The poetical works of William Strode ... Now first collected from manuscript and printed sources: to which is added: The floating island a tragi-comedy: Now first reprinted from the original edition of 1655: Edited by Bertram Dobell with a memoir of the author |
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TO THE SAME |
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 | The poetical works of William Strode |  |
TO THE SAME
If empty vessells can resounde
Farre more than those that doe abounde,
Or if a Pumpe orechargde with store,
Lesse water yeelds than being poore,
No wonder if my thanks so long
Have Silence kept: they were too strong:
My Breast untill some time were spent
Was too too full to gett a vent.
Had your ore-comming Bounty beene
Lesse noble; had it onely seene
The way to give, not give by arte,
I quickly had transcribde my heart
In ready phrase; and soone had payde
The debt which now I have delayde.
The Manner, not the Benefitt
Amazde my thankes and dulld my witt.
Eight golden faces closely rolde
Within eight verses, did enfolde
Some mystery, which thus I reade,
You square alike your Word and Deede.
Each verse was truly golden there,
And with the Pieces numbred were:
The lines so just that every one
Became a new Inscription.
Was't not enough my heart to binde
With gifts alone; but you must finde
Verses to way mee downe, and soe
Stopping the way where I should goe,
Prevent all thanks? I then desire
In steade of thanks I may admire.
Farre more than those that doe abounde,
Or if a Pumpe orechargde with store,
Lesse water yeelds than being poore,
No wonder if my thanks so long
Have Silence kept: they were too strong:
My Breast untill some time were spent
Was too too full to gett a vent.
Had your ore-comming Bounty beene
Lesse noble; had it onely seene
The way to give, not give by arte,
I quickly had transcribde my heart
In ready phrase; and soone had payde
The debt which now I have delayde.
91
Amazde my thankes and dulld my witt.
Eight golden faces closely rolde
Within eight verses, did enfolde
Some mystery, which thus I reade,
You square alike your Word and Deede.
Each verse was truly golden there,
And with the Pieces numbred were:
The lines so just that every one
Became a new Inscription.
Was't not enough my heart to binde
With gifts alone; but you must finde
Verses to way mee downe, and soe
Stopping the way where I should goe,
Prevent all thanks? I then desire
In steade of thanks I may admire.
Thinke how the boasting Hypocrite
Setts out his gift in open sight,
And guilds the outside of his deede
Trading for prayse, which others neede:
Then looke upon your secrecie,
Your shamefacte Liberalitie,
And pay yourselfe with that Reward
Which Conscience onely can affoord:
Such prayse the best men seeke, but you
Sought to avoyde such prayses too.
To say the left hand could not reade
What from the right hand did proceede
Were to detract: I think the hand
That gave did scarcely understande
Her secrett gifts: I'm sure twas so
That the receiver did not knowe:
Nor must I know till I were gone,
That so your ears may scape my tongue.
I have your Blushing therefore sparde,
I have indeede; and since you fearde
So to be thankt, who did not feare
So to deserve: I did forbeare;
I did awhile; but now I speake:
To hold in still I am too weake.
Setts out his gift in open sight,
And guilds the outside of his deede
Trading for prayse, which others neede:
Then looke upon your secrecie,
Your shamefacte Liberalitie,
And pay yourselfe with that Reward
Which Conscience onely can affoord:
Such prayse the best men seeke, but you
Sought to avoyde such prayses too.
To say the left hand could not reade
What from the right hand did proceede
Were to detract: I think the hand
That gave did scarcely understande
92
That the receiver did not knowe:
Nor must I know till I were gone,
That so your ears may scape my tongue.
I have your Blushing therefore sparde,
I have indeede; and since you fearde
So to be thankt, who did not feare
So to deserve: I did forbeare;
I did awhile; but now I speake:
To hold in still I am too weake.
| The poetical works of William Strode | |