The works of Sr William Davenant ... Consisting of Those which were formerly Printed, and Those which he design'd for the Press: Now published Out of the Authors Originall Copies |
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 | The works of Sr William Davenant |  |
125
Canto the Seventh.
The ARGUMENT.
The Dukes wish'd health in doubtfull wounds assur'd;Who gets new wounds before the old are cur'd:
Nature in Birtha, Art's weak help derides;
Which strives to mend, what it at best but hides;
Shewes Nature's courser works, so hid, more course;
As Sin conceal'd, and unconfess'd, growes worse.
1
Let none our Lombard Author rudely blame,Who from the Story has thus long digrest;
But for his righteous paines, may his fair Fame
For ever travail, whilst his Ashes rest.
2
Ill could he leave Art's Shop of Nature's Store;Where she the hidden Soul would make more known;
Though Common faith seeks Souls, which is no more
Then long Opinion to Religion grown.
3
A while then let this sage Historian stayWith Astragon, till he new wounds reveales,
And such (though now the old are worn away)
As Balm, nor juice of Pyrol, never heales.
4
To Astragon, Heav'n for succession gaveOne onely Pledge, and Birtha was her name;
Whose Mother slept, where Flow'rs grew on her Grave;
And she succeeded her in Face, and Fame.
5
Her beauty, Princes, durst not hope to use,Unless, like Poets, for their Morning Theam;
And her Mindes beauty they would rather chuse,
Which did the light in Beautie's Lanthorn seem.
6
She ne'r saw Courts, yet Courts could have undoneVVith untaught looks, and an unpractis'd heart;
Her Nets, the most prepar'd, could never shun;
For Nature spread them in the scorn of Art.
7
She never had in busie Cities bin;Ne'r warm'd with hopes, nor ere allay'd with fears;
Not seeing punishment, could guess no Sin;
And Sin not seeing, ne'r had use of tears.
126
8
But here her Fathers's precepts gave her skill,Which with incessant business fill'd the Houres;
In spring, she gather'd Blossoms for the Still,
In Autumn, Berries; and in Summer, Flowers.
9
And as kinde Nature with calm diligenceHer own free vertue silently imploys,
Whilst she, unheard, does rip'ning growth dispence,
So were her vertues busie without noise.
10
Whilst her great Mistris, Nature, thus she tends,The busie Houshold waites no less on her;
By secret Law, each to her beauty bends;
Though all her lowly Minde to that prefer.
11
Gracious and free, she breaks upon them allWith Morning looks; and they when she does rise,
Devoutly at her dawn in homage fall,
And droop like Flowers, when Evening shuts her Eyes.
12
The sooty Chymist (who his sight does waste,Attending lesser Fires) she passing by,
Broke his lov'd Lymbick, through enamour'd haste,
And let, like common Dew, th' Elixer fly.
13
And here the grey Philosophers resort,Who all to her, like crafty Courtiers, bow;
Hoping for secrets now in Nature's Court;
Which only she (her fav'rite Maid) can know.
14
These, as the Lords of science, she respects,And with familiar Beams their age she chears;
Yet all those civil formes seem but neglects
To what she shewes, when Astragon apears.
15
For as she once from him her being took,She hourly takes her Law; reads with swift sight
His will, even at the op'ning of his look,
And shews, by haste, obedience her delight.
16
She makes (when she at distance to him bowes)His int'rest in her Mother's beauty known;
For that's th' Original whence her Copy growes;
And near Originalls, Copys are not shown.
17
And he, with dear regard, her gifts does weareOf Flowers, which she in mistick order ties;
And with the sacrifice of many a teare
Salutes her loyal Mother in her Eyes.
18
The just Historians, Birtha thus express;And tell how by her Syres Example taught,
She serv'd the wounded Duke in Life's distress,
And his fled Spirits back by Cordials brought.
127
19
Black melancholy Mists, that fed dispairThrough wounds long rage, with sprinkled Vervin cleer'd;
Strew'd Leaves of Willow to refresh the air,
And with rich Fumes his sullen sences cheer'd.
20
He that had serv'd great Love with rev'rend heart,In these old wounds, worse wounds from him endures;
For Love, makes Birtha shift with Death, his Dart,
And she kills faster then her Father cures.
