Read The Metaphysical Poets, part 3 of 4

Appendix B. Poems Which Have Been Attributed To Donne.

APPENDIX B.

POEMS WHICH HAVE BEEN ATTRIBUTED TO DONNE.

For a full discussion of the authorship of these poems see Text and Canon of Donne's Poems, pp. cxxix et seq.

PAGE =401=. TO S^r NICHOLAS SMYTH.

Chambers points out that a Nicholas Smyth has a set of verses in Coryats Crudities, 1611.

In the Visitation of the County of Devon, 1620, a long genealogy is given, the closing portion of which shows who this Nicholas Smith or Smyth of Exeter (l. 15) and his father were:

Joan, d. of James Walker = Sir Geo. Smith of Exeter, who was descended of the | Knt., ob. 1619. Mathewes of Wales who | were descended of Flewellyns | and Herberts. | +-----------------+-----------+------+-----------------------+ | | | | Divers children Elizabeth, Sir Nicholas Smith=Dorothea, d. James, d. without &c. of Larkbeare in of Sir Raphe &c. issue. com. Devon, Kt. Horsey de com. Dorsett.

Seven children of Sir Nicholas are given, including another Nicholas (aet. 14), and the whole is signed 'Nich Smith'.

This is doubtless Roe's friend. With Roe as a Falstaff he had probably 'heard the chimes at midnight' in London before he settled down to raise a family in Devonshire.

l. 7. sleeps House, &c. Ovid xi; Ariosto, Orlando Furioso, Canto xiv; Spenser, Faerie Queene, I. i.

PAGE =402=, l. 26. Epps. 'This afternoon a servingman of the Earl of Northumberland fought with swaggering Eps, and ran him through the ear.' Manninghams Diary, 8th April, 1603 (Camden Club, p. 165). This is the only certain reference to Epps I have been able to find, but Grosart declares he is the soldier described in Dekker's Knights Conjuring as behaving with great courage at the siege of Ostend (1601-4), where he was killed. I can find no name in Dekker's work.

ll. 27-31. As printed in 1669 these lines are not very intelligible, and neither Grosart nor Chambers has corrected them. As given in the MSS. (e.g. TCD) they are a little clearer:

For his Body and State The Physick and Counsel (which came too late) 'Gainst whores and dice, hee nowe on mee bestowes Most superficially: hee speakes of those, (I found by him) least soundly whoe most knows:

The purpose of bracketing 'which came too late' is obviously to keep it from being taken with ''Gainst whores and dice'--the very mistake that 1669 has fallen into and Grosart and Chambers have preserved. The drawback to this use of the bracket is that it disguises, at least to modern readers, that 'which came too late' must be taken with 'For his Body and State'. I have therefore dropped it and placed a comma after 'late'. The meaning I take to be as follows: 'The physic and counsel against whores and dice, which came too late for his own body and estate, he now bestows on me in a superficial fashion; for I found by him that of whores and dice those speak least soundly who know most from personal experience.' A rather shrewd remark. There are some spheres where experience does not teach, but corrupt.

l. 40. in that or those: 'that' the Duello, 'those' the laws of the Duello. There is not much to choose between 'these' and 'those'.

ll. 41-3. Though sober; but so never fought. I know What made his Valour, undubb'd, Windmill go, Within a Pint at most:

The MSS. improve both the metre and the sense of the first of these lines, which in 1669 and Chambers runs:

Though sober; but nere fought. I know ...

It is when he is sober that he never fights, though he may quarrel. Roe knows exactly how much drink it would take to make this undubb'd Don Quixote charge a windmill, or like a windmill. But the poem is too early for an actual reference to Don Quixote

PAGE =403=, ll. 67-8. and he is braver now Than his captain.

By 'braver' the poet means, not more courageous, but more splendidly attired, more 'braw'.

PAGE =404=, l. 88. Abraham France--who wrote English hexameters. His chief works are The Countess of Pembrokes Ivy Church (1591) and The Countess of Pembrokes Emmanuel (1591). He was alive in 1633.

