorne, and happilie forget.
In a Cleare Mention; She to whom I sung
A Thousand Sonnets, and brought Numbers rife,
To Celebrate her Glories; She who hung
My browes with virgin Chaplets; never greife
Shall blind my Iudgment, with soe foule a wrong;
But Silvia, in my verse, shall keepe a Seat,
Though me she Scorne, and happilie forget.
Though me She Scorne; and give her love away
To proud Penandro; and the guiltie Crue
Rivall her favours; I may see a Day,
She will be glad to grace my love anew;
Meanwhile, in Libertie, I will Assay
My fancie (taught by her) and re-accrue
My Thoughts into their Station; and then Scorne
Her faith retracted, old, and overworne.
To proud Penandro; and the guiltie Crue
Rivall her favours; I may see a Day,
She will be glad to grace my love anew;
Meanwhile, in Libertie, I will Assay
My fancie (taught by her) and re-accrue
My Thoughts into their Station; and then Scorne
Her faith retracted, old, and overworne.
49
Scorne returned.
Are you the only faire, false Silvia? noe:'Twas I that gave the lustre to your Eyes;
And sung your Beauties greater farre & moe
Then Nature gave, or all the flatteries
Of your deluding Glasse could ever Show.
I plac'd a liveing Rose
On either Cheeke; and drest
Those Lipps faire, which disclose
Pearles, in their liveing Nest.
I drest, with polish't Ivorie that brow,
And to your lockes put all the Sorceries
Of Nature; 'twas I, brought
All perfect Lineaments vnto your fframe;
And in huge Numbers taught
A Character of Beautie, in your Name.
Then are you fond, to flye your owne desert;
And your neglect, may bring my Love to Scorne;
Ile chuse another, who in everie part
Shall have more Sweets; farewell, oh false forsworne;
Ile bring an Æthiope, and with small endeavour
Raise better feature there, then you had ever.
50
Supplanted.
Disloyall Silvia; See
What now your Scorne has done;
I have my Libertye:
Goe follow you your owne.
I sing another Name, and sing her faire;
Loe, where she Comes, with thousand Cupids sett
In either Eye; and all the Sweets, which were
Your beautie's prize, in her againe are mett;
You were but what I sung you; when I call
My verses backe, your Beauties vanish All.
What now your Scorne has done;
I have my Libertye:
Goe follow you your owne.
I sing another Name, and sing her faire;
Loe, where she Comes, with thousand Cupids sett
In either Eye; and all the Sweets, which were
Your beautie's prize, in her againe are mett;
You were but what I sung you; when I call
My verses backe, your Beauties vanish All.
See; (to torment your soule)
Who has tooke vp your place;
I must Confesse, a foule
Deformèd, Sootie face;
Darke as the Night, her Eyes; her haire vndrest,
Like Adders on her Curbèd Shoulders fall;
Her Limnes Distorted, and her name profest,
Leud Prostitute to Everie Stranger's call;
Yet, in a liveing verse, I will transforme
Her faults perfection, and her name adorne.
Who has tooke vp your place;
I must Confesse, a foule
Deformèd, Sootie face;
Darke as the Night, her Eyes; her haire vndrest,
Like Adders on her Curbèd Shoulders fall;
Her Limnes Distorted, and her name profest,
Leud Prostitute to Everie Stranger's call;
Yet, in a liveing verse, I will transforme
Her faults perfection, and her name adorne.
Splitt your proud heart with greife,
To know, another must
Gaine, by my verse, a Life;
When yours, hid in the rust
Of Sad Decay, noe mention shall find;
My deare Nicotiana is more true
And not soe Common; (though with every wind
She varie Love) and ffairer much then you:
This Common Strumpet of the Times, to you
Is ffaire, and Chast, (and though still changeing) true.
To know, another must
Gaine, by my verse, a Life;
When yours, hid in the rust
51
My deare Nicotiana is more true
And not soe Common; (though with every wind
She varie Love) and ffairer much then you:
This Common Strumpet of the Times, to you
Is ffaire, and Chast, (and though still changeing) true.
To Nicotiana. A Rapture.
Come, my Nicotiana; weele renew
Our free delights, and Appetite pursue;
Wee fearles will Enioy those reall Ioyes
Lovers would paint, in their fantasticke toyes;
And boldly Iustifie what wee have done,
Though thousand Curious Eyes were looking on.
Our free delights, and Appetite pursue;
Wee fearles will Enioy those reall Ioyes
Lovers would paint, in their fantasticke toyes;
And boldly Iustifie what wee have done,
Though thousand Curious Eyes were looking on.
Come; with a hundred Blandishments weele trye
Strange Subtleties, in Love's great misterie;
In varied formes, thy pliant Limbes shall cast
Their knots, at once about my necke and wast;
Thy poudred Tresses, over mine shall spread,
And strangelye mixt, make it but all one head;
Close, as the power of Love can Ioyne vs, then
Wee will new Ioyes invent; such as the Pen
Of wanton Poets pussle; my free hand
Noe bashfull blush shall ever Countermand,
But in a Thousand formes, thy Tresses part
And slide along, with vncontrollèd Art,
Thy daintie Bodie; not to fear a frowne,
ffor soyling of thy new white Sattin Gowne;
My willing Lips shall part, to catch thy Breath,
Sweet, as the Hony-deaw, which Hybla hath.
There will I hang; and all my veins inspire
With Ardent Wishes, taken from thy fire;
Hard on my Lips, thy wanton tongue shall press,
And by new Chimistrie in Wantonnes,
Send the rich Qvintessence of all I seeke,
In Dalliance through that faire Alimbecke:
There will I sucke, with Cunning Industrie,
Thy Spirrits Extracted by Love's Alchimie.
When we 'are be-qualm'd, that long imbraces has
Made dull Desire, and wee shall only passe
ffaint breathings, I will summon a fresh Store
Of Vigour, farre more Active, then before;
And with neat Tittilations, new provoke
Decaied fire in thee, to the full Stocke;
Invent new postures, & out-doe the old
ffictions, to make 'em Storie; when with bold
Vncurbèd flames, wee grapple; and not part,
But to renew our Action, and our Art.
Strange Subtleties, in Love's great misterie;
In varied formes, thy pliant Limbes shall cast
Their knots, at once about my necke and wast;
Thy poudred Tresses, over mine shall spread,
And strangelye mixt, make it but all one head;
Close, as the power of Love can Ioyne vs, then
Wee will new Ioyes invent; such as the Pen
Of wanton Poets pussle; my free hand
52
But in a Thousand formes, thy Tresses part
And slide along, with vncontrollèd Art,
Thy daintie Bodie; not to fear a frowne,
ffor soyling of thy new white Sattin Gowne;
My willing Lips shall part, to catch thy Breath,
Sweet, as the Hony-deaw, which Hybla hath.
There will I hang; and all my veins inspire
With Ardent Wishes, taken from thy fire;
Hard on my Lips, thy wanton tongue shall press,
And by new Chimistrie in Wantonnes,
Send the rich Qvintessence of all I seeke,
In Dalliance through that faire Alimbecke:
There will I sucke, with Cunning Industrie,
Thy Spirrits Extracted by Love's Alchimie.
When we 'are be-qualm'd, that long imbraces has
Made dull Desire, and wee shall only passe
ffaint breathings, I will summon a fresh Store
Of Vigour, farre more Active, then before;
And with neat Tittilations, new provoke
Decaied fire in thee, to the full Stocke;
Invent new postures, & out-doe the old
ffictions, to make 'em Storie; when with bold
Vncurbèd flames, wee grapple; and not part,
But to renew our Action, and our Art.
Let fooles be modest; and the novice say
Hee did the Act, where no Eye could betray;
Such pettie fears, our generous Thoughts despise,
Our pleasure is made rich by many Eyes;
And with an Equall glorie, wee dare vye,
In Artfull Sleights, to all the Standers by;
Such Confidence is manly; doth appeare
Worthy all Titles, wee can glorie here;
Thus, my Nicotiana, wee will move
Careles who see; fearles who know our Love.
Hee did the Act, where no Eye could betray;
Such pettie fears, our generous Thoughts despise,
53
And with an Equall glorie, wee dare vye,
In Artfull Sleights, to all the Standers by;
Such Confidence is manly; doth appeare
Worthy all Titles, wee can glorie here;
Thus, my Nicotiana, wee will move
Careles who see; fearles who know our Love.
The farewell.
Thus could I foole away my Time, in Toyes;And paralel her Name
(Obscure) to all your fame;
Create a Harmonie, to all the Ioyes
I had, in Love, of you; draw threds of praise
Into a Volume; and Erect
A Trophie, to out-shine you, many waies;
But know, I doe neglect
Trifles of ffemale Love; I will not draw
A line, to Eyther, more then idle howers
Permit; (when I releasèd from the Awe
Of Sober thoughts) if lighter ffancie Skowers
Like wanton Hobbies, at a Dore; then well
In Skorne and Mockage, of your falshood, tell
Perhaps I may: Farewell.
54
An Epode.
Farre, from the Cittie's Strife; as far from fame,I wish to keepe my name:
Careles of popular vote, or vaine Applause,
To mine, though for Iust Cause;
Let the bright Inke, which Phebus doth distill
Through everie Noble Qvill,
Run in a Clearer path; had I bene borne
Below my fate; the Scorne
Of other men; and had noe more extract
Then what my selfe could Act;
Yet in this obscure fortune, had I ben
Capable of a Pen;
I would have Squared a way, for my owne verse,
As void of vulgar fears,
As overborn by Selfe opinion;
I would have made my owne
Iudgment, an Equall Arbiter, to Define
The worth of everie Line;
And let ffastidious Censures of the Times
Gvild loose and borrowed Rhimes;
Such, who or want or what they have, betray
To the most Sordid way
Of Ignorance. Such as affect the vote
Of Stentor-follie's Throte,
Or ravil out the Loome of all their witt,
To play Court-Parasit'.
55
ffell to soe base an End,
My gviltye Qvill would splitt, my Inke would rise
Into my face and Eyes.
Iudge, Great Apollo! if I have done ought
With a presumptuous Thought,
That any name could make my numbers flye
Beyond their Poesie.
To noe Collossus could I ever bend,
Or at the Court attend,
With my owne Sin and ffollie in a Sheet;
To prostrate at the feet
Of painted greatnes. Not a Lord, one drop
Of my Iust Inke, shall hope
Beyond his merit: I dare not abase
Soe much, my free-borne Muse;
But vtter Truth. It is not in their ffate
To raise, nor Terminate,
A true Composure. Wee admire the Good,
Without Alloy of Blood;
And Iustly praise them, beyond all the Date
Of Brass or marble State.
We adde to them, if Either, and doe give
Their Vertues breath, to live,
In Mention; and the honour of one Name
Shall nere be old with ffame.
But 'tis Enough; I hate a Servitude
Either to Might, or to the Multitude.
56
To the Memorie of the most worthy and excellently vertuous Ladie The Ladie Alford.
Obijt: 1.6.3.6.
An Elegie.
Say not the Marble's hard, nor those Seas cold
Where Winter, vndisturbed, his Court doth hold.
Noe more the Steele needs Hammers; harder farre
Then Stone or Steele; colder then North Seas are,
Or Scythian Snow; some say, a heart is found.
Let that heart hear this verse & it will wound
Him to the Qvicke; for marble drops to Dust,
Christall resolves, Steele softens in his Rust,
To hear't; or let me speake; for (She commands
Who ballanceth the world with vnbribed hands).
Iustice commands my Qvill, & bids me tell
The Erring world, it never knew her well.
I might Speake Miracles: should those who stray
In Libian wasts and sad Hircania
Repeat her Storie, Tigers would be mild,
Lions forget their hunger; the still wild
Indomitable Ounce, instead of blood,
Would licke their Tears, & weepe another flood.
