Mundorum Explicatio or, The Explanation of an Hieroglyphical Figure: Wherein are couched the Mysteries of the External, Internal, and Eternal Worlds, shewing the true progress of a Soul from the Court of Jerusalem; from the Adamical fallen state to the Regenerate and Angelical. Being A Sacred Poem, written by S. P. [i.e. Samuel Pordage] |
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PARADYSUS.
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PARADYSUS.
This said he gave a Hand of blushing snow
Into the Pilgrim's; hand in hand they go,
Into a Labyrinth of rapting sweets,
Where Joy in an Ecstatic Rapture greets
His welcom'd Soul; where his amazed eyes
Saluted are with such varieties
Of all delightful Objects, that he knows
Not how for to Contemplate all he throws
His Orbs upon. So pleasing was that Book
That on which side he knew not first to look.
With cursory eyes at first them all he view'd,
And then his sight a second time renew'd.
The ayr was there serene, no clouds did dare
Upon his Cærule Marble Front appear;
Ten thousand smiles lay wrapped in that blew,
Which heats, nor colds, nor such strange changes knew.
One Temp'rament, the which no storms assail,
Nor winds disturb; a cool Zephyrian gale
Only salutes, was in that place; a still
Crystalline Dew, such as from Hermon Hill
Descends, fell on the Herbs, and Trees that there
In green, silver, and golden Robes appear.
Such silver clouds as made a Chariot
For Jesus when he from Mount Olivet
Flew to the Habitation of his Father,
Did here, and there with lustrous splendor gather,
Their Cynthean beams dispersing up and down,
In Circles, brighter than Ariadn's Crown.
Th' Æternal Heaven's glorious beamings shon
Upon that Orb; an everlasting Sun
To it they were, which never 'rose nor set,
Nor changes here of Night and Day permit.
'Twas alwayes Day, 'twas alwayes Noon, it was
There alwayes Sun shine in that springing place.
All the Idea's of what we behold
Upon this Orb, shon there in purest gold,
In greater claritude, and brightness far
Than the Night's Goddess, or the evening Star.
O the sweet Joyes our Pilgrim's swelling Heart
Ready to burst, did to his eyes impart!
The Lively Rayes that darted were from them
Told that his Soul now bath'd In Joye's sweet Stream.
Into the Pilgrim's; hand in hand they go,
Into a Labyrinth of rapting sweets,
Where Joy in an Ecstatic Rapture greets
His welcom'd Soul; where his amazed eyes
Saluted are with such varieties
Of all delightful Objects, that he knows
Not how for to Contemplate all he throws
His Orbs upon. So pleasing was that Book
That on which side he knew not first to look.
With cursory eyes at first them all he view'd,
And then his sight a second time renew'd.
The ayr was there serene, no clouds did dare
Upon his Cærule Marble Front appear;
Ten thousand smiles lay wrapped in that blew,
Which heats, nor colds, nor such strange changes knew.
One Temp'rament, the which no storms assail,
Nor winds disturb; a cool Zephyrian gale
Only salutes, was in that place; a still
Crystalline Dew, such as from Hermon Hill
Descends, fell on the Herbs, and Trees that there
In green, silver, and golden Robes appear.
Such silver clouds as made a Chariot
For Jesus when he from Mount Olivet
Flew to the Habitation of his Father,
Did here, and there with lustrous splendor gather,
Their Cynthean beams dispersing up and down,
In Circles, brighter than Ariadn's Crown.
244
Upon that Orb; an everlasting Sun
To it they were, which never 'rose nor set,
Nor changes here of Night and Day permit.
'Twas alwayes Day, 'twas alwayes Noon, it was
There alwayes Sun shine in that springing place.
All the Idea's of what we behold
Upon this Orb, shon there in purest gold,
In greater claritude, and brightness far
Than the Night's Goddess, or the evening Star.
O the sweet Joyes our Pilgrim's swelling Heart
Ready to burst, did to his eyes impart!
The Lively Rayes that darted were from them
Told that his Soul now bath'd In Joye's sweet Stream.
A verdant Meadow first did chear his eyes,
With several colour'd gay varieties;
Amongst the green were sparsed here and there,
Gold tincted Flowers: Purple, silver'd, fair
Blew, Yellow, Orange, Lilied white, and red,
With thousand Colours else the Earth bespread.
So rare a shew they made, so great delight
They gave that our Pilgrim ravish'd quite.
Alass our Rose though here she seem a Queen,
To Death her self would blush, had she but seen
How far the meanest Dasie here surpast,
And how her best blush by it was disgrac't.
Had but our Lilly been compar'd to those
Which there grew, she for shame her maiden snows
In melting tears would on the Earth have shed,
And sorrowful hung down her shamed Head.
Alass brisk Pink, or sel, or Blush compare,
But to the meanest of the flowers there,
Thou would'st be forc'd to yield the Palm to them,
And seem, as do to thee base Dasies seem.
Our sprightly Green-grass green, compar'd unto
That Grasse's lustre bears a yellow Hew,
And as much difference, or more is seen,
Than is 'twixt Autumn's yellow, and Springs green.
The Gold-strip'd Tulips which do court our eyes
In the first Spring, with rare varieties,
Are but the shadows of those flowers which Grace
The Grass-green foot-stool of that happy place.
The Angel pressing hard the Pilgrim's Hand,
Se'st thou (sai'd He) how stil these flnowers do stand?
With what varieties they are indu'd?
How Beauty by each other is renew'd?
How comely all in order plac'd, do prayse
Their great Creator with their unheard Layes?
Just so the Saints do dwel, in this blest Sphear,
In such varieties, and Love appear.
No dissonant murmurs from their mouthes proceed,
Nor doth their difference, a difference breed:
For where would all their Beauties be, if they
Should not in various works themselves display?
All several beauties have, and yet they be
Though several Beauties, One, in Harmony.
With several colour'd gay varieties;
Amongst the green were sparsed here and there,
Gold tincted Flowers: Purple, silver'd, fair
Blew, Yellow, Orange, Lilied white, and red,
With thousand Colours else the Earth bespread.
So rare a shew they made, so great delight
They gave that our Pilgrim ravish'd quite.
