University of Virginia Library

previous section Poems Occasioned by a melancholy vision
next section

DARKNESSE DISCOVERED.

With the dreadfull effects thereof.

The Earth was without forme, and Darknesse was upon the Deepe. Gen. 1. 2.

Cast away the workes of Darknesse. Rom. 13. 12.

Have no fellowship with the unfruitfull workes of Darknesse, but reprove them rather. Ephes. 5. 11.


1

Come, come my Muse, put on thy sad aray,
Black darknesse scorning, in a hatefull tone,
And if thou canst him banish quite away,
Thou shalt have praise almost of every one:
Be bold, and by him be not thou out-fac'd,
If he'll not part, let him remaine disgrac'd.

2

Thou black and hideous monster on the earth;
Darknesse I meane, I never yet could finde,
That he which made the world, brought thee to birth.
Thou art of hellish nature, kin by kind,
To that curst fiend, that rules in thee by might,
Thou must give place, he claims thee for his right

3

If hell had been, before there was a Divell,
I should have judg'd that thou hadst bin the same,
As first, so worse than any other evill,
Thou art; till now I never knew thy name,
A dreadfull night-hag, blacknesse type of death,
Thou hinder'st light, thy vapors poyson breath.

4

An evill spirit thou art, there is no doubt,
Thou do'st so haunt me, where so ere I goe,
Though I remote be, thou do'st finde me out,
And lookst so ghastly, like a deadly foe,
If I haste home, yet thou art there before,
Waiting my comming, for to vexe me more.

5

Thou art so bold, no company or place,
Can shake thee off; thou most unwelcome guest,
The comeliest creature thou do'st still disgrace,
Onely with blinde men, thou art in request;
Or hatefull creatures that doe shun the light,
Doe follow thee, and so play least in sight.

6

Had not the glorious light appear'd, still thou
Hadst kept possession of the world, and then
None ever could at any time tell how,
To differ beasts (though wilde) from sons of men,
Gods praise of all his works, had quite bin lost,
Had he not brought in light, and darknes crost.

7

But still thou shar'st with light, of time and place,
And shew'st thy swarthie visage every where,
Ide make thee creepe in holes, not shew thy face
No more thou shouldst, if I could power steare,
Th' obscurest den, should ever be thy tombe,
Till hell did take thee, at the day of doome.

8

Men were not made with eyes, and not to see,
Such pleasant colours, made were for delight,
What use of these, when men in darknesse be,
What dost thou then, but rob us of our right?
Dost peepe in now? be gone, or else ile fire,
Thy horrid shape; let cursed be thy hire.

9

Thou envious viper, why so long dost keepe
Possession of some countries? ere thou part,
Wouldst have a creature halfe a yeare to sleepe?
No fruit thou hast, poorebeasts do feele the smart,
Thou keepst frō others, me must wait thy leisure,
Ther's no excuse, nor reason, 'tis thy pleasure.

10

A man that travels on his way, he thinkes,
No harme is neare him; but thou hid'st the way,
Then suddainly into a pit he sinkes,
So by thy meanes, that, doth his life destroy,
Thou dost not care, thou wouldst not blush awhit
If all that lives should fall into a pit.

11

Contrarily, when men in Darknesse goe,
They see a bush, but take it for a Theefe,
And so a friend, is taken for a foe,
Of all mistakes in mischiefe, thou art chiefe,
I never knew thee to repent of any,
Of all such wrongs, though they were nere so many.

12

Thou hant'st the day, that it can never rest,
Thy fury shewes the curtnesse of thy spirit,
And when the chāpion hides him in the west;
Thou tak'st his place, there thou wouldst stil inherit;
But light doth conquer, and breaks up thy fort,
Men run from thee, to light they doe resort.

13

What use of thee can any creature make?
For any good? what profit dost thou bring,
Or what delight can any creature take
In thee? thou envi'st every living thing?
But Batts and Owles, are companie for thee,
And graves remote, how noysome ere they be.

14

Nay worse thā al that I before have told
Thou'rt good for nothing, but with sleeping dreams
Thou cheatest men: the blindest are most bold,
And whē they wake, their wants are in extreams,
Thou fright'st men too & mak'st some fools, fōe mad.
All this is true, o this is worse than bad.

15

Yet worse Ile say, that no man can deny it,
Thou coverest sin, and dost still take his part,
Thou arr reserv'd and close, I doe defie it,
Thou hid'st sins vermin, that should feel the smart,
And good that should lye open to the world,
Thou hid'st it so, that in a grave 'tis hurl'd.