Should men (then Beasts more Savage) such as are
Arabian Theeves, or Cham's curst ofspring, heare
Such a Divinitie, in Nature taught;
Thei'd leave their Barbarisme, & be brought
Glad Penitents to vertue: Her Name might
Informe a Scythian; the dull Muscovite,
Bound in the Ice of Servile Thoughts, might take
A fflame from Honour, and all Rapture speake.
Where Winter, vndisturbed, his Court doth hold.
Noe more the Steele needs Hammers; harder farre
Then Stone or Steele; colder then North Seas are,
Or Scythian Snow; some say, a heart is found.
Let that heart hear this verse & it will wound
Him to the Qvicke; for marble drops to Dust,
Christall resolves, Steele softens in his Rust,
To hear't; or let me speake; for (She commands
Who ballanceth the world with vnbribed hands).
Iustice commands my Qvill, & bids me tell
The Erring world, it never knew her well.
I might Speake Miracles: should those who stray
In Libian wasts and sad Hircania
Repeat her Storie, Tigers would be mild,
Lions forget their hunger; the still wild
Indomitable Ounce, instead of blood,
Would licke their Tears, & weepe another flood.
Should men (then Beasts more Savage) such as are
57
Such a Divinitie, in Nature taught;
Thei'd leave their Barbarisme, & be brought
Glad Penitents to vertue: Her Name might
Informe a Scythian; the dull Muscovite,
Bound in the Ice of Servile Thoughts, might take
A fflame from Honour, and all Rapture speake.
How then may I (who gather not from ffame,
Vertues, which give the Lustre to her Name,
But one who knew her Such) while I should here
Give her vp to the World, but turne all Feare?
Ah! might some better Qvill, with better Art,
Sing her a patterne; whilst my opprest Heart
Might rue the Losse in Silence, and shee Bee
Safer Committed to Posteritie.
Ah, might it be! but since it must not be,
I tender here, my Zealous Elegie;
To say She was, (what everie Pen can Say)
Vertuous in Particulars; wee may
Dilate 'em Severallie; but if I shall
Expresse her trulie, Shee indeed was All.
Vertues, which give the Lustre to her Name,
But one who knew her Such) while I should here
Give her vp to the World, but turne all Feare?
Ah! might some better Qvill, with better Art,
Sing her a patterne; whilst my opprest Heart
Might rue the Losse in Silence, and shee Bee
Safer Committed to Posteritie.
Ah, might it be! but since it must not be,
I tender here, my Zealous Elegie;
To say She was, (what everie Pen can Say)
Vertuous in Particulars; wee may
Dilate 'em Severallie; but if I shall
Expresse her trulie, Shee indeed was All.
But looke not here to finde her. See her name
And read her Storie in the Booke of Fame;
There hap'lie you may find it. Oh! recant;
Draw backe that word. How narrow, and how scant
Fame gives a vertue? Ah, her lavish Breath
Is but to let the world know of some Death
Or novel ffarley. Presentlie Shee Dyes;
A false and weake record of Memories;
ffor Envie lackies Fame, &, as she will,
Takes from the good, and gives it to the Ill.
Oh looke not there to find her; she was farre
Too good for Fame to tell, or Men to heare.
And read her Storie in the Booke of Fame;
There hap'lie you may find it. Oh! recant;
Draw backe that word. How narrow, and how scant
Fame gives a vertue? Ah, her lavish Breath
Is but to let the world know of some Death
Or novel ffarley. Presentlie Shee Dyes;
58
ffor Envie lackies Fame, &, as she will,
Takes from the good, and gives it to the Ill.
Oh looke not there to find her; she was farre
Too good for Fame to tell, or Men to heare.
Noe, cast thy Eyes vp yonder; put away
Thy foule Corruptions and thy Weights of Clay.
Strip, Strip thy Soule, light as the Aire, and pure
As Innocence, to quitt the Earth, and veiw her,
Seated in Glorie. Oh, there looke and read
Her Name and vertues, fairlie Charactred.
Thy foule Corruptions and thy Weights of Clay.
Strip, Strip thy Soule, light as the Aire, and pure
As Innocence, to quitt the Earth, and veiw her,
Seated in Glorie. Oh, there looke and read
Her Name and vertues, fairlie Charactred.
Melt, Stonie Hearts and Eyes; come weep with Mee;
Ne're had wee cause, till now, of Elegie.
Now, if your Passions will give leave, weele ioyne
Our Stupid Brains, and Drop, perhaps, a Line
To her, or Word; or if not soe, our Tears
Shall speake a Sorrow, though wee want a verse.
Ne're had wee cause, till now, of Elegie.
Now, if your Passions will give leave, weele ioyne
Our Stupid Brains, and Drop, perhaps, a Line
To her, or Word; or if not soe, our Tears
Shall speake a Sorrow, though wee want a verse.
Nor that while Thames has water, or can vant
One Swan or Cignet, can She ever want,
Though mine should faile; (but ffate forbids to dye
The verse which stands to keepe her Memorie).
ffor there, first Ayre She breathed; hither Sent
To the Dull North, to be our ornament;
And give a Splendor, which wee may admire,
And blesse, now Dead; whilest at the Hallowed fire,
I light my Taper, and am told to bee
(Soe farre as now my greife gives Libertie,)
Her Poet in my best. But ah! my Teares
Qvench my Dimme Taper, and conclude my verse.
One Swan or Cignet, can She ever want,
Though mine should faile; (but ffate forbids to dye
The verse which stands to keepe her Memorie).
ffor there, first Ayre She breathed; hither Sent
To the Dull North, to be our ornament;
And give a Splendor, which wee may admire,
And blesse, now Dead; whilest at the Hallowed fire,
I light my Taper, and am told to bee
(Soe farre as now my greife gives Libertie,)
Her Poet in my best. But ah! my Teares
Qvench my Dimme Taper, and conclude my verse.
59
To: D: i
.1.6.3.7.
Rare Mirror of the Age, who dost present
All formes to Life, and all Time represent
In its owne Colours; dost aright discerne
Twixt vertue and ostent; whence Men may learne
To vndeceive themselves, in their Surmise
Of former Times, more vertuous or more wise.
All formes to Life, and all Time represent
In its owne Colours; dost aright discerne
Twixt vertue and ostent; whence Men may learne
To vndeceive themselves, in their Surmise
Of former Times, more vertuous or more wise.
Wee'r mad; Mad All; Our grandsires mad as wee;
Their ffathers mad; Mad from all Ancestrie.
ffrom high'st to lowest, from the worst to the best;
ffrom Kings to Pesants, from the Sordid Nest
Of Infamie, to where the Eagle builds.
From Groves to Cities; & from thence to feilds.
Who's free? Not Broome-men, nor the baser sort,
Who dress the Citie, and defile the Court.
Not Hee, whose Acres gave his Father Witt.
They carrie ffate; Hee shall run Mad with it.
Not he, whose birth's his Boast; nor Hee, whose blood
Was drawne from Dunghills, or the fearfull wood:
Who calls a Halter Heraldrie, and Swears
His father found Armes where he lost his Ears.
Lend me thy Spirrit, that I may pronounce
Power, Povertie, Pride, Basenes mad at once.
Their ffathers mad; Mad from all Ancestrie.
ffrom high'st to lowest, from the worst to the best;
ffrom Kings to Pesants, from the Sordid Nest
Of Infamie, to where the Eagle builds.
From Groves to Cities; & from thence to feilds.
Who's free? Not Broome-men, nor the baser sort,
Who dress the Citie, and defile the Court.
Not Hee, whose Acres gave his Father Witt.
They carrie ffate; Hee shall run Mad with it.
Not he, whose birth's his Boast; nor Hee, whose blood
Was drawne from Dunghills, or the fearfull wood:
Who calls a Halter Heraldrie, and Swears
His father found Armes where he lost his Ears.
60
Power, Povertie, Pride, Basenes mad at once.
Bring in the Antique fopperie. Loe here
A Civicke Garland, which was bought too Deare.
Bring in the Paphian Shrub, by soft hands knitt
Into a Chaplet; or sad Willow gett.
Th' Athenian olives bring; bring Atee's wreath;
Roses or Cypress, Mariage or Death.
Bring Grasse or Ivie, or the Laurel hither,
Bound in a faggot; mad, mad Altogether.
Burne 'em for Shame, and let vs rather Chuse
Long nose-bell'd Horses, such as Children vse;
Cimbals for Dinne; and Shittle-Cocks for play;
The Peacock's Tayle, to make our ffrontlets gay;
All Bedlam-witted, walke in Bedlem wise,
With long-eard Caps, and Bells to make a noise.
Wee're mad at home, as if wee should repaire
To China, for Digression of Ayre;
Mad beyond Cure. 'Tis well. Let's All together,
Poets and Poleticks, no matter whither,
T' our long-lost Ithaca, hoise sailes, away,
ffor Hellebore, to the Anticyra.
Ha! ha! Democritus; let's laugh to see
Bedlam the gen'rall Vniversitie.
Wee have gain'd a freedome, in what others lost;
And Poets are but Equall mad at most.
What is it that the world will now advance?
All Learning, vanitie; and vertue, Chance.
A Civicke Garland, which was bought too Deare.
Bring in the Paphian Shrub, by soft hands knitt
Into a Chaplet; or sad Willow gett.
Th' Athenian olives bring; bring Atee's wreath;
Roses or Cypress, Mariage or Death.
Bring Grasse or Ivie, or the Laurel hither,
Bound in a faggot; mad, mad Altogether.
Burne 'em for Shame, and let vs rather Chuse
Long nose-bell'd Horses, such as Children vse;
Cimbals for Dinne; and Shittle-Cocks for play;
The Peacock's Tayle, to make our ffrontlets gay;
All Bedlam-witted, walke in Bedlem wise,
With long-eard Caps, and Bells to make a noise.
Wee're mad at home, as if wee should repaire
To China, for Digression of Ayre;
Mad beyond Cure. 'Tis well. Let's All together,
Poets and Poleticks, no matter whither,
T' our long-lost Ithaca, hoise sailes, away,
ffor Hellebore, to the Anticyra.
Ha! ha! Democritus; let's laugh to see
Bedlam the gen'rall Vniversitie.
Wee have gain'd a freedome, in what others lost;
And Poets are but Equall mad at most.
What is it that the world will now advance?
All Learning, vanitie; and vertue, Chance.
One's mad to lavish out; Hee's mad to Spare;
That with a Numerous Issue; this noe Heire.
Some, Shaddowes please; another banns his ffate.
Hee's rapt; another rages Desperate.
This loves an outward forme; that fashion loath's.
Be'it but in clean-washt hands or well-made Cloathes.
Hee'le Dance; another Doats. This Sings, that's Sad.
Lines tending to a Centre all; They'r Mad.
There are Degrees of Madnes in our Schoole;
ffrom wisedome's Chaire, to the cold Porch of ffoole.
Deep Plotts are Madnes; Mirth Distraction;
One's talking Mad, another more in Action.
This great Intruder will not let alone
Religion. Oh, it makes Religion
A Thousand ffaces vnder one selfe Hood:
And Each is best, where but one can be good.
Some are precise; Some their owne thoughts pursue;
One keeps the old; that, runs to everie new.
This makes Religion for me & nothing else;
That loves the Steeple, but he hates the Bells;
Makes Schisme Zeale; takes Doctrines from a Dreame;
And tears the Coat, because it had no seame.
Organs fright some; another hee's not able
To heare the Altar called more then Table.
Soe painted Windows were defac'd, and All
Salisburie Church was thought Apochriphall.
61
Some, Shaddowes please; another banns his ffate.
Hee's rapt; another rages Desperate.
This loves an outward forme; that fashion loath's.
Be'it but in clean-washt hands or well-made Cloathes.