Alass our Rose though here she seem a Queen,
To Death her self would blush, had she but seen
How far the meanest Dasie here surpast,
And how her best blush by it was disgrac't.
Had but our Lilly been compar'd to those
Which there grew, she for shame her maiden snows
In melting tears would on the Earth have shed,
And sorrowful hung down her shamed Head.
Alass brisk Pink, or sel, or Blush compare,
But to the meanest of the flowers there,
Thou would'st be forc'd to yield the Palm to them,
And seem, as do to thee base Dasies seem.
Our sprightly Green-grass green, compar'd unto
That Grasse's lustre bears a yellow Hew,
And as much difference, or more is seen,
Than is 'twixt Autumn's yellow, and Springs green.
The Gold-strip'd Tulips which do court our eyes
In the first Spring, with rare varieties,
245
The Grass-green foot-stool of that happy place.
The Angel pressing hard the Pilgrim's Hand,
Se'st thou (sai'd He) how stil these flnowers do stand?
With what varieties they are indu'd?
How Beauty by each other is renew'd?
How comely all in order plac'd, do prayse
Their great Creator with their unheard Layes?
Just so the Saints do dwel, in this blest Sphear,
In such varieties, and Love appear.
No dissonant murmurs from their mouthes proceed,
Nor doth their difference, a difference breed:
For where would all their Beauties be, if they
Should not in various works themselves display?
All several beauties have, and yet they be
Though several Beauties, One, in Harmony.
But th'rough that place where Heav'nly Flora had
The Earth Cœlestial, with her beauties clad;
Where so many thousand painted Stars were seen,
For ever fixed in a sky of Green,
Run a soft River of dissolved Pearl,
Whose waves did into Crystal Ringlets 'twerle,
Without the help of blasts, for none came there
But what from Angels mouthes emitted were.
The Fount from whence this Crystal River came,
The Throne of God is, and the spotlesse Lamb;
From thence those streams which doth this River feed,
As clear as Crystal, soft as Wool proceed;
From th' upper Region unto this they flow,
Uniting Heav'n above, to Heav'n below.
Down Crystal Rocks, the Crystal Waters glide,
And pearly streams, o're pearly Pibbles slide,
Creating by their fals so pleasing noyses,
That they for Bases serve to Angels voyces.
On each side of the green-fring'd banks there grows,
The candid Lily, and the blushing Rose,
Fairer than e'r the Earthly Valley bore;
Pestum, nor Sharon e'r such sweets once wore.
The bleeding Hyacinths, and fond Narcisses,
Hung o're the bank, whose Heads the water kisses,
Leaving her Pearls: for to renew their youth,
The precious Tokens of her moister Mouth.
Chaplets of Violets crown'd the River's brink,
Whose trembling blew heads of the Waters drink,
And for each sip, their purple mouthes receive,
They in requital their perfumes to give.
Into the Crystal stream the Angel goes,
And liquid Pearls upon our Pilgrim throws;
In Lifes blest Waters, in this Living stream,
Where Joyes on Waves ride he baptized him:
Where Blisse's kisses touch'd his skin, thus he
Knew what with Water 'twas baptiz'd to be.
His Ruby Lips drench'd in the Crystal waves
The blessed Water he with joy receives:
He freely drinks; and now he'l thirst no more.
After Earth's Riches, or her golden O're;
Her honours, pleasures, Gold, nor Silver, nor
A thousand Earthly Diadems compare
May with the least drop of this blessed stream:
No, they are dung to it, they Gold to them.
When out he came those Living Waves had thrown,
He saw, his youth and purile dayes again
Upon his back, his harder skin grew soft,
And his dimn'd eyes obstructing scales had dof't.
His feebled joynts, and leather nerves grew strong,
He went in old but now he comes out young,
He needs no Physic, this had all made good.
His Health restor'd, as well as youth renew'd.
Such virtue has this stream, which when he knew,
His head he humbly did to Jesus bow:
His Lips in prayses blest his holy Name,
Who him had counted worthy of the same.
The Earth Cœlestial, with her beauties clad;
Where so many thousand painted Stars were seen,
For ever fixed in a sky of Green,
Run a soft River of dissolved Pearl,
Whose waves did into Crystal Ringlets 'twerle,
Without the help of blasts, for none came there
But what from Angels mouthes emitted were.
The Fount from whence this Crystal River came,
The Throne of God is, and the spotlesse Lamb;
From thence those streams which doth this River feed,
As clear as Crystal, soft as Wool proceed;
From th' upper Region unto this they flow,
Uniting Heav'n above, to Heav'n below.
Down Crystal Rocks, the Crystal Waters glide,
And pearly streams, o're pearly Pibbles slide,
Creating by their fals so pleasing noyses,
That they for Bases serve to Angels voyces.
On each side of the green-fring'd banks there grows,
The candid Lily, and the blushing Rose,
Fairer than e'r the Earthly Valley bore;
Pestum, nor Sharon e'r such sweets once wore.
The bleeding Hyacinths, and fond Narcisses,
Hung o're the bank, whose Heads the water kisses,
246
The precious Tokens of her moister Mouth.
Chaplets of Violets crown'd the River's brink,
Whose trembling blew heads of the Waters drink,
And for each sip, their purple mouthes receive,
They in requital their perfumes to give.
Into the Crystal stream the Angel goes,
And liquid Pearls upon our Pilgrim throws;
In Lifes blest Waters, in this Living stream,
Where Joyes on Waves ride he baptized him:
Where Blisse's kisses touch'd his skin, thus he
Knew what with Water 'twas baptiz'd to be.
His Ruby Lips drench'd in the Crystal waves
The blessed Water he with joy receives:
He freely drinks; and now he'l thirst no more.
After Earth's Riches, or her golden O're;
Her honours, pleasures, Gold, nor Silver, nor
A thousand Earthly Diadems compare
May with the least drop of this blessed stream:
No, they are dung to it, they Gold to them.
When out he came those Living Waves had thrown,
He saw, his youth and purile dayes again
Upon his back, his harder skin grew soft,
And his dimn'd eyes obstructing scales had dof't.
His feebled joynts, and leather nerves grew strong,
He went in old but now he comes out young,
He needs no Physic, this had all made good.