21
Her heedless innocence as little knewThe wounds she gave, as those from Love she took;
And Love lifts high each secret Shaft he drew;
Which at their Stars he first in triumph shook!
22
Love he had lik'd, yet never lodg'd before;But findes him now a bold unquiet Guest;
Who climbes to windowes, when we shut the Dore;
And enter'd, never lets the Master rest.
23
So strange disorder, now he pines for health,Makes him conceal this Reveller with shame;
She not the Robber knows, yet feeles the stealth;
And never but in Songs had heard his name.
24
Yet then it was, when she did smile at HeartsWhich Country Lovers wear in bleeding Seals;
Ask'd where his pretty Godhead found such Darts,
As make those wounds that onely Hymen heals.
25
And this, her ancient Maid, with sharp complaintsHeard, and rebuk'd; shook her experienc'd Head;
With teares besought her not to jest at Saints,
Nor mock those Martyrs, Love had Captive led.
26
Nor think the pious Poets e're would wasteSo many Teares in Ink, to make Maids mourn,
If injur'd Lovers had in ages paste
The lucky Mirtle, more then Willow worn.
27
This grave rebuke, Officious MemoryPresents to Birtha's thought; who now believ'd
Such sighing Songs, as tell why Lovers dy,
And prais'd their faith, who wept, when Poets griev'd.
28
She, full of inward questions, walks alone,To take her heart aside in secret Shade;
But knocking at her Breast, it seem'd, or gone,
Or by confed'racie was useless made;
29
Or else some stranger did usurp its room;One so remote, and new in ev'ry thought,
As his behaviour shews him not at home;
Nor the Guide sober that him thither brought.
128
30
Yet with this forraign Heart, she does beginTo treat of Love, her most unstudy'd Theame;
And like young Conscienc'd Casuists, thinks that sin,
Which will by talk and practise lawfull seeme.
31
With open Eares, and ever-waking Eyes,And flying Feet, Love's fire she from the sight
Of all her Maids does carry, as from Spys;
Jealous, that what burns her, might give them light.
32
Beneath a Mirtle Covert she does spendIn Maids weak wishes, her whole stock of thought;
Fond Maids! who love, with Mindes fine stuff would mend,
Which Nature purposely of Bodys wrought.
33
She fashions him she lov'd of Angels kinde;Such as in holy Story were imploy'd
To the first Fathers, from th'Eternal Minde;
And in short vision onely are injoy'd.
34
As Eagles then, when nearest Heav'n they flie,Of wild impossibles soon weary grow;
Feeling their bodies finde no rest so high,
And therefore pearch on Earthly things below:
35
So now she yields; him she an Angel deem'dShall be a Man; the Name which Virgins fear;
Yet the most harmless to a Maid he seem'd,
That ever yet that fatal name did bear.
36
Soon her opinion of his hurtless heart,Affection turns to faith; and then loves fire
To Heav'n, though bashfully, she does impart;
And to her Mother in the Heav'nly Quire.
37
If I do love, (said she) that love (O Heav'n!)Your own Disciple, Nature, bred in me;
Why should I hide the passion you have given,
Or blush to shew effects which you decree?
38
And you, my alter'd Mother (grown aboveGreat Nature, which you read, and reverenc'd here)
Chide not such kindness, as you once call'd Love,
When you as mortal as my Father were.
39
This said, her soul into her Breast retires!With Love's vain diligence of heart she dreams
Her self into possession of desires,
And trusts unanchor'd Hope in fleeting Streams.
40
Already thinks, the Duke her own spous'd Lord,Cur'd, and again from bloody Battel brought;
Where all false Lovers perish'd by his sword;
The true to her for his protection sought.
129
41
She thinks, how her imagin'd Spouse and she,So much from Heav'n, may by her vertues gain;
That they by Time shall ne'r o'retaken be,
No more then Time himself is overta'ne.
42
Or should he touch them as he by does pass,Heav'n's favour may repay their Summers gone,
And he so mix their sand in a slow Glass,
That they shall live, and not as Two, but One.
43
She thinks of Eden-life; and no rough winde,In their pacifique Sea shall wrinkles make;
That still her lowliness shall keep him kinde,
Her eares keep him asleep, her voice awake.