Hee'le Dance; another Doats. This Sings, that's Sad.
Lines tending to a Centre all; They'r Mad.
There are Degrees of Madnes in our Schoole;
ffrom wisedome's Chaire, to the cold Porch of ffoole.
Deep Plotts are Madnes; Mirth Distraction;
One's talking Mad, another more in Action.
This great Intruder will not let alone
Religion. Oh, it makes Religion
A Thousand ffaces vnder one selfe Hood:
And Each is best, where but one can be good.
Some are precise; Some their owne thoughts pursue;
One keeps the old; that, runs to everie new.
This makes Religion for me & nothing else;
That loves the Steeple, but he hates the Bells;
Makes Schisme Zeale; takes Doctrines from a Dreame;
And tears the Coat, because it had no seame.
Organs fright some; another hee's not able
To heare the Altar called more then Table.
Soe painted Windows were defac'd, and All
Salisburie Church was thought Apochriphall.
Sr, Had I langvage, I would Court the flame
Of your abundant thought, and give a Name,
Yong in the world, your Rivall. I have beene
Sometimes admitted, and in Raptures seene
(That Empresse of Humanitie, who rules
Vs in our Selves, the Monarchie of Soules:)
Your owne Ægeria. Sr: let vs be free,
(As dying Hermits on Earth-pillowes bee)
ffree from the fate of Rivalls, to repine
Her too much being Yours, too little Mine.
Let foolish Lovers who bring viols in
To Lust's hot Qveene of well-apparell'd Sin;
Who sleepe in Silken Laps, on Roses tread,
And know noe fate beyond a Maidenhead;
Let them be iustly Iealous for the Cause,
And Cruciate themselves by their owne Lawes.
Of your abundant thought, and give a Name,
Yong in the world, your Rivall. I have beene
Sometimes admitted, and in Raptures seene
62
Vs in our Selves, the Monarchie of Soules:)
Your owne Ægeria. Sr: let vs be free,
(As dying Hermits on Earth-pillowes bee)
ffree from the fate of Rivalls, to repine
Her too much being Yours, too little Mine.
Let foolish Lovers who bring viols in
To Lust's hot Qveene of well-apparell'd Sin;
Who sleepe in Silken Laps, on Roses tread,
And know noe fate beyond a Maidenhead;
Let them be iustly Iealous for the Cause,
And Cruciate themselves by their owne Lawes.
Not that I hope to Live by Verse, or seeke
To gaine my Name an Inch by what I speake.
Not that I'me poor, or proud; or hope, or feare,
To Dye, or Live, with or without a Teare;
Write I this Paper only that I might
Let the world know how I received your Light;
That I might Shew how much I doe Admire;
(I dare not Envie Say) such a retire.
But that's a Common fate, and may be tooke
The way to Sordid Ends. I love your Booke,
The harvest of your Time; through which I trace
Vnited Rapture with diffusive Grace.
To gaine my Name an Inch by what I speake.
Not that I'me poor, or proud; or hope, or feare,
To Dye, or Live, with or without a Teare;
Write I this Paper only that I might
Let the world know how I received your Light;
That I might Shew how much I doe Admire;
(I dare not Envie Say) such a retire.
But that's a Common fate, and may be tooke
The way to Sordid Ends. I love your Booke,
The harvest of your Time; through which I trace
Vnited Rapture with diffusive Grace.
But let not, Sr, my lost words take you from
Your better Thoughts. Ile rather stay at home,
A willing hearer, and my owne Thoughts please
Vpon your Labours, to my vse and Ease.
Your better Thoughts. Ile rather stay at home,
A willing hearer, and my owne Thoughts please
Vpon your Labours, to my vse and Ease.
63
To the Memorie of the Best Dramaticke English Poet
Ben: Ionson:
.1.6.3.8.
Great Flame of English Poets gon! how shall
Wee strew our flowers at thy Funerall?
What obsequies performe! what rites prepare
Vnto thy Herse? What Monument but were
Too narrow to Containe Thee! or what State
But were beneath the honour of thy fate?
Noe, rather, wee (remaining of the Tribe,
Sad Orphans) can but wish what wee ascribe
Vnto thy Merit. All wee bring to thee,
Is but our Tears, our filial Pietie.
Wee strew our flowers at thy Funerall?
What obsequies performe! what rites prepare
Vnto thy Herse? What Monument but were
Too narrow to Containe Thee! or what State
But were beneath the honour of thy fate?
Noe, rather, wee (remaining of the Tribe,
Sad Orphans) can but wish what wee ascribe
Vnto thy Merit. All wee bring to thee,
Is but our Tears, our filial Pietie.
Great Lord of Arts, and Father of the Age!
The first and best Informer of the Stage!
How shall wee speake of him? what Numbers bring
T' empassionate, and worthy Orgies Sing?
What Shall we Say? Shall wee in a Iust Zeale,
Rebuke the Age of Ignorance, and tell
Aloud his Merits? Shall wee weepe, or boast
His worth? or Losse? shall wee say, when wee lost
Him, a sad Night of follie did orespread
This Iland, as wee see, and wee are dead,
Rather then Hee wee weep for? For Hee still
Lives to instruct the Age with a Strong Qvill.
And as he did from Ignorance reduce
Th' abusèd Stage, Soe has he left to vs,
(Who act vpon this greater Theatre)
Grave morall Pandects, Strong, & yet soe Cleare
Hee is his owne Expositor; and wee
(If sottishly not blind or worse), may see
Vertue in Act; and everie gracefull Step
She treads may be our Path; but wee all Sleepe,
Vncapable of what Hee taught; or how
To valew what Hee left vs. I could bow
(And would the Age might doo't without offence)
To name him, with a Modest Reverence.
For Shall wee kneele to Titles? and observe
fformalities to those, who nought deserve?
(More then their Name or painted outside give)
And shall My Lord have a prerogative
ffor vertue, in his Ancestors? (though hee
Perhaps the Shame of all his Pedigree;)
And our Great Lord of witt, where vertue in
Her Sphere did move; where Art and Iudgment Shine,
(Inseparable) bee with Common Men,
And vulgar Mention named? oh! the Pen
Of Witt and Truth forbid it! Rather let
The worthles present Age his Name forget.
For wee are Emulous fooles, and will admitt
Noe Rivalls in the Claime wee lay to witt.
The first and best Informer of the Stage!
How shall wee speake of him? what Numbers bring
T' empassionate, and worthy Orgies Sing?
What Shall we Say? Shall wee in a Iust Zeale,
Rebuke the Age of Ignorance, and tell
Aloud his Merits? Shall wee weepe, or boast
64
Him, a sad Night of follie did orespread
This Iland, as wee see, and wee are dead,
Rather then Hee wee weep for? For Hee still
Lives to instruct the Age with a Strong Qvill.
And as he did from Ignorance reduce
Th' abusèd Stage, Soe has he left to vs,
(Who act vpon this greater Theatre)
Grave morall Pandects, Strong, & yet soe Cleare
Hee is his owne Expositor; and wee
(If sottishly not blind or worse), may see
Vertue in Act; and everie gracefull Step
She treads may be our Path; but wee all Sleepe,
Vncapable of what Hee taught; or how
To valew what Hee left vs. I could bow
(And would the Age might doo't without offence)
To name him, with a Modest Reverence.
For Shall wee kneele to Titles? and observe
fformalities to those, who nought deserve?
(More then their Name or painted outside give)
And shall My Lord have a prerogative
ffor vertue, in his Ancestors? (though hee
Perhaps the Shame of all his Pedigree;)
And our Great Lord of witt, where vertue in
Her Sphere did move; where Art and Iudgment Shine,
(Inseparable) bee with Common Men,
And vulgar Mention named? oh! the Pen
Of Witt and Truth forbid it! Rather let
65
For wee are Emulous fooles, and will admitt
Noe Rivalls in the Claime wee lay to witt.
But After-Ages, (more Iudicious,
Vswaied by Passion, only Sedulous
To honour vertue,) shall, (I will not Doubt)
Advance his Name; when the despisèd Rout
(His Scorne) shall perish, in the filthy Smoake
Of their owne Follies. Then, all Eyes shall looke
With Ioy and Admiration, to receive
A Light their Fathers could not. I will leave
Only this little: Iudgment shall Allow,
(When Men have Eyes to see & witt to know
Who merit most) the greatest Eulogie,
For Langvage, Art, and all Dexteritie
Of Witt, to Him: and happ'lie were the flame
Extinct, wee might recover't in his Name.
A Charme soe stronge, Who ever shall reherse
Ben: Ionson, cannot chuse but make a verse.
Vswaied by Passion, only Sedulous
To honour vertue,) shall, (I will not Doubt)
Advance his Name; when the despisèd Rout
(His Scorne) shall perish, in the filthy Smoake
Of their owne Follies. Then, all Eyes shall looke
With Ioy and Admiration, to receive
A Light their Fathers could not. I will leave
Only this little: Iudgment shall Allow,
(When Men have Eyes to see & witt to know
Who merit most) the greatest Eulogie,
For Langvage, Art, and all Dexteritie
Of Witt, to Him: and happ'lie were the flame
Extinct, wee might recover't in his Name.
A Charme soe stronge, Who ever shall reherse
Ben: Ionson, cannot chuse but make a verse.
66
Vpon Ben Ionson's Booke.
Bee not Deceiv'd (Dull world) Hee is not Dead;Rumor is false; open His Booke, and read.
It is Himselfe; there, Everie Scene affords
Words above Action; Matter beyond Words.
If, Readers, what I say, will not suffice
T' evince your follies, I dare bid you twice
What yet you have not Done; open and Read;
Recant, or else 'tis You, not Hee, that's Dead.
To my Muse.
Awake, awake! See through thy Curtains Spred,Aurorae blushes, having left the Bed
Of old Tithonius. How She quitts the place,
With hairs Discheveld ore her ruddie face!
Rise, and salute her, crie a haile vnto her,
Prevent Appolloe, her more Active wooer:
See, how he brisks himselfe, within yond Clovd,
Readie to Enter. Now the Horses proud
Breath fire, & trample with a furious heat,
To hurrie in the Splendent Chariot. Yet
67
Th' hast, as well as Hee, a word to Say.
Now tis too late; th' hast lost (ah rue the fate)
A Time, which even the God, would Emulate.
Wounded.
See, how my Goddess, from her well-stored Qviver,
Did take a Shaft, and how She hast'ly sent it
At a poor Hart, (poor Heart) and peircèd never;
And therfore, happilie, She rather ment it:
But whither 'twer by Chance, or witting done,
Shee, shee can only tell:
But with the blow he fell;
And thrill'd by her keen Shaft, laments and greiv's alone.
Did take a Shaft, and how She hast'ly sent it
At a poor Hart, (poor Heart) and peircèd never;
And therfore, happilie, She rather ment it:
But whither 'twer by Chance, or witting done,
Shee, shee can only tell:
But with the blow he fell;
And thrill'd by her keen Shaft, laments and greiv's alone.
The gallant Heard, (proud heard,) and happie Heard,
Who never yet were peirc'd; how stately they
Pace ore the fertile Launds! vnhurt, vnfeard:
How now this wounded Heart they drive away,
Who whilome was the fairest Beast impal'd,
The fforsters cheife delight;
By hap, or rather Spight
Pines, Langvishes, and now is Dead, ere he knew what Hee ayld.
Who never yet were peirc'd; how stately they
Pace ore the fertile Launds! vnhurt, vnfeard:
How now this wounded Heart they drive away,
Who whilome was the fairest Beast impal'd,
The fforsters cheife delight;
By hap, or rather Spight
Pines, Langvishes, and now is Dead, ere he knew what Hee ayld.
68
The Dedication of a Poem, now lost; written in the Royall Expedition against the Scotts.