His Health restor'd, as well as youth renew'd.
Such virtue has this stream, which when he knew,
His head he humbly did to Jesus bow:
His Lips in prayses blest his holy Name,
Who him had counted worthy of the same.
But on each side the River, smiling stood
A Grove of Lawrels, and of taller Wood,
Whose blessed branches seem'd their heads to shake;
Unto the murmuring tones the waters make.
All Trees that we upon our Earth can spy
Grew there, in their essential purity;
The best of ours to the worst of them,
Would as the Hawthern to the Cherry seem,
Or as the Bramble to the precious Vine,
Or as terrestrial Trees, to Trees divine.
No evil Tree, nor quality was there,
Divine (and yet substantial) they were.
When near our Pilgrim came, he cast his eyes
Upon these flourishing Trees of Paradise.
An Emrauld green upon their Leaves did dwell,
Which never from their happy Branches fell:
Some edg'd with silver, some were strip'd with Gold,
And Pearls instead of berries Bays did hold.
No Tree was barren, not a fruitless bough,
All sorts of fruit in purity there grew;
Sweet blossoms mingled with the riper fruit:
At once the Trees ware May's and August's suit.
A Crystal dew fell from th' Eternal sky,
Which on the Leaves like Eastern Pearls did lye:
A three-fold suit the verdant Branches wore;
For Pearls, fruit, flowers they together bore:
And when they mov'd, were by Angelic breath
A shower of Pearl they sent the heav'nly Earth.
But whilst our Pilgrim pleased with this sight
Gaz'd on these Groves, a gale did gently smite
The laded bows; from whose soft pressing them
More than Arabian Diapasma's came:
For every leaf as well as flower, and fruit
Such odor yields, as we have none like to 't.
Arabian gales which kisse the Spiceful Trees,
Breath Hireish odors if compar'd to these.
This gale of sweets did feast the Pilgrim's smel,
And makes amends for those foul blasts in Hell.
Led by his blessed Guardian, he Th'rough
Those verdant, and thrice sacred Groves doth go;
The boughs as he past by a whispering make,
And seem his welcome in their tongue to speak.
The Path with a green Velvet Carpet spread
Was; kissing Palmes and Lawrels ore his head
Arch'd a continual Bowr; a pleasant sound
More sweet than Philomelan strains, ran round
The blessed Wood, for on the tender sprays
Ten thousand Birds chaunt out continual Layes.
But near the River stood a stately Tree,
Who Queen and Mistress seemed there to be,
The rest her servants, for they all stood there
At a meet distance, for to honour her.
This was the sacred Tree of Life, upon
Whose boughs twelve sorts of fruit immortal hung.
Spread was her arms, and lofty was her Head
Each golden branch her neighbour seem'd to wed,
And in an happy Conspiration, made
Upon the grass a very pleasing shade.
This was the Queen of Trees, the groves which there
So flourished, by her immortal were,
To her all Trees that in that place did grow,
Their verdure, beauty, and their Life did owe.
Strait, and superb was her blest Bole; each bough
Was drest in green, in gold, and silver too:
A radiant lustre from whose Leaves did rise
Which glitter'd through the groves of Paradise,
Memphean Balsom, nor their Mummie, can
So soon give ease unto distressed Man,
Or from destruction preserve so long,
As one blest Leaf which on those branches hung.
No desperate Disease, no mortal Wound,
There is, but for them strait a cure may found
Be in the least piece of a Leaf pul'd from
This sacred, and Salutiferous stemm,
The Panacea for all griefs; could men
But it attain: the dead should Live ag'en.
Alcinous's fruits, and the Hesperian,
Apples of Gold, though ten times better than
They were, are dung and dross if they compare
With the immortal Fruit these branches bare.
The fertil branches were for ever full,
Although ten times a day the Angels pull
The Fruit from every branch should, yet strait way
As full again they would their armes display.
To gather there would not decrease the store,
The more you gather, they encrease the more.
So did Zarephath's Widows meal, and oyl,
The more they eat, the more encrease the while.
Here 'twas the Pilgrim in an extasie
Fell, when the Tree of Life his eyes did see,
No longer was he able to keep in
His narrow heart the joys which there did spring,
Ravish'd with the excess of the profound
Content, and Blisse he fell unto the ground:
His Soul then to his eyes was flown, and left
All other parts had of her powers bereft.
His eyes were fix'd upon that blessed Tree,
And thorough them his hungry Soul did flee;
They both so fast ty'd to the blessed Fruit
Were that he saw not those who now salute
Him did; he minded not their soft advance
Until the Angel pul'd him from his trance.
See here (and as he spake he rais'd him up)
The Heav'nly Dryads, a Nymphean Troop
Of the cœlestial Graces, hither come
To bid thee welcome are, unto their home.
This is their habitation, though they are
Pleased sometimes to see the lower Sphear,
Being thither sent, that they might helpful be
To heav'nly Pilgrim's, as they were to thee.
A Grove of Lawrels, and of taller Wood,
Whose blessed branches seem'd their heads to shake;
Unto the murmuring tones the waters make.
All Trees that we upon our Earth can spy
Grew there, in their essential purity;
The best of ours to the worst of them,
Would as the Hawthern to the Cherry seem,
247
Or as terrestrial Trees, to Trees divine.
No evil Tree, nor quality was there,
Divine (and yet substantial) they were.
When near our Pilgrim came, he cast his eyes
Upon these flourishing Trees of Paradise.
An Emrauld green upon their Leaves did dwell,
Which never from their happy Branches fell:
Some edg'd with silver, some were strip'd with Gold,
And Pearls instead of berries Bays did hold.
No Tree was barren, not a fruitless bough,
All sorts of fruit in purity there grew;
Sweet blossoms mingled with the riper fruit:
At once the Trees ware May's and August's suit.
A Crystal dew fell from th' Eternal sky,
Which on the Leaves like Eastern Pearls did lye:
A three-fold suit the verdant Branches wore;
For Pearls, fruit, flowers they together bore:
And when they mov'd, were by Angelic breath
A shower of Pearl they sent the heav'nly Earth.