44
She thinks, if ever anger in him sway.(The Youthful Warrior's most excus'd disease)
Such chance her Teares shall calm, as showres allay
The accidental rage of Windes and Seas.
45
She thinks that Babes proceed from mingling Eyes,Or Heav'n from Neighbourhood increase allows,
As Palm, and the Mamora fructefies;
Or they are got, by closse exchanging vows.
46
But come they (as she hears) from Mothers pain,(Which by th' unlucky first-Maids longing, proves
A lasting curse) yet that she will sustain,
So they be like this Heav'nly Man she loves.
47
Thus to her self in day-dreams Birtha talkes;The Duke (whose wounds of war are healthful grown)
To cure Love's wounds, seeks Birtha where she walks;
Whose wandring Soul, seeks him to cure her own.
48
Yet when her solitude he did invade,Shame (which in Maids is unexperienc'd fear)
Taught her to wish Night's help to make more shade,
That Love (which Maids think guilt) might not appear
49
And she had fled him now, but that he cameSo like an aw'd, and conquer'd Enemy,
That he did seem offenceless, as her shame;
As if he but advanc'd for leave to fly.
50
First with a longing Sea-mans look he gaz'd,Who would ken Land, when Seas would him devour;
Or like a fearfull Scout, who stands amaz'd
To view the Foe, and multiplies their pow'r.
51
Then all the knowledge which her Father hadHe dreams in her, through purer Organs wrought;
Whose Soul (since there more delicately clad)
By lesser weight, more active was in thought.
130
52
And to that Soul thus spake, with tremb'ling voice;The world will be (O thou, the whole world's Maid!)
Since now tis old enough to make wise choice,
Taught by thy minde, and by thy beauty sway'd.
53
And I a needless part of it, unlessYou think me for the whole a Delegate,
To treat for what they want of your excess,
Vertue to serve the universal State.
54
Nature (our first example, and our Queen,Whose Court this is, and you her Minion Maid)
The World thinks now, is in her sickness seen,
And that her noble influence is decay'd.
55
And the Records so worn of her first Law,That Men, with Art's hard shifts, read what is good;
Because your beauty many never saw,
The Text by which your Minde is understood.
56
And I with the apostate world should grow,From sov'raigne Nature, a revolted Slave,
But that my lucky wounds brought me to know,
How with their cure my sicker minde to save.
57
A minde still dwelling idly in mine Eyes,Where it from outward pomp could ne'r abstain;
But even in beauty, cost of Courts did prise,
And Nature, unassisted, thought too plain.
58
Yet by your beauty now reform'd, I findeAll other only currant by false light;
Or but vain Visions of a feav'rish minde;
Too slight to stand the test of waking sight.
59
And for my healthfull Minde (diseas'd before)My love I pay; a gift you may disdain,
Since Love to you, Men give not, but restore;
As Rivers to the Sea pay back the Rain.
60
Yet Eastern Kings, who all by birth possess,Take gifts, as gifts, from vassals of the Crown;
So think in love, your property not less,
By my kind giving what was first your own.
61
Lifted with Love, thus he with Lovers grace,And Love's wilde wonder, spake; and he was rais'd
So much with rev'rence of this learned place,
That still he fear'd to injure all he prais'd.
62
And she in love unpractis'd and unread,(But for some hints her Mistress, Nature, taught)
Had it, till now, like grief with silence fed;
For Love and grief are nourish'd best with thought.
131
63
But this closs Diet, Love endures not long;He must in sighs, or speech, take ayre abroad;
And thus, with his Interpreter, her Tongue,
He ventures forth, though like a stranger aw'd.
64
She said, those vertues now she highly needs,Which he so artfully in her does praise,
To check (since vanity on praises feeds)
That pride which his authentick words may raise.
65
That if her Pray'rs, or care, did ought restoreOf absent health, in his bemoan'd distress;
She beg'd, he would approve her duty more,
And so commend her feeble vertue less.
66
That she the payment he of love would makeLess understood, then yet the debt she knew;
But coynes unknown, suspitiously we take,
And debts, till manifest, are never due.