To the King.
All fitt to serve you, in this great Designe,
Where Action fires brave Minds, to entertaine
Bright hopes of honour; and your Subiects stand
A Gvard to you, a Glorie to your Land;
Where Armes are only vsefull. Sir, excuse
(When now Bellona thunders) a Sad Muse,
Who can noe other way her Tribute bring;
But a weake forme of words, the offering
Of a neglected Poet, who to Fame,
Bequeaths his Numbers, rich in your great Name.
Tho' Sir; if I were happie, this might live
A Time beyond what all your Annalls give;
And when the brasen Trumpe of Historie
Shall splitt with Time, and to Posteritie
Give scarce the Names of your dead Ancestors;
When Statues, Monuments, and high-rear'd Towers
Shall drop to Dust, and lye forgotten, in
A heape of Ruines; when the mouth of Sin
Shall spitt vpon Iust vertues and deface
The Light of Truth, and Maiestie disgrace;
When all the world shall suffer, in her Iawes;
Wee stand Secure, and doe not feare the Lawes
Of Surly fate, nor the Decrees of Time;
Confident in the force of mighty Rhime.
Where Action fires brave Minds, to entertaine
Bright hopes of honour; and your Subiects stand
A Gvard to you, a Glorie to your Land;
Where Armes are only vsefull. Sir, excuse
(When now Bellona thunders) a Sad Muse,
Who can noe other way her Tribute bring;
But a weake forme of words, the offering
Of a neglected Poet, who to Fame,
Bequeaths his Numbers, rich in your great Name.
Tho' Sir; if I were happie, this might live
A Time beyond what all your Annalls give;
And when the brasen Trumpe of Historie
Shall splitt with Time, and to Posteritie
Give scarce the Names of your dead Ancestors;
When Statues, Monuments, and high-rear'd Towers
Shall drop to Dust, and lye forgotten, in
A heape of Ruines; when the mouth of Sin
Shall spitt vpon Iust vertues and deface
The Light of Truth, and Maiestie disgrace;
When all the world shall suffer, in her Iawes;
Wee stand Secure, and doe not feare the Lawes
69
Confident in the force of mighty Rhime.
But Franticke Poets erre: 'tis you can give
A Life to verse. The great Prerogative
Of Numbers cannot stand without the Breath
Of Maiestie; that only frees from Death,
Creates a Poet, and gives verse her wings;
This, Sir, wee know; and thus this Poet Sings.
A Life to verse. The great Prerogative
Of Numbers cannot stand without the Breath
Of Maiestie; that only frees from Death,
Creates a Poet, and gives verse her wings;
This, Sir, wee know; and thus this Poet Sings.
This was placed in the End of the Same Poeme.
To the King.
Thus, Sr: againe I kneele. May heaven blesse
Your high Designes, with Glorie and Successe.
May victorie Attend you. But how low
Imperfect Wishes fall, to what wee owe?
May you be great and Happie, and Survive
Glorious to ffame; that Poets may derive
(Poets long Ages hence), from your great Name
All their Invention, all their Art, their Flame.
I need not wish (what Heaven ordains) the Glorie
Immortall, when y'have past this Transitorie.
I would not live to See the Change; though once
I know it must. Long, long 'bove fate, or Chance,
May you reigne here; and then I wish as much
Glorie as Immortalitie can touch.
Your high Designes, with Glorie and Successe.
May victorie Attend you. But how low
Imperfect Wishes fall, to what wee owe?
May you be great and Happie, and Survive
Glorious to ffame; that Poets may derive
(Poets long Ages hence), from your great Name
All their Invention, all their Art, their Flame.
I need not wish (what Heaven ordains) the Glorie
Immortall, when y'have past this Transitorie.
I would not live to See the Change; though once
I know it must. Long, long 'bove fate, or Chance,
70
Glorie as Immortalitie can touch.
Enough! and if these Accents strike your Ears
With the least pleasure, I will bring a verse
To your Great Name, shall be an Emulation
To all the haughtie Poets of your Nation.
My hopes live in your Breath: and to your Eyes
My Numbers fall. The Poet lives or dies,
As you pronounce. Sir: you may raise a Name
From obscure Nothing, to the Best of Fame.
A Name in nothing happie, but to Sing
The Glories of soe Great, soe Good a King.
With the least pleasure, I will bring a verse
To your Great Name, shall be an Emulation
To all the haughtie Poets of your Nation.
My hopes live in your Breath: and to your Eyes
My Numbers fall. The Poet lives or dies,
As you pronounce. Sir: you may raise a Name
From obscure Nothing, to the Best of Fame.
A Name in nothing happie, but to Sing
The Glories of soe Great, soe Good a King.
One desiring me to read, but slept it out; Wakening.
Nay, doe not Smile: my Lips shall rather dwellFor ever on my Pipe,
Then read to you, one word, or Sillable.
You are not ripe
To Iudge, or Apprehend
Of Witt. Ile rather Spend
Six howers together in Tobacco-taking,
Then read to you, and cannot keep you wakeing.
71
One boasting himselfe Iudge of pure Witt.
Are you the Judge of Witt? Dread Monarch, haile!What haughtie Poesie
Comes with vn-humbled knee
To pay due homage? Willinglie I vaile
The faire pretences which I might alledge.
Dread Monarch, Haile!
Are you the Iudge?
Wee cannot fayle
In our expectancies. How iustly fitt,
From Nettles to the Bay,
He will dispose? Noe way
T' evade his Castigations. I would Spitt
A little Rheume before my Triall come.
Adiourne thy Court, one hower at lest;
For be it knowne, I now am prest
Vpon a Sad Designe:
That done, I prostrate all the little Mine
Vnto thy Doome.
72
Reversed
Noe, noe, Ile rather suffer all the brand
Of Infamie
Envie or Ignorance can thrust, than stand
To any Hee
For Iudgment. Hee, that would assume the Chaire,
Is sway'd beyond
The strength of his owne Mind,
By vulgar Passions. Had he kept the Square
Of Equall Reason, I had bin
A vassall to his vote:
But when I saw Follie creep in,
Applauded for his Coat;
I sate me downe, and rather chus'd to give
My verse to Everie Eye, then by him Live.
Of Infamie
Envie or Ignorance can thrust, than stand
To any Hee
For Iudgment. Hee, that would assume the Chaire,
Is sway'd beyond
The strength of his owne Mind,
By vulgar Passions. Had he kept the Square
Of Equall Reason, I had bin
A vassall to his vote:
But when I saw Follie creep in,
Applauded for his Coat;
I sate me downe, and rather chus'd to give
My verse to Everie Eye, then by him Live.
For him I valued, as a man, refined
From all the Drosse
Of Time, or Fashion of a Steddie Mind;
Brought to noe loss
With Envie, nor exalted with the Name
Of high-borne witt;
Knew all the Rights were fitt
In a true Poesie; could distingvish Flame;
But oh! vnequall Iudge! none more
Was in Affection blind,
Proud, bitter, Envious: & noe power
To rectifie his Mind.
This when I saw, Thought I, who cannot gvide
His owne Affections, How shall I be try'de?
From all the Drosse
Of Time, or Fashion of a Steddie Mind;
Brought to noe loss
With Envie, nor exalted with the Name
Of high-borne witt;
Knew all the Rights were fitt
In a true Poesie; could distingvish Flame;
But oh! vnequall Iudge! none more
Was in Affection blind,
73
To rectifie his Mind.
This when I saw, Thought I, who cannot gvide
His owne Affections, How shall I be try'de?
Ænigma.
A crabbèd Stumpe: yet Sillie Husband's Care,(Too much Indulgent, to the great impaire
Of his more profitable Howers), did dresse
And Manure it; more valewing encrease
From this vnhopefull Impe, then all the Store
Hee had beside; and he had many more:
And what his Art, or Industrie, could bring
To make it fresh, he did, in everie Thing;
Still was it Seir. Noe Leafe would ever peepe
Or Blossome Spread; but Nature as asleepe
Continued in the Trunke. The Husband (wed
To his first vndertakings), Cherishéd
The hopeles Stocke, with more then common Care;
And, to a better Soyle and better Ayre
Transplanted it; yet could he gather small
74
Only a liveing Sap it did retaine,
(Without all verdure: thus it did remaine
Thrice Seaven Summers, without any Show
To repay his great Care. At last one Bough,
Without or Leafe or Blossome) did produce
A ffruite, of bitter and vnsavorie Iuice.
Some who did tast it, wormewood would compare
Vnto its relish; and some others Sweare
Henbane had lesse of venome; for in Strange
Tumors it blister'd; and the blood did range
With an vnwonted Heate and violence,
Through the infected Bodies. Such offence
Came in its first production: still the fond
Artificer would hope something beyond;
Though the Cheife Gard'ner would have had it cast
Into the ffire, (or throwne out with the wast.)
Hee, with a Cultivating Hand, doth give
It all the Rites, for which, perhaps, in five,
Sixe, or Seaven yeare (though Leafe, nor other green
It ever had the least), there has bene Seene
Some fruite, which I, in Curiositie
Once tasted: tis a harsh one, and a Drie;
Worse then a Medler; but more Calme, more Safe
Vnto the Palat, then the first by th' halfe.
Loe here, the Issue, of his hopes. And now
Againe it is declin'd; for such as know
Fruit by appearance, thinke the last year's fruite
75
Some say a Canker lyes; to gnaw, and wast
The tree, vnverdant from the first to the last.
Nor is it Strange (and take the Sence togither;)
The Thing, which never flourished, should Wither.
Fame.
Mortall, wouldst thou wooe a Feature
In a glasse? or please thy Eye
With a Shadow, for a Creature;
Or bring all thy hopes to Dye
In the Earlie Spring of Nature,
For a breath of vanitie?
Or resigne what you may claime
To the vogue of vulgar ffame.
In a glasse? or please thy Eye
With a Shadow, for a Creature;
Or bring all thy hopes to Dye
In the Earlie Spring of Nature,
For a breath of vanitie?
Or resigne what you may claime
To the vogue of vulgar ffame.
Qvickly Come, and here behold
The Strange Mirror she presents:
Earth and Ashes, Seeming Gold,
To enrich your Monuments.
Frees from Envie, keeps from old
The feature of your faire intents;
Publisheth in liveing Storie
All that can adde to your Glorie.
The Strange Mirror she presents:
Earth and Ashes, Seeming Gold,
To enrich your Monuments.
Frees from Envie, keeps from old
The feature of your faire intents;
76
All that can adde to your Glorie.
Would you be thought rich or wise?
Valiant? or be ever yong?
Handsome? nothing Shee denies,
That has being from the Tongve.
Were you odious for your vice,
Infamous, as could be Sung;
Time should keepe your Monument
Vertue's liveing ornament.
Valiant? or be ever yong?
Handsome? nothing Shee denies,
That has being from the Tongve.
Were you odious for your vice,
Infamous, as could be Sung;
Time should keepe your Monument
Vertue's liveing ornament.
But noe more, let Sence retire,
And with Reason's Eye Survay
The vast Shadow you admire,
Waneing, wasting, with the Day.
Time is false and Fame a Liar:
Vertue only, fixt, and may
Create, beyond the breath of fame,
A Thousand Honours to your Name.
And with Reason's Eye Survay
The vast Shadow you admire,
Waneing, wasting, with the Day.
Time is false and Fame a Liar:
Vertue only, fixt, and may
Create, beyond the breath of fame,
A Thousand Honours to your Name.
77
Agonie.
Oh, I am Cold: the wombe of Earth may thaw
My frost; not waters in their Current draw
Such Chillnes: I am Cold
As the Sad house of winter, or the ffeet
Of Rocks involvéd where the waters meet;
And yet I am not old.