But whilst our Pilgrim pleased with this sight
Gaz'd on these Groves, a gale did gently smite
The laded bows; from whose soft pressing them
More than Arabian Diapasma's came:
For every leaf as well as flower, and fruit
Such odor yields, as we have none like to 't.
Arabian gales which kisse the Spiceful Trees,
Breath Hireish odors if compar'd to these.
This gale of sweets did feast the Pilgrim's smel,
And makes amends for those foul blasts in Hell.
Led by his blessed Guardian, he Th'rough
Those verdant, and thrice sacred Groves doth go;
The boughs as he past by a whispering make,
And seem his welcome in their tongue to speak.
The Path with a green Velvet Carpet spread
Was; kissing Palmes and Lawrels ore his head
Arch'd a continual Bowr; a pleasant sound
More sweet than Philomelan strains, ran round
The blessed Wood, for on the tender sprays
Ten thousand Birds chaunt out continual Layes.
248
Who Queen and Mistress seemed there to be,
The rest her servants, for they all stood there
At a meet distance, for to honour her.
This was the sacred Tree of Life, upon
Whose boughs twelve sorts of fruit immortal hung.
Spread was her arms, and lofty was her Head
Each golden branch her neighbour seem'd to wed,
And in an happy Conspiration, made
Upon the grass a very pleasing shade.
This was the Queen of Trees, the groves which there
So flourished, by her immortal were,
To her all Trees that in that place did grow,
Their verdure, beauty, and their Life did owe.
Strait, and superb was her blest Bole; each bough
Was drest in green, in gold, and silver too:
A radiant lustre from whose Leaves did rise
Which glitter'd through the groves of Paradise,
Memphean Balsom, nor their Mummie, can
So soon give ease unto distressed Man,
Or from destruction preserve so long,
As one blest Leaf which on those branches hung.
No desperate Disease, no mortal Wound,
There is, but for them strait a cure may found
Be in the least piece of a Leaf pul'd from
This sacred, and Salutiferous stemm,
The Panacea for all griefs; could men
But it attain: the dead should Live ag'en.
Alcinous's fruits, and the Hesperian,
Apples of Gold, though ten times better than
They were, are dung and dross if they compare
With the immortal Fruit these branches bare.
The fertil branches were for ever full,
Although ten times a day the Angels pull
The Fruit from every branch should, yet strait way
As full again they would their armes display.
To gather there would not decrease the store,
The more you gather, they encrease the more.
So did Zarephath's Widows meal, and oyl,
The more they eat, the more encrease the while.
249
Fell, when the Tree of Life his eyes did see,
No longer was he able to keep in
His narrow heart the joys which there did spring,
Ravish'd with the excess of the profound
Content, and Blisse he fell unto the ground:
His Soul then to his eyes was flown, and left
All other parts had of her powers bereft.
His eyes were fix'd upon that blessed Tree,
And thorough them his hungry Soul did flee;
They both so fast ty'd to the blessed Fruit
Were that he saw not those who now salute
Him did; he minded not their soft advance
Until the Angel pul'd him from his trance.
See here (and as he spake he rais'd him up)
The Heav'nly Dryads, a Nymphean Troop
Of the cœlestial Graces, hither come
To bid thee welcome are, unto their home.
This is their habitation, though they are
Pleased sometimes to see the lower Sphear,
Being thither sent, that they might helpful be
To heav'nly Pilgrim's, as they were to thee.
At these words then the Pilgrim cast his eyes,
Upon these blessed Nymphs of Paradise,
But their bright lustre so perstring'd his Orbs,
That he could scarce behold their Queen-like garbs.
Their Beauties here at full they did display,
For here 'twas lawful in this Orb of Day,
Where they did fear no ravishment, that might
Accrew to them by their rare Beauties fight.
Should mortals so in Earth their beauties spy,
They would be subject to Idolatry.
Hel's Stygian Hags, when they on Earth appear,
Fictitious Beauties on their Faces wear;
And all arts use, left mortal eyes should see
Their horrid genuine deformity.
But Paradises Nymphs dark Vailes do wear,
Because that Mortals cann't their Beauties bear,
So that on Earth, Hel's Haggs more fair do seem
With their false looks to blinded Man then them.
So Lust, and Pride, so Heresie, and so
Craft, Guile, and subtilty more fair do show
To blinded mortals than Humility
Truth, simplenesse, and down-right Honesty.
But could Man see them in their proper Sphear,
He ever after would judge rightly here.
Those have their faces dipt in pitch, for hair
Ten thousand hissing, crawling Snakes they wear:
But these, whose beauties last, and ne'r grow old,
Shine brighter than the Sun, in Robes of Gold,
Crowns on their Heads, for every one is there
A Queen though servant in the lower Sphear.
So they appear'd now to our Pilgrim's eyes,
Cloath'd in the colours of blest Paradise;
Resplendant Halo's round their faces spread,
A Crown of gold, emboss't with Pearls the Head
Of every Nymph adorn'd; their Hair upon
Their shoulders like the beams of Phœbus shon.
More diamond sparkles in their eyes were seen,
Than has the third Orbs fair, and glittering Queen.
White, and red Roses in their cheeks did grow,
Ten thousand times surpassing those below:
Smoother, and redder than the Coral were
Their Lips; their breath sweeter than spiced ayr.
Most of them all below the Pilgrim had
Acquainted been with; but now they were clad
In Paradisaical Robes, now they did shew
W'thout Vailes their beauties, them he scarcely knew.
But whilst his wandering Light, encounter'd theirs,
TRUTH in the head before the rest appears,
And in the name of all, salutes him thus.
Hail happy Pilgrim! Welcome unto us,
VVelcome to us thou art, I to this place
Thee welcome, in the Name of every GRACE.
This is our Region, here's the place where we
Do dwel; these Groves our habitations be:
No flattery's here, no complemental, vain
Discordial welcomes: I did never fain
You know, believe me, as you 'ave ever done,
We do rejoyce that we may wait upon
You in this Orb: therefore once more I shall
Thrice welcome bid you in the Name of all.
With this she bow'd, then clip'd the Pilgrim's neck,
And seal'd a kisse of welcome on his cheek.
To whom the Pilgrim smiling thus reply'd,
Dear Truth I never started yet aside
From what thou did'st command, I did believe
You stil; who'ld think that you would me deceive?