PAGE =405=, l. 113. So they their weakness hide, and greatness show. Grosart refused the reading 'weakness', which he found in his favourite MS. S, and Chambers ignored it. It has, however, the support of B, O'F, and L74 (which is strong in Roe's poetry), and seems to me to give the right edge to the sarcasm. 'By giving to flatterers what they owe to worth, Kings and Lords think to hide their weakness of character, and to display the greatness of their wealth and station.' They make a double revelation of their weakness in their credulity and their love of display.

l. 128. Cuff. Henry Cuff (1563-1601), secretary to Essex and an abettor of the conspiracy.

l. 131. that Scot. It is incredible that Donne wrote these lines. He found some of his best friends among the Scotch--Hay, Sir Robert Ker, Essex, and Hamilton, to say nothing of the King.

PAGE =406=. SATYRE.

PAGE =407=, ll. 32-3. A time to come, &c. I have adopted Grosart's punctuation and think his interpretation of 'beg' must be the right one--'beg thee as an idiot or natural.' The O.E.D. gives: '† 5a. To beg a person: to petition the Court of Wards (established by Henry VIII and suppressed under Charles II) for the custody of a minor, an heiress, or an idiot, as feudal superior or as having interest in the matter: hence also fig. To beg (any one) for a fool or idiot: to take him for, set him down as. Obs.' Among other examples is, 'He proved a wiser man by much than he that begged him. Harington, Met. Ajax 46.' What the satirist says is, 'The time will come when she will beg to have wardship of thee as an idiot. If you continue she will take you for one now.'

l. 35. Besides, her<s>. My reading combines the variants. I think 'here' must be wrong.

PAGE =407=. AN ELEGIE.

PAGE =408=, l. 5. Else, if you were, and just, in equitie &c. This is the punctuation of H39, and is obviously right, 'in equitie' going with what follows. He has denied the existence or, at least, the influence of the Fates, and now continues, 'For if you existed or had power, and if you were just, then, according to all equity I should have vanquish'd her as you did me.' Grosart and the Grolier Club editor follow 1635-54, and read:

Else, if you were, and just in equity, &c.

Chambers accepts the attempt of 1669 to amend this, and prints:

True if you were, and just in equity, &c.

But 'just in equity' is not a phrase to which any meaning can be attached.

PAGE =412=. AN ELEGIE.

Grosart prints this very incorrectly. He does not even reproduce correctly the MS. S, which he professes to follow. Chambers follows Grosart, adopting some of the variants of the Haslewood-Kingsborough MS. reported by Grosart. They both have the strange reading 'cut in bands' in l. 11, which as a fact is not even in S, from which Grosart professes to derive it. The reading of all the MSS., 'but in his handes,' makes quite good sense. The Scot wants matter, except in his hands, i.e. dirt, which is 'matter out of place'. The reading, 'writ in his hands', which Chambers reports after Grosart, is probably a mistake of the latter's. Indeed his own note suggests that the reading of H-K is 'but in's hands'.

PAGE =417=. TO THE COUNTESSE OF HUNTINGTON.

It looks as if some lines of this poem had been lost. The first sentence has no subject unless 'That' in the second line be a demonstrative--a very awkward construction.

If written by Donne this poem must have been composed about the same time as The Storme and The Calme. He is writing apparently from the New World, from the Azores. But it is as impossible to recover the circumstances in which the poem was written as to be sure who wrote it.

PAGE =422=. ELEGIE.

ll. 5-6. denounce ... pronounce. The reading of the MSS. seems to me plainly the correct one. 'In others, terror, anguish and grief announce the approach of death. Her courage, ease and joy in dying pronounce the happiness of her state.' The reading of the printed texts is due to the error by which 1635 and 1639 took 'comming' as an epithet to 'terror' as 'happy' is to 'state'. Some MSS. read 'terrors' and 'joyes'.

l. 22. Their spoyles, &c. I have adopted the MS. reading here, though with some hesitation, because (1) it is the more difficult reading: 'Soules to thy conquest beare' seems more like a conjectural emendation than the other reading, (2) The construction of the line in the printed texts is harsh--one does not bear anything 'to a conquest', (3) the meaning suits the context better. It is not souls that are spoken of, but bodies. The bodies of the wicked become the spoil of death, trophies of his victory over Adam; not so those of the good, which shall rise again. See 1 Cor. xv. 54-5.

PAGE =424=. PSALME 137.