My frost; not waters in their Current draw
Such Chillnes: I am Cold
As the Sad house of winter, or the ffeet
Of Rocks involvéd where the waters meet;
And yet I am not old.
Oh, I am Sad; as virgins, when they loose
Their pregnant hopes of him they meant for Spouse;
Or widdowes, in their Fate.
Sad, as a Parent for his hopefull Heire;
Or as a Prince deprived of Crowne and Chaire;
Yet hardly know for what.
Their pregnant hopes of him they meant for Spouse;
Or widdowes, in their Fate.
Sad, as a Parent for his hopefull Heire;
Or as a Prince deprived of Crowne and Chaire;
Yet hardly know for what.
Oh, I am wounded: deeply strucke, and beare
The fatall Iaveline, with me everie where;
Into the Marrow thrilled,
A Thousand Dolours now assaile my hart,
Of which, Alcides hardly knew a part;
And yet I am not kill'd.
The fatall Iaveline, with me everie where;
Into the Marrow thrilled,
A Thousand Dolours now assaile my hart,
Of which, Alcides hardly knew a part;
And yet I am not kill'd.
78
Oh, I am Sicke: as women in their throes,
Or men in rageing feavers; to my woes
The Gout and Stone are Ease;
Fire in my Brest, and Poison fills my veins;
Bane in my Breath, and Frensie in my brains;
Yet know not my Disease.
Or men in rageing feavers; to my woes
The Gout and Stone are Ease;
Fire in my Brest, and Poison fills my veins;
Bane in my Breath, and Frensie in my brains;
Yet know not my Disease.
Oh, I am Dead: if it be death to dwell
In Shades of night, in Mansions next to Hell,
In fears and Miserie;
In Darknes, where noe hope of Light can enter;
In greifs vnpittied, as though in the Center;
And yet I cannot Dye.
In Shades of night, in Mansions next to Hell,
In fears and Miserie;
In Darknes, where noe hope of Light can enter;
In greifs vnpittied, as though in the Center;
And yet I cannot Dye.
79
An Essay;
Endeavouring to ennoble our English Poesie by evidence of latter Qvills; and reiecting the former.
Shall I be onlye Hereticke in Witt?
Forbid Appolloe, rather let me Splitt
My lab'ring Qvill to Death. Noe, when I first
Enterd a Poet, Modestie (the worst
Companion of Sedition), brought me on
In tremblings and faint Sweats. I did not run
To Snatch the Laurel and vsurpe the wreath
To my owne Browes; but dasht with everie Breath
Of a supposéd Censure, happilye, lost
The Glorie of my Youth. Then be it most
Abhorring to my Thoughts, to lay a New
Foundation, or varie from the true
Vndoubted Rites of Poesie; or bring
But Cleare and pregnant Reasons, any Thing.
This Ingenuitie and Candor must
Allow of fforce; and if a Schisme thrust
In all my verse, a monstrous Horne, or foot
Cloven, to light of Iudgment, blot me out
Of fair opinion; and my Name Ile give
Vp, Witt's Apostate, ever more to live.
Forbid Appolloe, rather let me Splitt
My lab'ring Qvill to Death. Noe, when I first
Enterd a Poet, Modestie (the worst
Companion of Sedition), brought me on
In tremblings and faint Sweats. I did not run
To Snatch the Laurel and vsurpe the wreath
To my owne Browes; but dasht with everie Breath
Of a supposéd Censure, happilye, lost
The Glorie of my Youth. Then be it most
Abhorring to my Thoughts, to lay a New
Foundation, or varie from the true
Vndoubted Rites of Poesie; or bring
But Cleare and pregnant Reasons, any Thing.
This Ingenuitie and Candor must
Allow of fforce; and if a Schisme thrust
In all my verse, a monstrous Horne, or foot
Cloven, to light of Iudgment, blot me out
80
Vp, Witt's Apostate, ever more to live.
Nor would I yet be bitter, or engage
My selfe in Controversie to the Age,
With Sword and Buckler Langvage; but, withall
The Modestie of Truth and Reason, call
A long-spread Error backe; and ratifie
Some proofes to free me from this Heresie.
My selfe in Controversie to the Age,
With Sword and Buckler Langvage; but, withall
The Modestie of Truth and Reason, call
A long-spread Error backe; and ratifie
Some proofes to free me from this Heresie.
Shall wee, who are made Iudges then, and keepe
Minervae's holie Balance, fall asleepe?
And let the giddie Rout give weight and poise
To Indesert? For Shame; let vs arise
And yet informe the Age. Shall wee derive
Our English fflame, our Glories Primitive
From antique Chaucer? Blesse me witt, if right
Were onlie right, I feare a present night
Would cover all his Credit. This I wage
Onlye for Truth; in reverence to the Age
Wherein he writt. But to the proof, and see
Her firme Records, kept by Mnemosyne.
Minervae's holie Balance, fall asleepe?
And let the giddie Rout give weight and poise
To Indesert? For Shame; let vs arise
And yet informe the Age. Shall wee derive
Our English fflame, our Glories Primitive
From antique Chaucer? Blesse me witt, if right
Were onlie right, I feare a present night
Would cover all his Credit. This I wage
Onlye for Truth; in reverence to the Age
Wherein he writt. But to the proof, and see
Her firme Records, kept by Mnemosyne.
See, antique Greece, and see her in her Spring,
Verdant and glorious; not lesse flourishing
At her first rise then after. Heare the String
Of sacred Orpheus, or hear Linus Sing;
Or to the Prince of All, Mæonides,
Attend with reverence. Tell me, were not these
When (Learning hardly Crept) bright Suns? and Shine
Even to these Times of ours, with Light Devine?
ffull in exalted Rapture, Poesie
Appeares in them almost a Prodigie.
Verdant and glorious; not lesse flourishing
At her first rise then after. Heare the String
Of sacred Orpheus, or hear Linus Sing;
Or to the Prince of All, Mæonides,
Attend with reverence. Tell me, were not these
When (Learning hardly Crept) bright Suns? and Shine
Even to these Times of ours, with Light Devine?
81
Appeares in them almost a Prodigie.
Survay the Catalogue of Splendent Rome;
Cæsar-supported Maro; yet by whom
Has he bene Equall'd for a Steddie verse?
Wonder at Ovid, when Hee doth reherse
The Change of Things. What mightie flame doth fill
His varied ffancie, to enrich his Qvill?
Cæsar-supported Maro; yet by whom
Has he bene Equall'd for a Steddie verse?
Wonder at Ovid, when Hee doth reherse
The Change of Things. What mightie flame doth fill
His varied ffancie, to enrich his Qvill?
A Thousand moe, in her bright Roll appeared
Of everie Nation; Poets who have rear'd
The Laurel famous; whom we iustlie Call
The learned Fathers of Apolloe's Hall.
Of everie Nation; Poets who have rear'd
The Laurel famous; whom we iustlie Call
The learned Fathers of Apolloe's Hall.
And shall the seelie Age? (with noise, and Stuffe
Like his owne writings) blow at Chaucer's Snuffe?
To light our English fflame? Where doth he rouse
The fresh prun'd ffeathers of an Active Muse?
Where doth he stretch a Wing? or kicke his Clod?
But still his Fancie is his greatest Load.
How liveles his Conceipts? He doth not rise
Like ancient Poets, in huge Extasies
Of vncontrolléd ffancie, to Survay
Inestimable Nature. I might say
Much more to vindicate this Argument;
That in-authenticke Chaucer's furnishment,
Adds nothing to our Poesie, in his Store;
Nor let vs call him Father anie more.
Like his owne writings) blow at Chaucer's Snuffe?
To light our English fflame? Where doth he rouse
The fresh prun'd ffeathers of an Active Muse?
Where doth he stretch a Wing? or kicke his Clod?
But still his Fancie is his greatest Load.
How liveles his Conceipts? He doth not rise
Like ancient Poets, in huge Extasies
Of vncontrolléd ffancie, to Survay
Inestimable Nature. I might say
Much more to vindicate this Argument;
That in-authenticke Chaucer's furnishment,
Adds nothing to our Poesie, in his Store;
Nor let vs call him Father anie more.
And you (who hardly out of Iudgment) would
Seeme to defend him; cause you have bene told
Your Grandsires Laugh'd once at his Baud'rie
Laid out in Rime; (forsooth rare Poetrie!)
But where he comes the nearest what you meane,
You'r wearie, there your selv's, and leave him Cleane.
Perhaps you'le say, (as you have heard some say)
He was a glorious Poet at that day.
And why that Day? was ffancie in a Cage?
Rapture impounded? 'twas in the Darke Age;
(As you would call it) when the former Sung;
Scarce then had witt more then her mother tongve.
And yet they gain'd the Sphere, from whence wee bring
Our Cheifest Flowers, our best Embellishing.
Seeme to defend him; cause you have bene told
82
Laid out in Rime; (forsooth rare Poetrie!)
But where he comes the nearest what you meane,
You'r wearie, there your selv's, and leave him Cleane.
Perhaps you'le say, (as you have heard some say)
He was a glorious Poet at that day.
And why that Day? was ffancie in a Cage?
Rapture impounded? 'twas in the Darke Age;
(As you would call it) when the former Sung;
Scarce then had witt more then her mother tongve.
And yet they gain'd the Sphere, from whence wee bring
Our Cheifest Flowers, our best Embellishing.
Forget Third Edward's raigne; They did not write
In that Age with the Spirrit they could fight.
For then I'de yeild; (and in my Conscience wee
Vse Pens, as well as Swords;) Suffice it, Hee
Was disadvantagéd of naught in Time
But Langvage; which wee never made a Crime.
Why may not wee better exempt his Name
Then vse it? adding nothing to our ffame;
And take the Radix of our Poesie
To honour more in this last Centurie,
The noble Sidney; Spencer liveing Still,
In an abundant fancie; Ionson's Qvill
Ever admir'd; these iustly wee may call
Fathers; high-placed in Apolloe's Hall.
But then wee want Antiquitie, as well
Dan Geoffrie wants his Age; for wee might tell
Of antique Brittish Druids, and bring in
A hundred Rhiming Fellowes, that have bin
Tall Men at Meeter. One there was that Sung
I know not in what Number, nor what tongve;
A gallant Storie of Giganticke ffeats,
Inchanted Castles, onsetts, and retreats
Innumerable; of a flying Bull
And six blue dragons. Oh most worshipfull!
Bring in these ffopperies, because they Smell
Mustie and antiquated, therefore well.
In that Age with the Spirrit they could fight.
For then I'de yeild; (and in my Conscience wee
Vse Pens, as well as Swords;) Suffice it, Hee
Was disadvantagéd of naught in Time
But Langvage; which wee never made a Crime.
Why may not wee better exempt his Name
Then vse it? adding nothing to our ffame;
And take the Radix of our Poesie
To honour more in this last Centurie,
The noble Sidney; Spencer liveing Still,
In an abundant fancie; Ionson's Qvill
Ever admir'd; these iustly wee may call
Fathers; high-placed in Apolloe's Hall.
But then wee want Antiquitie, as well
Dan Geoffrie wants his Age; for wee might tell
83
A hundred Rhiming Fellowes, that have bin
Tall Men at Meeter. One there was that Sung
I know not in what Number, nor what tongve;
A gallant Storie of Giganticke ffeats,
Inchanted Castles, onsetts, and retreats
Innumerable; of a flying Bull
And six blue dragons. Oh most worshipfull!
Bring in these ffopperies, because they Smell
Mustie and antiquated, therefore well.
Come to a Clearer Light: doe not delude
Your selves (heroicke English) to intrude
His name, the Cheif, in your faire pedigree:
Worthe is still worthy in it selfe; were Hee
(Good Man) alive to heare it, sure as ought
Hee'd thinke you lost more then he ever taught;
To heare the Crue come in with open Mouth
And Crye, oh Chaucer! Chaucer has a Tooth;
Oh perilous! and soe he had a Tongve:
Read him againe, heele shew you how it hung.