You nor my Guardian here (I blame you both)
Concerning this place told me all the Truth;
Though what you spake is true, that's not enough:
For what things find I you ne'r told me of?
Accuse us not replyed Truth again,
I hope you are not such a Tyrant grown
For to require us, that we should declare
Those things to you which past our reaches are.
'Tis not the Tongues of Angels that the joys
And pleasures can declare of Paradise:
And as it was beyond our power to shew,
So past our reach to comprehend them too.
Then blame us not dear Pilgrim if we be
Beyond, and better than our Word to thee.
With this th' affresh embrace, but then came up
To clip him too, all the nymphean Troop.
Round him they run, and it a great while was
E're his embraces to them all could pass.
There Wisdom clipt him, Innocency hung
Upon his arm; whilst Peace, and Meeknesse wrung
His fingers: Faith, and Zeal held fast his Hand,
Light, Joy, Hope, Life together round him stand:
Uprightnesse, and the fair Nymph CHASTITY,
Obedience, LOVE, and pure Virginity,
Embrace him too, so Lowlinesse, and she
Nymphs-Courage, and sweet-look'd Humility
Did their devoyrs: Then Resignation,
And Prophesie with others to him run,
All do him hug; he doth as much desire
The free embraces of this Virgin Quire.
Upon these blessed Nymphs of Paradise,
But their bright lustre so perstring'd his Orbs,
That he could scarce behold their Queen-like garbs.
Their Beauties here at full they did display,
For here 'twas lawful in this Orb of Day,
Where they did fear no ravishment, that might
Accrew to them by their rare Beauties fight.
Should mortals so in Earth their beauties spy,
They would be subject to Idolatry.
Hel's Stygian Hags, when they on Earth appear,
Fictitious Beauties on their Faces wear;
And all arts use, left mortal eyes should see
Their horrid genuine deformity.
But Paradises Nymphs dark Vailes do wear,
Because that Mortals cann't their Beauties bear,
So that on Earth, Hel's Haggs more fair do seem
With their false looks to blinded Man then them.
250
Craft, Guile, and subtilty more fair do show
To blinded mortals than Humility
Truth, simplenesse, and down-right Honesty.
But could Man see them in their proper Sphear,
He ever after would judge rightly here.
Those have their faces dipt in pitch, for hair
Ten thousand hissing, crawling Snakes they wear:
But these, whose beauties last, and ne'r grow old,
Shine brighter than the Sun, in Robes of Gold,
Crowns on their Heads, for every one is there
A Queen though servant in the lower Sphear.
So they appear'd now to our Pilgrim's eyes,
Cloath'd in the colours of blest Paradise;
Resplendant Halo's round their faces spread,
A Crown of gold, emboss't with Pearls the Head
Of every Nymph adorn'd; their Hair upon
Their shoulders like the beams of Phœbus shon.
More diamond sparkles in their eyes were seen,
Than has the third Orbs fair, and glittering Queen.
White, and red Roses in their cheeks did grow,
Ten thousand times surpassing those below:
Smoother, and redder than the Coral were
Their Lips; their breath sweeter than spiced ayr.
Most of them all below the Pilgrim had
Acquainted been with; but now they were clad
In Paradisaical Robes, now they did shew
W'thout Vailes their beauties, them he scarcely knew.
But whilst his wandering Light, encounter'd theirs,
TRUTH in the head before the rest appears,
And in the name of all, salutes him thus.
Hail happy Pilgrim! Welcome unto us,
VVelcome to us thou art, I to this place
Thee welcome, in the Name of every GRACE.
This is our Region, here's the place where we
Do dwel; these Groves our habitations be:
No flattery's here, no complemental, vain
Discordial welcomes: I did never fain
You know, believe me, as you 'ave ever done,
We do rejoyce that we may wait upon
251
Thrice welcome bid you in the Name of all.
With this she bow'd, then clip'd the Pilgrim's neck,
And seal'd a kisse of welcome on his cheek.
To whom the Pilgrim smiling thus reply'd,
Dear Truth I never started yet aside
From what thou did'st command, I did believe
You stil; who'ld think that you would me deceive?
You nor my Guardian here (I blame you both)
Concerning this place told me all the Truth;
Though what you spake is true, that's not enough:
For what things find I you ne'r told me of?
Accuse us not replyed Truth again,
I hope you are not such a Tyrant grown
For to require us, that we should declare
Those things to you which past our reaches are.
'Tis not the Tongues of Angels that the joys
And pleasures can declare of Paradise:
And as it was beyond our power to shew,
So past our reach to comprehend them too.
Then blame us not dear Pilgrim if we be
Beyond, and better than our Word to thee.
With this th' affresh embrace, but then came up
To clip him too, all the nymphean Troop.
Round him they run, and it a great while was
E're his embraces to them all could pass.
There Wisdom clipt him, Innocency hung
Upon his arm; whilst Peace, and Meeknesse wrung
His fingers: Faith, and Zeal held fast his Hand,
Light, Joy, Hope, Life together round him stand:
Uprightnesse, and the fair Nymph CHASTITY,
Obedience, LOVE, and pure Virginity,
Embrace him too, so Lowlinesse, and she
Nymphs-Courage, and sweet-look'd Humility
Did their devoyrs: Then Resignation,
And Prophesie with others to him run,
All do him hug; he doth as much desire
The free embraces of this Virgin Quire.
As long, as ardent their embraces were
Nor could these outward signes their joyes declare,
As fuel lay'd upon the rising flames
A while depresses; but in higher streams.
It causes strait the depress'd flames to rise;
So Love encreases by what satisfies.
After their eyes had their tongues place supply'd
A while, that charming Organ they unty'd.
And sprightly Joy, the first of all must know,
Whether that place would not a Tædium grow?
For every man his native Countrey best
(Said she) esteems, though he should daily feast
In highest pleasures in another, yet
His native home, though homely cann't forget.
Can Paradise make you forget the Earth
A place so hugg'd by man, your place of birth?
The Pilgrim smiling to the quærent then,
Sweetly, and nimbly thus return'd ag'en.
Terrestrial things to those which heav'nly are,
Not Earth, to Paradise must we compare.