16

A traytor thou art, guilty of the treason,
That traytors act in vaults, and hideous Cels,
Thou keep'st their counsels, is there any reason,
But thou should'st share with thē in deadly spels.
Nay thou art first in all things that are ill.
Thy partners die, but thou remainest still.

17

By thy assistance theeves doe seeke their prey,
They rob and steale, thou dost their counsell keep,
When they breake houses, 'tis not in the day,
'Tis in thy presence, when men are asleepe:
Thou cozening varlet, dost not thou partake?
With all such villaines, thou dost share a stake.

18

Mē spend whole nights in play, their means & al,
Thou dost them shelter with a sable hue,
They'l turne thee into day, but they inthrall
Themselves: day is their night, & shame their due,
For when light peepson them, they slink away,
Thou mak'st them bold, but light doth them bewray.

19

What art thou but a Pandar to the whore,
To countenance such basenesse that they doe?
When thou hast curtain'd light, and not before
They serve their lusts, art thou not guiltie too?
Such things are cover'd, yea maintain'd by thee,
As clownes blush at, and mad men hate to see.

20

Thou go'st with death, you both agree together,
If one goe first, the other followes fast,
Who is the master? 'tis no matter whether,
How can you 'gree? too slow thou, he too fast
Runs? deith in darknes throws his dart so right,
You both conspire against the blessed light.

21

Darknes, thou tak'st on thee such dreadfull state,
That sin and death, doth still upon thee waite,
Having their love, thou dost procure thee hate,
Of all that know thy trickes, and finde thy baite:
Thou art accurst of all that see thy shape,
'Tis more ugly, than any Beare or Ape.

22

Thou chargest men, with candle, torch and tapers,
Those that doe purchase any time of thee,
(When thou dost come, and bring thy hatefull vapors)
Shall buy it deare, if they would constant be,
Thou ever still dost seeke for to undoe us,
And enviest much, when any light comes to us.

23

Though I chide thee, yet stil thou star'st upon me,
And dost not shrinke a whit, thou mak'st me fret,
Thou dost out-face me, pressing more upon me;
With thy blacke guard, thou dost upon me set:
I call for light, but thou dost wait till when,
My candle's out, and then thou com'st agen.

24

Mans time is short, yet thou tak'st halfe his life;
He answer must, for that blacke time that thou
Dost bring on him; 'tis that, that breeds us strife,
To be redeem'd from thee, we know not how,
The willinger to part from earth Ile bee,
Freed from thy shade, I perfect light shall see.

25

Unlike to God thou art, no darknesse dwell
With him may: thou hast nothing else, thy name
Is darknesse: thou wilt soone all light expell,
If thou hadst might, for free thou art from shame
Thou dar'st not looke in heaven, this I know,
God lets thee stay for punishment below.

26

Most fitly unto hell, I thee compare,
For darknesse there, is of no other hue,
Thy ugly presence, addeth to their care,
That love not light, so darknesse is their due;
Thou constant art, yet there thou dost not hide,
Their faults, though thou dost with them still abide.

27

Nay worse, for there thou dost the worse tormēt,
And vexe them justly, here thou vexest all,
The best thou hindrest from their good intent,
Both good and bad; with snares thou dost inthral,
From fire there, thou tak'st the light away,
Thou bring'st us night, & tak'st from us the day.

28

Be thou confin'd to hell, for only there,
Thy kingdome is, yet here thou com'st to dwell,
And with thy shape thou putt'st us still in feare,
Art thou so large, not roome enough in hell
For thee: but thou must rove about the earth?
With tragedies thou act'st a monsters birth.

29

Thou like hells factor, gets men in thy clawes
And keep'st them fast, they cannot get from thee,
Then hellish darknesse, opens wide his jawes,
And swallowes them in endlesse miserie.
Those that on earth do shew to thee regard,
Thy partner doth in hell, their workes reward.

30

Darknesse in hell, seems like thy younger brother,
For thou before hadst being in the world,
Didst thou fall out with him? or from each other
Part with consent? that he to hell was hurl'd,
Or doth he there, possession keepe for thee,
Till thou com'st there, for all eternitie?

31

For though thou stay'st on earth awhile, yet thou,
Ere long, shalt not in any place be found
Saving in hell; let hell-hounds tell thee how
By thee their sorrowes do the more abound:
Pen'd up together, you shall be for aye,
Looke not toward heaven, for eternall day.

32

Thou with black storms, dost ever join thy might
In day thy foggy mists, doe cast their vailes,
Which hang before us, keeping off the light,
On toppes of hilles, or dwelling in the dales:
And thou in mischiefe dost eclipse the Sunne,
To force a night, before the day be done.