Your selves (heroicke English) to intrude
His name, the Cheif, in your faire pedigree:
Worthe is still worthy in it selfe; were Hee
(Good Man) alive to heare it, sure as ought
Hee'd thinke you lost more then he ever taught;
To heare the Crue come in with open Mouth
And Crye, oh Chaucer! Chaucer has a Tooth;
Oh perilous! and soe he had a Tongve:
Read him againe, heele shew you how it hung.
But let not me, my first Designe out goe;
(Which was vpon Sound Arguments) to Shew
A Spring more worthy; whence wee may derive
With greater Honour, the Prerogative
Of English Poesie; and Clearlie evince
Noe Age can be call'd Darke to a Cleare Sence,
As in the Ancients. This I doe, and must
ffreely averre, which, if the Age will thrust
Vpon me, as an Heresie, how Cleare
Stand I to Iudgment? I can never feare
Such Censure from the wise; and I contemne
Loud ffollie in a Thousand: fitteth them,
And Mee with them, better to let it fall,
And please them in a Canterburye Tale.
(Which was vpon Sound Arguments) to Shew
A Spring more worthy; whence wee may derive
With greater Honour, the Prerogative
Of English Poesie; and Clearlie evince
Noe Age can be call'd Darke to a Cleare Sence,
As in the Ancients. This I doe, and must
ffreely averre, which, if the Age will thrust
84
Stand I to Iudgment? I can never feare
Such Censure from the wise; and I contemne
Loud ffollie in a Thousand: fitteth them,
And Mee with them, better to let it fall,
And please them in a Canterburye Tale.
Prevention!
Twas Late and Cold; when with a mightie FlamePossest, I, to my quiet Studie came;
Rich in a high-pitch'd Rapture, well-compos'd
In every Facultie: my thoughts dispos'd
In sober Contemplation, of a Brave
Designe in witt, a Fancie which might save
A Name to Honour, and almost create
Eternitie, and Time anticipate.
Qvicke forméd in each part; soe strong, soe pure,
I could not wish a better; and Ime sure
The pregnant Age, a richer could not boast;
Which surelie might, (had Poesie bene lost),
Have rais'd a liveing flame, but (oh, the Sad
Curse of Posteritie) when now I had
Survaied it true, in all Dimension,
85
Had kist with humble Reverence, which then
I thought vnrivall'd Mine, and kist agen;
I had the rich Idea in my braine,
Soe livelie fitt, so prest to entertaine
My willing Qvill, and had my pen soe neare,
I thought it done; but was prevented here.
The harvest of my Time, in which I thought
To reare my liveing Name, now fell to nought;
ffor busie, how to thawe my Iet, to Inke,
It fled my thought before I ought could thinke:
That Peice for which I thought from future Times
T' have gained whole Hecatombes of Tribute Rhimes,
Lost in a Cloud, I know not how, nor where,
Nor doth a Member of that forme appeare.
Starrs inauspicious never knew to Crosse
Our prosperous Muses with a greater Losse;
When, manie years hence, I this verse shall read,
'Twill Splitt my soule with greife, when I am dead:
Deprived Posteritie shall teare this Sheet,
Distracted in the ffate, to thinke how great
A flame might once have warm'd 'em. I could teare
A Rheme to Atomes, and all Qvills forsweare,
While I repeat it. Had the greedie fflame
Snatcht all my Trifles, and but left my Name
This Trophie, I had stood above all rage
Of present Malice, or an ignorant Age.
This glorious fruite! halfe-ripened! to be lost,
86
Has raised in me a fire of Rage, to thawe
The Articke Circle, and make void all Lawe
Of winter, to the Russian. I could melt
Those ever Rocks of Ice, which never felt
One ray to warme them; make a Sea to fflow
Within the Continent of Alpine Snow.
But I am blind in Furie, and transgress,
All modest rules; loosing, in Emptiness
Of Passion, future Glories; and almost,
In Error, has my fantasie more lost,
Then late, in Accident; Yet will I Charme
Thy Subtle power, fearing a future harme.
Let Winter dwell vpon the Island Shore,
And with his breath bind Shallow waters ore;
Fetter, in Gviues of Christall, the full Streams
Of Tanais or Volgha; whilst our Thames
Runs with vntroubled waters, in a Cleare
And even Course. Thou hast noe Title here;
Why on my Standish, Tirant, didst thou fall?
Thou hast not right to freeze an Vrinall;
Doth not the bright-haird God in glorie Shine
(Throughout this Ile to crush all Power of thine)
Phebus, assistant to all brave designe?
Ah then, why did he suffer this of mine
To perish? sure Hee is not as of old
(When Witt Succeeded) antique Poets told,
Soe much a freind vnto the harmonie
87
Either he never was, or he has lost,
Latelie, the Soveraigntie which they All boast.
Or if he be the nourisher of witt,
Why would he suffer Ice to smother it?
Noe! Phebus is my foe, or he has Swore,
Since Ionson Dyed, t' allow his Heirs, noe more:
I know not what to Iudge; but if I live,
Ile trye this Fancie fled, how to revive.
The many Scurrile Pamphlets (going vnder the name of Poems,) frequently printed; occasion'd this.
Shall I be Silent? cause I am not heard
In the full Croud? noe; let the Pile I rear'd,
Tumble vpon my head, ere stand to be
An obiect of their Praise or fflatterie.
I must Confes, a Novice in the world,
I Courted her Applause, & my verse hurl'd
Into her Lappe; and my Ambition
Was, not to be a Poet, but soe knowne;
And have my Name made ffamous: this, I sought,
And gain'd. But ah, I wish all this were nought:
I now retract my follyes, and Contemne
The vulgar in their Noise. I would not seeme
To be at all from them; nor did I seeke
Opinion meerely, when I was most weake;
But to the Modest flights of a yonge Muse
Encouragement; not Praise, but an Excuse.
And this I did, not to the vulgar Crue,
But to the Serious head and Sober Brow.
Drawne out by whom, I ventur'd on the Stage
Of Censure, with my Poems to the Age;
And found Enough of Candor, to the Ayme
Of what I hoped. Thus entred into ffame,
I trode a larger Step, and ventur'd on
A higher Pitch, where noe opinion
Was lost to my Endeavours; therefore, may
This vindicate my Spleene. I doe not say
I hate the world, or I contemne her praise,
Because I wanted any: many waies
I had beyond my Merit, and Suspect
My owne, for her applause; to see how deckt
In her Encomions ffollie doth appeare,
And Ignorance, it Selfe, is famous here.
This when I see, I must Confesse I rise
With Indignation, and her vote despise;
Torture my Selfe, a Poet, in the Name:
And count my ornament my greife, my Shame.
To looke vpon the Age, and see what things
Come vailed, vnder the adulterate wings
Of Poesie. Oh; I could splitt my Qvill,
Forget my Manhood, if it were not Ill;
To see that pure fflame fall, a prostitute;
And Coiture of Ruffians, cause her ffruite;
When to the Twang of meeter, Poesie
Shall fall to Sordid Groomes; and Infamie
Attends the Name; oh, let vs teare, the bright
Lawrel of Phebus, in a iust-raisd Spight.
In the full Croud? noe; let the Pile I rear'd,
Tumble vpon my head, ere stand to be
An obiect of their Praise or fflatterie.
I must Confes, a Novice in the world,
I Courted her Applause, & my verse hurl'd
Into her Lappe; and my Ambition
Was, not to be a Poet, but soe knowne;
88
And gain'd. But ah, I wish all this were nought:
I now retract my follyes, and Contemne
The vulgar in their Noise. I would not seeme
To be at all from them; nor did I seeke
Opinion meerely, when I was most weake;
But to the Modest flights of a yonge Muse
Encouragement; not Praise, but an Excuse.
And this I did, not to the vulgar Crue,
But to the Serious head and Sober Brow.
Drawne out by whom, I ventur'd on the Stage
Of Censure, with my Poems to the Age;
And found Enough of Candor, to the Ayme
Of what I hoped. Thus entred into ffame,
I trode a larger Step, and ventur'd on
A higher Pitch, where noe opinion
Was lost to my Endeavours; therefore, may
This vindicate my Spleene. I doe not say
I hate the world, or I contemne her praise,
Because I wanted any: many waies
I had beyond my Merit, and Suspect
My owne, for her applause; to see how deckt
In her Encomions ffollie doth appeare,
And Ignorance, it Selfe, is famous here.
This when I see, I must Confesse I rise
With Indignation, and her vote despise;
Torture my Selfe, a Poet, in the Name:
And count my ornament my greife, my Shame.
89
Come vailed, vnder the adulterate wings
Of Poesie. Oh; I could splitt my Qvill,
Forget my Manhood, if it were not Ill;
To see that pure fflame fall, a prostitute;
And Coiture of Ruffians, cause her ffruite;
When to the Twang of meeter, Poesie
Shall fall to Sordid Groomes; and Infamie
Attends the Name; oh, let vs teare, the bright
Lawrel of Phebus, in a iust-raisd Spight.
Dull Age of Ignorance! and shall I steere
My vessel to thy Compasse? noe; I here
Loudlie profes it to the world, I Claime
The honour of a Poet, and the Name,
With all the Title Modestie can vrge.
I am a Poet; and I bring as large
A Stocke as may suffice to keep witt in
Her native Colours. What I loose or win
To bloat opinion, that below my fate
I ever value: come it soone, or late.
My vessel to thy Compasse? noe; I here
Loudlie profes it to the world, I Claime
The honour of a Poet, and the Name,
With all the Title Modestie can vrge.
I am a Poet; and I bring as large
A Stocke as may suffice to keep witt in
Her native Colours. What I loose or win
To bloat opinion, that below my fate
I ever value: come it soone, or late.
90
Vpon a late printed Booke Entituled: [OMITTED]
Pittie my Ignorance; I must confes
I could not fathome it.
Beyond my reach; and all I knew, was gvess.
Why should I boast my witt,
Against my knowledge? Trulie in the Scope
I was to seeke; and could but blindly grope
At the intent,
By my owne Sence; vnapt to Apprehend
Any true ffigure, by the worke you penn'd.
Astonishment
Suprised my Iudgment, and I was afraid
That either I was sottish, or you mad.
I could not fathome it.
Beyond my reach; and all I knew, was gvess.
Why should I boast my witt,
Against my knowledge? Trulie in the Scope
I was to seeke; and could but blindly grope
At the intent,
By my owne Sence; vnapt to Apprehend
Any true ffigure, by the worke you penn'd.
Astonishment
Suprised my Iudgment, and I was afraid
That either I was sottish, or you mad.
Perplexed thus, 'till second Thoughts (which wee
Often account the best)
Came in vpon me; then I plainelye see
Abundant Rapture, prest
Vpon a great Designe; deepe Misterie
Strangely involved; and a Fantasie,
I know not how,
Borne, in the Region, of a troubled Zeale;
And all things Nothing: For ought I can tell,
I doe not now
Write, what I write; nor live, nor stand, nor breath,
Nor See, nor Read, the Booke which you bequeath.
Often account the best)
Came in vpon me; then I plainelye see
Abundant Rapture, prest
Vpon a great Designe; deepe Misterie
Strangely involved; and a Fantasie,
I know not how,
Borne, in the Region, of a troubled Zeale;
And all things Nothing: For ought I can tell,
91
Write, what I write; nor live, nor stand, nor breath,
Nor See, nor Read, the Booke which you bequeath.
This is my Sence; nor thinke I wronge
The honour of your Booke;
That I a weake pretender, and but yonge,
Vnseasonéd, to looke,
With a Discerning Eye, into the Darke
Wombe of your ffancie, and apply your worke
By my weake witt.