Such difference is betwixt Earth's joys, and them
As is betwixt Æternity, and Time.
Were I in Ægypt, or in Palestine
With all delights; it may be I as mine
Own native Albion (though there poor and mean
I still should dwel) should not so well like them.
But now I'm come upon this blessed shore
I can long after Albion, no more
Than those who in the highest Heavens be
Can wish, or long the lower Orb to see.
So far transcendent are these joyes, that I
Account the whole World worthless vanity.
But your own Argument shall speak for me,
And prove that this place can no Tædium be.
Man loves his native Countrey best: And where
Is that I pray you, if it be not here?
He is a Pilgrim in the Orb below,
His Soul from higher Sphears came down we know;
Therefore so restless is she there, to come
From her low prison, to her native home.
Then can I of this Countrey weary be,
The genuine place of my Nativity?
For Sin Man's banish'd, let him banish Sin,
And to his home he may return agen,
No, think not Nymphs, that I can weary be,
Of Paradise, and your bless'd Company.
Nor could these outward signes their joyes declare,
252
A while depresses; but in higher streams.
It causes strait the depress'd flames to rise;
So Love encreases by what satisfies.
After their eyes had their tongues place supply'd
A while, that charming Organ they unty'd.
And sprightly Joy, the first of all must know,
Whether that place would not a Tædium grow?
For every man his native Countrey best
(Said she) esteems, though he should daily feast
In highest pleasures in another, yet
His native home, though homely cann't forget.
Can Paradise make you forget the Earth
A place so hugg'd by man, your place of birth?
The Pilgrim smiling to the quærent then,
Sweetly, and nimbly thus return'd ag'en.
Terrestrial things to those which heav'nly are,
Not Earth, to Paradise must we compare.
Such difference is betwixt Earth's joys, and them
As is betwixt Æternity, and Time.
Were I in Ægypt, or in Palestine
With all delights; it may be I as mine
Own native Albion (though there poor and mean
I still should dwel) should not so well like them.
But now I'm come upon this blessed shore
I can long after Albion, no more
Than those who in the highest Heavens be
Can wish, or long the lower Orb to see.
So far transcendent are these joyes, that I
Account the whole World worthless vanity.
But your own Argument shall speak for me,
And prove that this place can no Tædium be.
Man loves his native Countrey best: And where
Is that I pray you, if it be not here?
He is a Pilgrim in the Orb below,
His Soul from higher Sphears came down we know;
Therefore so restless is she there, to come
From her low prison, to her native home.
Then can I of this Countrey weary be,
The genuine place of my Nativity?
253
And to his home he may return agen,
No, think not Nymphs, that I can weary be,
Of Paradise, and your bless'd Company.
But whilst this fair Corona stood, about,
(Discoursing sweetly with) our Pilgrim, out
Of a bright silver Cloud, an Angel stept,
Whose flaming Wings the spiced Æther swept:
So Lightning breaks from the unparted Clouds:
So Sol himself from 's nightly Robes unshrouds:
But he did swifter then the Lightning run,
And shew'd more glories then the Earthly Sun.
His flaming Wings him swifter than a thought
From the imperial skies among them brought.
Unto him bow'd the Graces all, and the
Guardian vail'd both his Wings, and bow'd his knee.
The Pilgrim also would have bow'd, but that
Excess of lustrous Glories struck him flat
Unto the Earth; for Mortal eyes could bear
Not half those Beauties he about him ware.
His Wings seem'd flames of Fire, or burnish'd Gold;
His Garments which down from his shoulders rould
Unto his feet, composed of pure Light,
Thinner than ayr, than Phæbus far more bright.
Unutterably bright the splendrous Sun
Was, that in 's eyes and Lovely Visage shun:
Volumns of streaming Gold hung on his neck,
A Crown of tadiant Stars his front did deck:
Meadows of Violets, Woods of Roses know
No such perfumes, which in his breath did flow,
But above all such Heav'nly Majesty,
And Power commanding sparkled in his eye,
That had a World of Mortals seen his face,
As dead they must have fal'n in the place.
But this Throne-Angel for the Pilgrim's sake,
A Cloak of silver Clouds flung on his back,
To hide his radiant Beams, which yet did flow
Th'rough it, and made it like the Iris show:
Such pleasing Tinctures to that Cloak they gave,
That though less dazling, yet it shew'd as brave.
Repressing to his face's radiant flood
He shew'd in beauty like to flesh, and blood:
But Nature yet with her diviner art,
In her best pieces, of his face came short.
The Angel then stretch'd out his snowy right
Hand (snow for softnesse and for perfect white)
To th' Pilgrim, and lifting him up he brake
Silence, and thus in Heav'nly Accents spake.
(Discoursing sweetly with) our Pilgrim, out
Of a bright silver Cloud, an Angel stept,
Whose flaming Wings the spiced Æther swept:
So Lightning breaks from the unparted Clouds:
So Sol himself from 's nightly Robes unshrouds:
But he did swifter then the Lightning run,
And shew'd more glories then the Earthly Sun.
His flaming Wings him swifter than a thought
From the imperial skies among them brought.
Unto him bow'd the Graces all, and the
Guardian vail'd both his Wings, and bow'd his knee.
The Pilgrim also would have bow'd, but that
Excess of lustrous Glories struck him flat
Unto the Earth; for Mortal eyes could bear
Not half those Beauties he about him ware.
His Wings seem'd flames of Fire, or burnish'd Gold;
His Garments which down from his shoulders rould
Unto his feet, composed of pure Light,
Thinner than ayr, than Phæbus far more bright.
Unutterably bright the splendrous Sun
Was, that in 's eyes and Lovely Visage shun:
Volumns of streaming Gold hung on his neck,
A Crown of tadiant Stars his front did deck:
Meadows of Violets, Woods of Roses know
No such perfumes, which in his breath did flow,
But above all such Heav'nly Majesty,
And Power commanding sparkled in his eye,
That had a World of Mortals seen his face,
As dead they must have fal'n in the place.
But this Throne-Angel for the Pilgrim's sake,
A Cloak of silver Clouds flung on his back,
To hide his radiant Beams, which yet did flow
Th'rough it, and made it like the Iris show:
Such pleasing Tinctures to that Cloak they gave,
That though less dazling, yet it shew'd as brave.