33

Nay worst of all, thou mak'st men blinde within,
Thou tak'st possession onely of the heart,
And so through darknesse, men doe live in sin,
Losing their way so by thy cursed art:
No love of truth, (for why they cannot see)
Doth once appeare, being hood-winkt so by thee.

34

The minde to folly, thou dost ever bend,
Through ignorance, thou keep'st it still in hold,
To hinder good, thou hast a cursed end,
To cloud the light; thou shamelesse art and bold,
Thou keep'st assises, close, within the soule,
Thou wilt be judg, and thou must all controule,

35

If once the will, do but a freedome crave.
And labour darknesse, for to disinherit,
Then if thou canst not chaine him like a slave,
Thou'lt blinde him so, that he will think to merit:
Which is as bad, or worse, thus for to change;
Blinde zeale from light is far remote & strange.

36

Th' affections are so darkned, by thy power,
They live below, and worldly goods desire,
Desiring things that perish in an houre;
Affecting not the light, or to aspire
Above thy reach, but with thee will remaine,
They licke the dust, and judge losse to be gaine.

37

The minde, the will, affections are included,
In thy black dungeon, thou dost keepe them fast,
And so poore creatures are by thee deluded,
They love thee more than light, light hath no tast
With them, for light they never yet did know,
They'l know thee here, or else in hell below.

38

Those not a few, that thou dost cheat so still,
The most of men, thou hidest in thy tent,
For halfe the world. is not enough to fill,
Thy hellish prison; but 'tis still thy bent,
To cover all men with thy hellish shade,
As if that all were for destruction made.

39

Thou mak'st mē think, that evil's good, good evil,
Such doe thee love; is't for thy comely lookes?
Or else, because thou art so like the Devill,
They so delight to reade thy cursed bookes?
Or is't that they may free from feare or wit,
Still sin unseene, when they in darknesse sit?

40

Though men have eyes, through thee they cannot see,
No not themselves, for they are blinde within,
Thou flatter'st such, how vile so ere they be,
Which worke for thee, hate light and mock at sin,
To humour all, thou hast a great desire,
That plead for thee, and love thy fruitlesse hire.

41

Thou art the cause, that men doe live like bruits.
They looke not up, they'r so with thee possest,
They are thy spawns, I know thē by their fruits,
Ile never looke for reason, in a beast:
O cursed darknesse, how dost thou bereave,
Their soules of light, and in them darknes leave.

42

Thou wilt not be expeld by any strength,
Nor adjurations charge, thou art so stout,
Till God from heaven brings his light at length,
Into the mindes, and so doth cast thee out:
Yet thou dost lurk, and turne againe to enter
Into the heart; thou art so bold to venter.

43

In single actions, thou dost hide a part,
If good, the comfort, thou dost still disgrace,
If bad, thou usest such black handed art,
Men cānot see their own deformed face,
Whether good or bad: smal difference doth appeare,
The good is clouded, bad (though foule) seemes cleare.

44

Though light be round about thee, yet thou keep'st
Possession: for thou wilt not stirre from thence,
Thy night is alwayes, yet thou never sleep'st,
Light from on high against thee doth commence,
A suit in judgement; though he get the day,
Being impudent, thou wilt not get away.

45

Keep off from me, I charge thee come not hither,
Go, go to Egypt, once againe to dwell,
And let the dreamers say, when thou com'st thither,
That thou most fitly dost resemble hell,
Or wait in desarts, let the sleepers call
Thee back: or mourners to the funerall.

46

Let such as have not mourning garments made,
T'attend the funerals to their graves by day,
Take up on trust, of thy blacke cypresse shade,
Let doomes-day be appointed for thy pay:
Let greeved persons that should weepe alone,
In thy sad presence, breath a silent groane.

47

Goe, be a bug-beare to the Indians wilde,
And live with savages, in darksome holes,
Or dwell with wormes beneath, for they are milde,
They'l not thee chide, goe tarry with the moles,
Till thou art sent for; these will like thee best:
Shamelesse thou art, thou'dst goe else, being so prest.

48

Me thinks to dwel 'mongst Turks, might thee suffice,
Their bounds are larger, than all Christendome;
Thou shalt be welcom, there they wil thee prize,
What need'st thou then to us, so constant come?
Get, get thee gone, thy Canopie no more,
Spread over us, doe this, Ile quit the score.

49

Let such bribe thee, that Nature have deni'd,
A comely shape, and let those be in fee
With thee: that thou maist them in darknes hide,
That have no hope of grace or good to see:
Let vagrants use thee, as a charme t'affright,
Their froward brats, to tell them here comes night.

50

And let the screetch-owles, with their dolefull noise,
Accompany thy presence, and withall,
To usher in thy traine, with hollow voice,
Let night-birds meet together, great and small:
No other musicke, but the passing bell,
Thy woes so sad, as death himselfe can tell.