Bee yet appeas'd, to satisfye your Feare;
Stay, take the Secret with you, in your Eare—
I know't not yet.
And if you write a Second, youle engage
Mee, and the world, to Cleare it in each page.
The honour of your Booke;
That I a weake pretender, and but yonge,
Vnseasonéd, to looke,
With a Discerning Eye, into the Darke
Wombe of your ffancie, and apply your worke
By my weake witt.
Bee yet appeas'd, to satisfye your Feare;
Stay, take the Secret with you, in your Eare—
I know't not yet.
And if you write a Second, youle engage
Mee, and the world, to Cleare it in each page.
A Strange Maye.
The Earth, in her best verdure; and the SpringAs glorious as antique Fame, did Sing
Her constant Tempe; all the Meads were sett
With bright Enamel; and the feilds were fitt
Allmost, for the keene Sickle; which might seeme,
Iustly, a wonder, if wee doe esteeme
92
(Without reproofe), the Harvest is in Maye?
Now Maye it was. What vast Hyperbole
Will serve but to speake truth? the blooming Tree
Crack't with its weight of ffruite; and wee almost
Might, by the Season, August have Suppos'd:
All Eares were fill'd, and everie tongve could prate
Of Prodigie; and gvesse, I know not what.
Some wiser, left it in the Misterie,
And from the Cause, look'd what the effects might be.
The avaritious Husband claw'd his Eare,
And deem'd to have two Harvests in a Yeare.
Thus stood the Earth, to Miracle almost;
When, the more Miracle, a biteing frost,
With a bleake northerne wind, orerun the feilde,
And nipt the Swelling Graine, the fruits it kill'd;
The painted Meadowes, chilléd in their pride,
Grow wan; and flowers run backe agen, to hide
Themselves, in warmer Crannies of the Earth.
Never was such a Change, since the great Birth
Which Chaos teemed; and though it Ruine threat,
Who knowes? but when the Sun, in better Heat,
Shall mount his Throne in Cancer, with his rayes
May quicken them, and give a new encrease;
Soe satisfye our Hopes, that men may Say,
The Sun, in Iune, Conquer'd the Storme in May.
93
When the Cloud of Calamitie, had somewhile overspread vs, and the whole Kingdome plunged in warre
1.6.4.1.
Noe more let's part, Deare Muses; high in Mirth,
I left inviting Freinds, to give a Birth
Of timelie fancie Light. How often did
I frame excuses? how more often Chidde
ffor my retirèd howers? You, my delight,
My Life, my honour; you, who more invite
My Soule, then all the world; whom I more prise
Then all my fortune, or the triviall Tyes
Of Nature, or blind Chance; for haveing You
'Tis Light, ioy, Health, to me; I never knew
A Day too long to serve you, or a night
Soe tedious or Dull, I wisht for Light.
The howers are fleet, and Time, me thinkes, has wings,
When my enfranchised Soule doth fixe on things
Soe beyond groveling Nature, as you teach.
Mortalitie has a short date to reach
The perfect notion of Things, how they are
Or how they ought; yet many things appeare
94
Of vulgar Sence, in vgly Chaos lyes.
I doe not blush to serve you; but I boast
(If I may Glorie ought) that being tost
Vpon the Billow of a rageing time,
I can repose my selfe; & bring a Rhime
ffrom an vntroubled thought; still soe secure
Is Innocence. Oh! when within the Mure
Of my loved Studie sett, bright rapture heaves
My fancie from the Earth; my Sence then leaves
Inferior obiects, and without dismay
Dare looke in Danger's face; & tread the way
Of freedome, vnappall'd; my chosen Muse
Leads me to Truth; but ah! it was but thus.
Time is noe more; now stormie daies disperse
Composed fancies, and distract all verse.
Alas, our Muses frighted from their rest,
Run giddilye about, with hairs vndrest;
And mantles torne, throwne Careleslie, to hide
Hardlie those parts of follie, men deride.
What but vnpolite fformes, and ffancies raw,
Can such a time produce? Yet let vs draw
Something to tell Posteritie wee might
Have done it better, in a clearer Light.
Yet Silver-footed Peace may blesse our feilds;
And (though the present season hardly yeilds
One Sparke of such a Hope) I'me confident
To see Astrea called from Banishment.
95
And all the Muses frolicke in our Ile.
Ile force from yonder Hill, a Helicon
Purer then Greece or Rome have ever knowne;
And Cope with the famed Poet of the South,
Who from the Royall patronage tooke growth;
Though now his ffeathers Summed, he shoot his Qvills
When Hee, perhaps Maye wither. My Store fills
From vnexhausted Arsenals. Not then
To our late honored Laureat' shall my Pen
Doe homage for a Line; but rise as high
In a firme Rapture, and full Poesie.
Then, my dear muses, wee may meet and Sing
In Peace Secure, the fears, which wee now bring.
96
After a storme, going a hawking.
Long bound in Ice and horrid Hills of Snow
Such as the fur-clad Russians ever know;
Wee are releived now, by a gentle raine,
And take the pleasures of the feild againe.
The Restive Horse, now knowes the dexterous hand
Of his old Rider; runs to his Command;
The gentile Greyhound, (in his Ease growne high)
Frisks with Delight, to see his lord applye
The Collar to his Necke; and hopes againe
To triumph, in the blood of poor Watt slaine;
The generous ffalcon, (heavie, with her Ease)
Plyes her firme ffeathers; and doth boldly seize
The trembling Qvarrie; or Enue the ffowle
Halfe dead with feare; others (more brave) controule
The lofty Heron's flight; and venture all
Their Life and Honour, with him in the ffall,
Vndaunted; yet, with such a cautious flight
They almost teach a Rationall to fight.
For can wee thinke it lesse, to see her arm'd
And haughtie foe fall dead? her selfe vnharm'd:
A Glorious victor in his Blood, and, proud
Of Conquest, scatters all his plumes abroade.
Such ioyes the Season doth to Men present
And (yet) a peace gives freedome, but content,
In my retiréd Cell. I rather Chuse
More solid recreations, with the Muse
Which I have Chosen; and my thoughts revolve
To everye Chord of Passion, and resolve
Some time the Hardest, braver pleasure farre,
To give bright reason wing, into the Spheare
Of Truth, her Region; where the foole is Still
In our protection; give her way to kill
The Harpie She has ruff't; for I dare say
She has earn'd her Bells, to bring downe such a prey.
Such as the fur-clad Russians ever know;
Wee are releived now, by a gentle raine,
And take the pleasures of the feild againe.
The Restive Horse, now knowes the dexterous hand
Of his old Rider; runs to his Command;
The gentile Greyhound, (in his Ease growne high)
Frisks with Delight, to see his lord applye
The Collar to his Necke; and hopes againe
To triumph, in the blood of poor Watt slaine;
The generous ffalcon, (heavie, with her Ease)
Plyes her firme ffeathers; and doth boldly seize
The trembling Qvarrie; or Enue the ffowle
Halfe dead with feare; others (more brave) controule
The lofty Heron's flight; and venture all
Their Life and Honour, with him in the ffall,
Vndaunted; yet, with such a cautious flight
97
For can wee thinke it lesse, to see her arm'd
And haughtie foe fall dead? her selfe vnharm'd:
A Glorious victor in his Blood, and, proud
Of Conquest, scatters all his plumes abroade.
Such ioyes the Season doth to Men present
And (yet) a peace gives freedome, but content,
In my retiréd Cell. I rather Chuse
More solid recreations, with the Muse
Which I have Chosen; and my thoughts revolve
To everye Chord of Passion, and resolve
Some time the Hardest, braver pleasure farre,
To give bright reason wing, into the Spheare
Of Truth, her Region; where the foole is Still
In our protection; give her way to kill
The Harpie She has ruff't; for I dare say
She has earn'd her Bells, to bring downe such a prey.
But wee are all ill Falconers, and Strive
Against our pleasure. If wee keepe alive
The Bird, wee are better pleas'd, and take her downe
With a false Qvarrie; but the Lure is knowne,
And she disdains to stoope; but (madded) tries
Her wing at everye lesser Bird that flyes;
Another such a Checke, and though you boast
Your Care and Cunning; shee's for ever lost.
Against our pleasure. If wee keepe alive
The Bird, wee are better pleas'd, and take her downe
With a false Qvarrie; but the Lure is knowne,
And she disdains to stoope; but (madded) tries
Her wing at everye lesser Bird that flyes;
Another such a Checke, and though you boast
Your Care and Cunning; shee's for ever lost.
Such Bunglers are wee all; and if wee can
Abuse our selves, wee glorie in't. Oh, man,
How art thou wise? In what can Iudgment claime
Her right? or vertue, In what more then name?
Hurried away, by vanitie and Sence;
Proud, in all Sin of Disobedience;
To everie Passion subiect; and more fraile
Then rotten Sea-tost barkes, without a Saile.
Oh God! what is thy Creature? he, who once
(Equall almost, to Angels), did advance
His glorious Crowne. Oh whither is he sunke:
ffrom that perfection? as a Shadow Shrunke
From his Creation. This were thought enough
To busye all men, were wee wise to know
Our owne Necessities; but this wee keepe
Our burthen Still, and in these fetters sleepe;
Which wee make light with Fancie; and esteeme
Rather as bracelets, eveen to glorye them.
Abuse our selves, wee glorie in't. Oh, man,
How art thou wise? In what can Iudgment claime
98
Hurried away, by vanitie and Sence;
Proud, in all Sin of Disobedience;
To everie Passion subiect; and more fraile
Then rotten Sea-tost barkes, without a Saile.
Oh God! what is thy Creature? he, who once
(Equall almost, to Angels), did advance
His glorious Crowne. Oh whither is he sunke:
ffrom that perfection? as a Shadow Shrunke
From his Creation. This were thought enough
To busye all men, were wee wise to know
Our owne Necessities; but this wee keepe
Our burthen Still, and in these fetters sleepe;
Which wee make light with Fancie; and esteeme
Rather as bracelets, eveen to glorye them.
But wretched that wee are, insensible
Of our owne ruine; though wee doe not feele
The weight and mischeife; 'tis apparant in
Our members, worne and fretted to the Skinne;
And privilie the rust our marrow gnawes.
Inevitable Ruine sadly drawes
Vpon vs, careles of our overthrow;
And often fall, before wee feele the blow.
But ah, desist fond Qvill; the Inke thou hast spilt
Runs to thy Shame, and argues thy owne gvilt.
Of our owne ruine; though wee doe not feele
The weight and mischeife; 'tis apparant in
Our members, worne and fretted to the Skinne;
And privilie the rust our marrow gnawes.
Inevitable Ruine sadly drawes
Vpon vs, careles of our overthrow;
And often fall, before wee feele the blow.
But ah, desist fond Qvill; the Inke thou hast spilt
Runs to thy Shame, and argues thy owne gvilt.
99
Freedome.
I blesse my Starrs, I am vnfitt for noise;And busines allmost shuns me, to my Choice;
I sitt retir'd, while other men are high
In State-Employments; 'tis a peircing Eye
Sees thorough Men, to dispositions;
And sorts fitt Agents to Occasions.
This with its Spectacles, Authoritie
Can Cull 'em by the head; and why should I
Repine? I glorie rather, and can Sitt,
T' emprove by them, what may be Iust, or fitt.
I'me happie, I'me exempt; that I may play
With my owne thoughts, vnvext, my howers away.
I am not in Commission of the Peace;
Noe Constable, the greater, nor the lesse;
I'de nothing Glorie, if I had ben made
Poll' gatherer of the Groats; I should evade,
Truly, to be a Parish warden; or
A domineering Elder, with the power
Our well-affected Parliament can give.
Fitt Men shall have Emploiment fitt. I live
Obscure; Blood, Tears, nor oppression
Burden my Soule; my Gvilt is but my owne;
100
Sin of Participation in the Case.