254
He shew'd in beauty like to flesh, and blood:
But Nature yet with her diviner art,
In her best pieces, of his face came short.
The Angel then stretch'd out his snowy right
Hand (snow for softnesse and for perfect white)
To th' Pilgrim, and lifting him up he brake
Silence, and thus in Heav'nly Accents spake.
Th' Immortal Prince of Glories, who of this
Fair Orb is King, and of the Thrones of Blisse,
At whose dispose ten thousand Crowns do lye
Of Glories, Blisse, and Immortality;
From whose free bounty we those Beams receive
Which such irradiant lustrous brightnesse give.
About whose Throne ten Millions such as I
Stand ready, on his Embassies to flye;
Hath sent me to thee, mighty Saint! that so
Thou's Will, and pleasure from my mouth mightst know:
He hath Commissionated me, that thou
Mightst tast his matchlesse Love, and Bounties now.
Therefore a Nuncius from the highest Sphear
I come, to thee this happy news to bear.
It is his Will, and pleasure now to prove
Himself indeed the matchlesse King of Love.
Thou precious art in his immortal Eyes,
And Heav'n it self he counts too small a prize
For thee; therefore to bright SOPHIA he
Intends that thou in Heav'n espous'd shalt be.
For this end therefore am I hither prest
To celebrate this Heavnly mariage Feast.
Down fell the Pilgrim on his humble knees,
And bowing thrice his head re-echo'd these.
If Heavens servants so perstringe the sight
Of mortals, who can see the Fount of Light?
What Beauties doth the King immortal wear!
When that his servants such high Lustre bear!
If that one beaming of a Star's so bright,
What is the Sun the Ocean of Light?
But what am I! that Heavens immortal King
Should notice take on me, so vile a thing!
That from his Palace the bright Court of Day,
He should send down, a high cal cola.
Whom I'm more fit to serve, such news to bear
That mortal Man could never better hear?
O I'm unworthy of the Dignity,
But yet I dare not Heav'n's high Gifts deny,
Since 'tis his pleasure that it should be so
To him I passive bow my Head full low;
Who can deny the blessed Gifts of Heav'n
When Crowns, and Thrones, and blisse Æternal's given?
O Lord thou knowest what is best for me,
Since thou'lt exalt me, Ile exalted be!
As thou my joyes O Lord dost higher frame,
So greater strength grant me to prayse thy Name.
Fair Orb is King, and of the Thrones of Blisse,
At whose dispose ten thousand Crowns do lye
Of Glories, Blisse, and Immortality;
From whose free bounty we those Beams receive
Which such irradiant lustrous brightnesse give.
About whose Throne ten Millions such as I
Stand ready, on his Embassies to flye;
Hath sent me to thee, mighty Saint! that so
Thou's Will, and pleasure from my mouth mightst know:
He hath Commissionated me, that thou
Mightst tast his matchlesse Love, and Bounties now.
Therefore a Nuncius from the highest Sphear
I come, to thee this happy news to bear.
It is his Will, and pleasure now to prove
Himself indeed the matchlesse King of Love.
Thou precious art in his immortal Eyes,
And Heav'n it self he counts too small a prize
For thee; therefore to bright SOPHIA he
Intends that thou in Heav'n espous'd shalt be.
For this end therefore am I hither prest
To celebrate this Heavnly mariage Feast.
Down fell the Pilgrim on his humble knees,
And bowing thrice his head re-echo'd these.
If Heavens servants so perstringe the sight
Of mortals, who can see the Fount of Light?
What Beauties doth the King immortal wear!
When that his servants such high Lustre bear!
If that one beaming of a Star's so bright,
What is the Sun the Ocean of Light?
But what am I! that Heavens immortal King
Should notice take on me, so vile a thing!
255
He should send down, a high cal cola.
Whom I'm more fit to serve, such news to bear
That mortal Man could never better hear?
O I'm unworthy of the Dignity,
But yet I dare not Heav'n's high Gifts deny,
Since 'tis his pleasure that it should be so
To him I passive bow my Head full low;
Who can deny the blessed Gifts of Heav'n
When Crowns, and Thrones, and blisse Æternal's given?
O Lord thou knowest what is best for me,
Since thou'lt exalt me, Ile exalted be!
As thou my joyes O Lord dost higher frame,
So greater strength grant me to prayse thy Name.
More would the Pilgrim there have said, but that
The Angel rais'd him up to Celebrate
Love's glorious Banquet; which blest Banquet was
The Confarreation 'twixt him and his Spouse.
Under the Covert of Life's blessed Tree,
Upon the Leek-green grass this Company
Sat down; each blade its top doth bow to them,
Each flower seeks to kiss their garments hemm.
There 'twas as if the flowers conspired had
To starr the place; or with their bravery clad
This little spot above the rest; for here
May's, June's, and Augusts flowers together were.
An hundred teeming Springs seem'd here their flowers
To have brought forth help'd by the Midwife-showers.
Their bowing Heads which did in clusters meet,
Their gallant tufts to purple Cushions fit:
Heav'n's Paranymphus first sat down, and then
The Pilgrim, and his Loving Guardian:
The Paradysical Bevy in a Ring
Upon the inviting flowers themselves did fling
Making a circle, in whose midst was seen
A round spot cover'd with Smaragdine green,
Which Carpet garnish'd was with flowers, which there
Into true True Loves Knots conspired were:
A thousand Crystal drops of dew, the grass
Lading, did silver; Gemm, and Pearl the place.
The Angel rais'd him up to Celebrate
Love's glorious Banquet; which blest Banquet was
The Confarreation 'twixt him and his Spouse.
Under the Covert of Life's blessed Tree,
Upon the Leek-green grass this Company
Sat down; each blade its top doth bow to them,
Each flower seeks to kiss their garments hemm.
There 'twas as if the flowers conspired had
To starr the place; or with their bravery clad
This little spot above the rest; for here
May's, June's, and Augusts flowers together were.
An hundred teeming Springs seem'd here their flowers
To have brought forth help'd by the Midwife-showers.