51

Let no man name thee, but in great disdaine,
And blush when thou art open set before,
Let none wish for thee, thou increasest paine
Of death, to such that doe but help thee ore:
When thou art seen, let desperate sinners quake,
That must in hell of thee possession take.

52

Let fooles by thee, be ever so affrighted
That they may tremble when they doe thee see;
Let changelings cry, still whē they are benighted,
And bawling curres, then howle for fear of thee:
Let mad men quiver when they hear thy name,
Or see thy shape (though wilde) they may grow tame.

53

Then now I'd leave thee, leave thee? would I might,
I speake as I would have it unawares,
The thoughts of leaving, makes my heart so light,
That for the present, I am free from cares:
Then say I, is this ravishment in thought?
Its but a dream, which waking turns to naught.

54

For when I turne my face, it glides away,
And dores are shut, and darknesse in doth slinke,
Then all amort, I bid my pengoe play,
I write no more, he creeps in through a chinke:
I think to strive, 'tis but in vaine for me,
For with this spright, I haunted still shall be.

55

If I could kill thee, I would soone dispatcht it,
Run through th' hadst bin, I know it many times,
Yet still thou liv'st, thy evill who can match it?
Men die with lesse, and for lesse sinfull crimes:
There's none can hang thee, still thou slip'st the knot
Ile have thee banisht, this should be thy lot.

56

Thou stop'st mine eyes, thou canst not stop my tongue,
Ile tell thy projects to the world, that they,
May shun, or hate thy company, and long,
And love, and prize the lightsome cheerfull day:
I will not make with thee a composition,
Nor none should else, by my will or permissiō.

57

My eares are open, them thou canst not close,
With all thy magick: comfort still I finde,
In darknesse I can smell a fragrant rose,
Though thou bring'st sadnesse, this doth ease my minde.
I will not feare thee much: for why should I,
God gives me light, thy blacknesse to descrie.

58

Ile raise my thoughts (though dark) above thy flight,
And meditate on blessed things to come,
And take possession of eternall light,
By faith: though thou wilt not avoid the roome.
Come do thy worst, why should I favor crave,
Of thee that art a theefe, a sharke, a slave?

59

(Then thus I thinke, againe)
If he'l not part, by faire meanes nor by force,
But stay with us, and vexe us in despight;
Ile send a Satire that shall scourge him worse,
He feeling 'smart, perhaps he'll take his flight.
It bootes not, he being senselesse feels no pain,
A whipp's as nothing, this thought is but vaine.

60

Being vext, I to him say:
Remaine imprison'd, in a fatall Cell,
And let the stars, the Moon still watch thee there,
But with enchantments, thou get'st out to dwell,
The starres are hid, the Moon doth not appeare.
(Then thus my Muse reply:)
What remedy, but patience, that is best,
Lay me aside, goe sweetly take thy rest,

61

(Then I looke back:)
On what my Muse did speake, I set my mind,
I nought regard his power, nor his charmes,
Nor feare his lookes, my soule shall be inclin'd,
To light: then I will never dread his harmes.
'Tis but a time, halfe my time here is light,
My minde shall see heaven, in the darkest night.

62

Then to my Muse I say,
Alas, alas, is all thy labour lost?
Doth darknesse still remaine? what still abide?
Is there no way to have his horrour crost?
Doth he not care though thou dost sharply chide?
Be not dismaid, thy labour is not vaine,
Except his owne, all men shall him disdaine.

63

Winde up thy clew, for thou hast staid too long,
Acting thy part, so tragicall and grim,
Though darknesse stay still with us yet among,
Yet charge him that he goes not into him
That's dispossest of him; nor in the heart
Once claime a share, where light hath got a part.

64

Warne all in light, to stand upon their guard,
Let those in darknesse for their freedome strive,
Let all at all times, ever be prepar'd,
T'oppose it, till they doe by light arrive
In heaven: where, no darknesse they shall see,
But free from feare eternally shall be.

65

If Darknesse grumble,
Speake not at all, though he do vexe and grutch,
And mutter out his froth, or yet his crue,
Reply: seeing thou dost them so boldly touch,
Its known full well what thou hast spoke is true.
They'l shew thou did'st but rub him on the sore,
The more they stir, still they will stink the more.

66

Muse, thou art honest, I must take thy part,
Though thou art plain, let none thy truth despise,
Thou art not trimm'd with any curious art,
Thou wear'st thy owne, that best doth fit thy size.
Goe, goe thy way, plaine dressing likes me best,
For heathenish painting's grown out of request.
FINIS.
previous section Poems Occasioned by a melancholy vision
next section