67
With bashfull Looks she sought him to retire,Least the sharp Ayre should his new health invade;
And as she spake, she saw her rev'rend Syre
Approach to seek her in her usual shade.
68
To whom with filial homage she does bow:The Duke did first at distant duty stand,
But soon imbrac'd his knees; whil'st he more low
Does bend to him, and then reach'd Birtha's hand.
69
Her Face, o'recast with thought, does soon betrayTh' assembled spirits, which his Eyes detect
By her pale look, as by the Milkie way
Men first did the assembled Stars suspect.
70
Or as a Pris'ner, that in Prison pines,Still at the utmost window grieving lies;
Even so her Soule, imprison'd, sadly shines,
As if it watch'd for freedome at her Eyes!
71
This guides him to her Pulse, th' Alarum Bell,Which waits the insurrections of desire;
And rings so fast, as if the Cittadell,
Her newly conquer'd Breast, were all on fire!
72
Then on the Duke, he casts a short survay;Whose Veines, his Temples, with deep purple grace;
Then Love's dispaire gives them a pale allay;
And shifts the whole complexion of his Face.
73
Nature's wise Spy does onward with them walk;And findes, each in the midst of thinking starts;
Breath'd short, and swiftly in disorder'd talk,
To cool, beneath Love's Torrid Zone, their hearts.
132
74
When all these Symptomes he observ'd, he knowesFrom Alga, which is rooted deep in Seas,
To the high Cedar that on Mountaines grows,
No sov'raign hearb is found for their disease.
75
He would not Nature's eldest Law resist,As if wise Natures Law could be impure;
But Birtha with indulgent Looks dismist,
And means to counsel, what he cannot cure.
76
With mourning Gondibert he walks apart,To watch his Passions force; who seems to bear
By silent grief, Two Tyrants o're his Heart,
Great Love, and his inferior Tyrant, Fear.
77
But Astragon such kind inquiries made,Of all which to his Art's wise cares belong,
As his sick silence he does now disswade,
And midst Lov's fears, gives courage to his Tongue.
78
Then thus he spake with Love's humility;Have pitty Father! and since first so kinde,
You would not let this worthless Body die,
Vouchsafe more nobly to preserve my Minde!
79
A Minde so lately lucky, as it hereHas Vertues Mirror found, which does reflect
Such blemishes as Custom made it weare,
But more authentick Nature does detect.
80
A Minde long sick of Monarchs vain disease;Not to be fill'd, because with glory fed;
So busie it condemn'd even War of ease,
And for their useless rest despis'd the Dead.
81
But since it here has Vertue quiet found,It thinks (though Storms were wish'd by it before)
All sick at least at Sea, that scape undrown'd,
Whom Glory serves as winde, to leave the shore.
82
All Vertue is to yours but fashion now,Religion, Art; Internals are all gon,
Or outward turn'd, to satisfie with show,
Not God, but his inferiour Eye, the Sun.
83
And yet, though vertue be as fashion sought,And now Religion rules by Art's prais'd skill;
Fashion is Vertue's Mimmick, falsely taught;
And Art, but Nature's Ape, which plays her ill.
84
To this blest House (great Nature's Court) all CourtsCompar'd, are but dark Closets for retreat
Of private Mindes, Battels but Childrens sports;
And onely simple good, is solid great.
133
85
Let not the Minde, thus freed from Error's Night,(Since you repriev'd my Body from the Grave)
Perish for being now in love with light,
But let your Vertue, Vertue's Lover save.
86
Birtha I love; and who loves wisely so,Steps far tow'rds all which Vertue can attain;
But if we perish, when tow'rds Heav'n we go,
Then have I learnt that Vertue is in vain.
87
And now his Heart (extracted through his EyesIn Love's Elixer, Tears) does soon subdue
Old Astragon; whose pity, though made wise
With Love's false Essences, likes these as true.
88
The Duke he to a secret Bowre does lead,Where he his Youths first Story may attend;
To guess, ere he will let his love proceed,
By such a dawning, how his day will end.
89
For Vertue, though a rarely planted Flowre,Was in the seed by this wise Florist known;
Who could foretell, even in her springing houre,
What colours she shall wear when fully blown.
| The works of Sr William Davenant | |