Their bowing Heads which did in clusters meet,
Their gallant tufts to purple Cushions fit:
Heav'n's Paranymphus first sat down, and then
The Pilgrim, and his Loving Guardian:
The Paradysical Bevy in a Ring
Upon the inviting flowers themselves did fling
Making a circle, in whose midst was seen
A round spot cover'd with Smaragdine green,
Which Carpet garnish'd was with flowers, which there
Into true True Loves Knots conspired were:
A thousand Crystal drops of dew, the grass
Lading, did silver; Gemm, and Pearl the place.
256
More pleasing Objects far our Pilgrim's sight
To feast, and Banquet to the full invite;
A Troop of Heav'nly Dapifers they were,
Surcharg'd with Chargers who the Feast infer;
And with Cœlestial art the Dishes plac'd,
The Pilgrim they with their attendance grace'd.
The Pilgrim's greedy eyes now on the meat
They brought, now on the bringers ravish'd eat,
Sometimes to that, sometimes to these he tost
Them, and them in Beauties Meandres lost:
By 's feeding eyes his Soul took her first tast
Of the rare Sweets of this delicious Feast,
Where the five Sences altogether dine,
And filled are at once with meat divine.
These were a Chore of Angels of that Sphear,
Who in their brightest Robes to day appear
To grace Love's Banquet; and themselves they clad
With all the glories the Ælisium had.
Yellow Electrum hung upon their hair,
Whose aubourn threads conspir'd int' Circles were,
Amongst whose gold-Rings silver spangles lay,
Whose Star-like twinkling made a kind of day,
And rais'd an Halos round about their Heads,
Which Cynthian lustres gave to those bright threads:
Whose golden Woods (whilst the Zephyrian shocks
Ruffle the Volumns of their Amber-locks)
Yield such a fragor, that all Arabie
With all her sweets cann't reach the tenth degree.
Chaplets of Roses, mixt with Lillies, fair
And purple Violets, bound their golden Hair:
Under whose blushing shades the Day did rise
From the bright beamings of their sparkling eyes.
But in their cheeks Roses, and Lillies be
Wedded together in just Harmony:
And 'cause the Lily reigned in their hands,
In their sweet Lips the Rose as Mistress stands.
Upon their Fronts dwelt the all-charming Graces,
An everlasting Hebe in their Faces:
Their youth, and beauty strove, but by their strife,
As friends, not foes they gave each other Life.
But the fair Robes with which they then were clad,
Of Paradises silver Clouds were made,
Garnish'd with divers colours: less the bow
Of fair Thaumantis to the World doth show:
And far less Beauties doth it give, than those
Which sweetly triumph'd in their splendid cloaths.
In these fair Mazes lost our Pilgrim was,
And to draw thence his eyes no power he has.
To feast, and Banquet to the full invite;
A Troop of Heav'nly Dapifers they were,
Surcharg'd with Chargers who the Feast infer;
And with Cœlestial art the Dishes plac'd,
The Pilgrim they with their attendance grace'd.
The Pilgrim's greedy eyes now on the meat
They brought, now on the bringers ravish'd eat,
Sometimes to that, sometimes to these he tost
Them, and them in Beauties Meandres lost:
By 's feeding eyes his Soul took her first tast
Of the rare Sweets of this delicious Feast,
Where the five Sences altogether dine,
And filled are at once with meat divine.
These were a Chore of Angels of that Sphear,
Who in their brightest Robes to day appear
To grace Love's Banquet; and themselves they clad
With all the glories the Ælisium had.
Yellow Electrum hung upon their hair,
Whose aubourn threads conspir'd int' Circles were,
Amongst whose gold-Rings silver spangles lay,
Whose Star-like twinkling made a kind of day,
And rais'd an Halos round about their Heads,
Which Cynthian lustres gave to those bright threads:
Whose golden Woods (whilst the Zephyrian shocks
Ruffle the Volumns of their Amber-locks)
Yield such a fragor, that all Arabie
With all her sweets cann't reach the tenth degree.
Chaplets of Roses, mixt with Lillies, fair
And purple Violets, bound their golden Hair:
Under whose blushing shades the Day did rise
From the bright beamings of their sparkling eyes.
But in their cheeks Roses, and Lillies be
Wedded together in just Harmony:
And 'cause the Lily reigned in their hands,
In their sweet Lips the Rose as Mistress stands.
Upon their Fronts dwelt the all-charming Graces,
An everlasting Hebe in their Faces:
Their youth, and beauty strove, but by their strife,
As friends, not foes they gave each other Life.
257
Of Paradises silver Clouds were made,
Garnish'd with divers colours: less the bow
Of fair Thaumantis to the World doth show:
And far less Beauties doth it give, than those
Which sweetly triumph'd in their splendid cloaths.
In these fair Mazes lost our Pilgrim was,
And to draw thence his eyes no power he has.
But whilst in Beauties Labyrinth his eyes
Do tread, melodious sounds his eares surprize,
Which prove a cliew to lead him from his gaze,
And out of that into another Maze;
His Soul but now did issue at his eye,
Out of both eyes, and eares she now doth flye.
For th' Angel having ta'ne their Cue, by pairs
The Hymenæum sung in sweetest ayres:
The Waters, Groves, and birds do all agree,
Ecchoing their Melos to their Symphonie.
The sweet Symplones with the Angels joyn,
Marying their voyces in a Tune divine
They sing this Hillulim: mortals below
Did ne'r such sweet Harmonious Voyces know.
The schreeking Sphears were silent at that time,
And by their musick learn'd a better Chime.
Do tread, melodious sounds his eares surprize,
Which prove a cliew to lead him from his gaze,
And out of that into another Maze;
His Soul but now did issue at his eye,
Out of both eyes, and eares she now doth flye.
For th' Angel having ta'ne their Cue, by pairs
The Hymenæum sung in sweetest ayres:
The Waters, Groves, and birds do all agree,
Ecchoing their Melos to their Symphonie.
The sweet Symplones with the Angels joyn,
Marying their voyces in a Tune divine
They sing this Hillulim: mortals below
Did ne'r such sweet Harmonious Voyces know.
The schreeking Sphears were silent at that time,
And by their musick learn'd a better Chime.
| Mundorum Explicatio | |