I'me as I am, Content; and free, to pittie
The faction of the Countrie, Fraud o'the Cittie.
Sometime I'le take my Stone-bow or my Gun,
With my true Servant, readie still to run,
And fetch the Qvarrie from the Brooke or Bush,—
The Mallard, Teale, the Sparrow, or the Thrush.
With these innocuous pleasures (I can rest
In my selfe quiet; and display the brest
Of all my Crime, vnto my selfe); Wee live
Gviltye, I hope of lesser Sins. I strive
Not now t' exaggerate others Crimes, nor here
To make our owne lesse then in Truth they are;
This, if the rigour of the times allow
I am content; if they will not, I know
A pleasure, 'bove their Malice; and the close
Barrs of a prison, cannot hinder those
My owne free thoughts; where I some time may have
A visit from the Muses, which shall save
My Name from Envie and oblivion.
Soe being lest my selfe, I'me most my owne;
And what, by them, was put, as a restraint,
Is by my patience, turned t' a Complement.
101
Vanitie.
Soe Time but turnes his Glasse; and the same SandConsummates his full Period; though wee Stand
Fixéd on former Ages,—happier farre
As wee suppose,—Alas, alas, they are
But the same Miserie; they knew the greife
As well as wee, which follows humane Life;
Ambition, Envie, Iealousie, Distrust
Was then, as well as now; and ever must
(While Men have their Corruptions & desires)
Delude the world. Hee scornes what thou admires;
What thou Contemn'st, he glories in; and all
The Ioyes of men are follie. What wee call
Felicitie, is but a Shadow, toste
Vpon the Fancie, and in Fancie lost.
Light as the breath wee trust to, is our Ioy;
Our Pleasure, trouble: & our Boast, a Toy;
Wee only aime at Trifles, and present
Thin formes to gvide vs, in the banishment
Of a depravéd Nature; oh, the Sad
Anxietie of Passion; I am made,
Some time, a Thousand Men, in my owne Brest.
102
And most imperfect Shred from Nature's loome.
A despis'd Atome, in her rayes. To whom
Shall I appeale for wisedome? and get light
Of Iudgment, to informe my erring Sight?
In the Darke Maze of Error, whether run
My giddie feet? What never-resting Sun
Can tracke the path of Mortalls? or disperse
One Beame, beyond our follies and our fears.
Good God! what is our Glorie? Wee surmise
Only at truth! & though wee are not wise,
Wee are proud to boast our wants; and all our owne
Is ever best. Oh God, wee are vndone
In our owne proiect; and our glorie is
A Lumpe of Pride, a Shop of vanities;
Our learning (fairest Light) wee make a bait
To ruine Sence: and reason captivate
In gvives of Error. Into what immense
Inextricable Laberinths wee drench
Our vnderstandings! and the Charter, which
Nature gave absolute and free, wee pitch
Into a Model, with restriction,
And Artfull rules, when Reason wanted none;
For how is She Eclips'd! and Limited
To the proportion of another Head!
As though another Hercules had plac'd
Witt's great Ne vltra, never to be pass'd.
This is not the least Follie; through wee stray
103
Oh vanitie of Mortalls! to bequeath
Your Labours to Posteritie, in Death.
How doe wee Covet Glorie! and contrive
Our Being to the Future! Shall I give
My Name! and what I ever purchaséd
With Industrie, to the vncertaine head
Of a Supposéd Time? How madly spend
Wee then our oyle! Is this our Ayme? our End?
Ah, too too well, I see, in everie Line,
Wee tread this Path; and this poor verse of mine
Stands record to my Shame, that I intend
Somewhat to raise by it, and to some End:
Perhaps, to doe a greater worke then praise
Can flatter Witt into; perhaps it Strayes
With ffollie, more then I my selfe can feare;
For tell me, who are Equall Iudges here?
Alas, wee but deceive our Selves; what witt
Will here resigne? what Follye will Submitt?
Thus, discontented Fooles, wee spend the oyle
Of a Sad Life; Incessantlie All Toyle.
104
Proportion.
Man, (Screen'd, by Flesh and Blood, and wrapt withinTh' impenetrable Curtaine of his Skin),
How shall wee pourtray out? what antique Qvill,
Or famous Moderne, boasts of such a Skill?
Not great Apelles, nor fam'd Titian
Had anie Colour for the inward Man:
Much Celebrated Angelo could give
Life to his worke almost, in perspective;
And our late honoured Vandike may raise
Himselfe a Trophie, from another's Face;
But this exceeds their Cunning; all wee know
Of this, rests in our Selves, & what wee owe
Vnto Philosophie; whose gentle hand
Can put aside the vaile; and then wee Stand
Naked and plaine;
As in the outward face, and all the parts
Exterior. Each severall imparts
A diverse ffeature; & noe two can bee
Soe like in Face, such Twinns in Symmetrie,
But a discerning Eye may eas'ly find
A difference. Soe is it in the Mind;
105
(As in the Bodie Naturall), his pitch
Is limited, and not one Inch can adde
In Stature, to the measure that he had;
Nor Change his Face to a Complexion
Fairer then that which Nature made his owne.
Soe is the diverse Face of Reason; and
The vnderstanding, cannot put a hand,
Beyond that Reine.
It now appeares, as plainly to my Eye,
The Mind and Intellectuall Phisniomie,
As the Corporeall Shape; and I perceive
The same Discordances which wee conceive
In all exterior formes; and Each man best
Suits with his proper owne. Can I divest
My Swartie Hewe? and put vpon my face
A better Tincture? or new features place
Where the old were imperfect? Neither may
I put away my Reason, though it Stray
And be a Monster to another's Eyes!
Yet knitt soe Close vnto my ffaculties
It cannot part; noe more, then heat from fire;—
A Qvalitie Inherent and Entire:
It is the Same,
In vnderstanding, given severallie
To the proportion; & shall therefore I
Despise my selfe? because my Stature is
Perhaps an Inch or Cubit below his.
106
That thing, with Ease, which I with all my Stretch
Cannot attaine. There is a height beyond
His vtmost. Man, is all of Pigmey kind;
And though our Giant vnderstandings reare
Themselves on Tiptoes, to the wishéd Sphere,
How are they lesse then Nothing? & his leape
Is but to fall againe; whilst others reape
A larger Harvest, with a lesser Toyle.
But noe man has the Stocke; noe Inke, nor oyle,
Can bring a Name,
Beyond his Circumscribéd Power. Wee All
Have proper Motions; and they rise, to fall
Vnpittied, who adventure on a path
Of soe much ruine, as noe lesse then Death
Attends each Step. Yet man, in Time, be wise;
Bee thy owne Mirror; See Deformities
As well as Beauties; and correct them there,
With as much Diligence, and as great Care,
As in a glass, thy face, should'st thou perceive
A Spott, to lessen Beautie. 'Tis, beleive,
More worth thy Care, to rectifye this part
Then all thy Face; Bee happie, as thou art;
That is, Bee pleaséd with thy owne; and See
Some Creatures Creepe, as well as others Flee.
107
The Userper.
I saw the World, and wond'red at the Sight;
(For I was raised above the common Light
Into that Region, where wee eas'lye see
All formes at once, mixéd or diverslie;)
Hence I look'd downe, and saw the Creatures, All
ffixt in theire Causes, and made Severall
To their distinct and single Motion;
Which wee distingvish strangely, to our owne
Capacities; and Rationall prefer,
Proper, alone to Man; the Beasts (more nere
Then Plants, or Trees,) wee call but Sensitive;
And those, by Vegetation, meerly live.
(For I was raised above the common Light
Into that Region, where wee eas'lye see
All formes at once, mixéd or diverslie;)
Hence I look'd downe, and saw the Creatures, All
ffixt in theire Causes, and made Severall
To their distinct and single Motion;
Which wee distingvish strangely, to our owne
Capacities; and Rationall prefer,
Proper, alone to Man; the Beasts (more nere
Then Plants, or Trees,) wee call but Sensitive;
And those, by Vegetation, meerly live.
Or wee are blinded, or wee quite mistake
The Square, which wee our selves, our gvide would make:
If it be rationall, to move, and live
A part, t' assist the whole, and each part give
His proper furtherance; and who most faile
To advance it, are most irrationall.
Man cannot boast of Reason, (nor dispose
Defects or Eminencies, vnto those
Inferior Creatures), Lordinge ore the rest,
Forfeit to his prerogative: the least
And most vnprofitable member in
His Motion. Oh, how often have I bene
Dash't to the pit of Shame? To thinke man, made
His great Creator's Image, and array'd
With Glorie next to Angells; and beyond
All other Creatures, both in Face and mind,
Had Reason then, or what wee would define
By severall Notions, to that gen'rall Line;
Made Lord of all the world, to vse, and know:
A Thing soe sordid and ignoble now
Wee cannot speake him, and the Creatures vye
fforces and foyle him; they, imperfectlye
Move to their End; Hee, from perfection,
To this low step, is fall'n. Oh! haples Son
Of humane frailtye, yet in Time recall
Thy Birth-right, noble in th' originall;
And tis not lost to thee; leave of to speake
His Ruine; and his Reparation make.
The Square, which wee our selves, our gvide would make:
If it be rationall, to move, and live
A part, t' assist the whole, and each part give
His proper furtherance; and who most faile
To advance it, are most irrationall.
Man cannot boast of Reason, (nor dispose
Defects or Eminencies, vnto those
Inferior Creatures), Lordinge ore the rest,
Forfeit to his prerogative: the least
108
His Motion. Oh, how often have I bene
Dash't to the pit of Shame? To thinke man, made
His great Creator's Image, and array'd
With Glorie next to Angells; and beyond
All other Creatures, both in Face and mind,
Had Reason then, or what wee would define
By severall Notions, to that gen'rall Line;
Made Lord of all the world, to vse, and know:
A Thing soe sordid and ignoble now
Wee cannot speake him, and the Creatures vye
fforces and foyle him; they, imperfectlye
Move to their End; Hee, from perfection,
To this low step, is fall'n. Oh! haples Son
Of humane frailtye, yet in Time recall
Thy Birth-right, noble in th' originall;
And tis not lost to thee; leave of to speake
His Ruine; and his Reparation make.
109
The Magazine.
Rise with the morne, and gather vp the Deaw;
Flye to the East,
And rifle all the Sweets the Phenix drew
Into her Nest;
Plunder the west,
Nature's Exchequer; Search the Subtle wombe
Of waters for their Wealth, and bring 'em home.
Flye to the East,
And rifle all the Sweets the Phenix drew
Into her Nest;
Plunder the west,
Nature's Exchequer; Search the Subtle wombe
Of waters for their Wealth, and bring 'em home.
These, are not of Content but of Desire;
Wee are our owne
Treasure, and wonder, if wee but Admire
What wee have not knowne:
These over-blowne
Will wast to nothing; but the living Store
Rests in our Selves, not seeking any more.
Wee are our owne
Treasure, and wonder, if wee but Admire
What wee have not knowne:
These over-blowne
Will wast to nothing; but the living Store
Rests in our Selves, not seeking any more.
110
A Pause.
G: ive me a little respite, that I mayD: rawe somewhat of a better forme. To pore
E: ver on Bookes, takes all the Ioy away;
A: nd makes a free-borne Muse, her selfe abhorre.
O: h never may the Muses know a Day
N: ot given to Libertie. I will noe more
R: ifle my braines, to please Men; or to pay
I: ust obligations. From thy liveing Store
G: rant me fresh raptures, Phebus; I will play
E: asie, and quicke; but not I can noe more
E: nvite me not (Deare Muses) to trye that
L: ittle I have, against my owne Conceit.
THE END OF THESE FIRST POEMS.
| The poems of George Daniel | |