This Psalm is found in a MS. collection of metrical psalms (Rawlinson Poetical 161), in the Bodleian Library, transcribed by a certain R. Crane. The list of authors is Fr. Dav., Jos. Be., Rich. Cripps, Chr. Dav., Th. Carry. That Davison is the author of this particular Psalm is strongly suggested by the poetical Induction which in style and verse resembles the psalm. The induction is signed 'Fr. Dav.' The first verse runs:

Come Urania, heavenly Muse, and infuse Sacred flame to my invention; Sing so loud that Angells may heare thy lay, Lending to thy note attention.

PAGE =429=. SONG.

Soules joy, now I am gone, &c. George Herbert, in the Temple, gives A Parodie of this poem, opening:

Soul's joy, when thou art gone, And I alone, Which cannot be, Because Thou dost abide with me, And I depend on Thee.

The parody does not extend beyond the first verse.

It was one of the aims of Herbert to turn the Muse from profane love verses to sacred purposes. Mr. Chambers points to another reference to this poem in some very bad verses by Sir Kenelm Digby in Bright's edition of Digby's Poems (p. 8), The Roxburghe Club.

APPENDIX C.

I. POEMS FROM ADDITIONAL MS. 25707. PAGE =433=.

The authorship of the four poems here printed from A25 has been discussed in the Text and Canon, &c. There is not much reason to doubt that the first is what it professes to be. The order of the names in the heading, and the character of the verses both suggest that the second and corresponding verses are Donne's contribution. There is a characteristic touch in each one. I cannot find anything eminently characteristic in any of the rest of the group. The third poem refers to the poetical controversy on Love and Reason carried on with much spirit between the Earl of Pembroke and Sir Benjamin Rudyerd in their Poems as printed by the younger Donne in 1660. A much finer fragment of the debate, beginning--

And why should Love a footboy's place despise?

is attributed to Donne by the Bridgewater MS. and the MS. in the library of the Marquess of Crewe. It is part of a poem by Rudyerd in the debate in the volume referred to.

II. POEMS FROM THE BURLEY MS. PAGE =437=.

Of the poems here printed from the Burley-on-the-Hill MS., none I think is Donne's. The chief interest of the collection is that it comes from a commonplace-book of Sir Henry Wotton, and therefore presumably represents the work of the group of wits to which Donne, Bacon, and Wotton belonged. I have found only one of them in other MSS., viz. that which I have called Life a Play. This occurs in quite a number of MSS. in the British Museum, and has been published in Hannah's Courtly Poets. It is generally ascribed to Sir Walter Raleigh; and Harleian MS. 733 entitles it Verses made by Sir Walter Raleigh made the same morning he was executed. I have printed it because with the first, and another in the Reliquiae Wottonianae, it illustrates Wotton's taste for this comparison of life to a stage, a comparison probably derived from an epigram in the Greek Anthology, which may be the source of Shakespeare's famous lines in As You Like It. The epitaph by Jonson on Hemmings, Shakespeare's fellow-actor and executor, is interesting. A similar epitaph on Burbage is found in Sloane MS. 1786:

An Epitaph on Mr Richard Burbage the Player.

This life's a play groaned out by natures Arte Where every man hath his alloted parte. This man hath now as many men can tell Ended his part, and he hath done it well. The Play now ended, think his grave to bee The retiring house of his sad Tragedie. Where to give his fame this, be not afraid: Here lies the best Tragedian ever plaid.

III. POEMS FROM VARIOUS MSS. PAGE =443=.

Of the miscellaneous poems here collected there is very little to be said. The first eight or nine come from the O'Flaherty MS. (O'F), which professes to be a collection of Donne's poems, and may, Mr. Warwick Bond thinks, have been made by the younger Donne, as it contains a poem by him. It is careless enough to be his work. They illustrate well the kind of poem attributed to Donne in the seventeenth century, some on the ground of their wit, others because of their subject-matter. Donne had written some improper poems as a young man; it was tempting therefore to assign any wandering poem of this kind to the famous Dean of St. Paul's. The first poem, The Annuntiation, has nothing to do with Donne's poem The Annuntiation and Passion, but has been attached to it in a manner which is common enough in the MSS. The poem Love's Exchange is obviously an imitation of Donne's Lovers infinitenesse (p. 17). A Paradoxe of a Painted Face was attributed to Donne because he had written a prose Paradox entitled That Women ought to paint. The poem was not published till 1660. In Harleian MS. it is said to be 'By my Lo: of Cant. follower Mr. Baker'. The lines on Black Hayre and Eyes (p. 460) are found in fifteen or more different MSS. in the British Museum alone, and were printed in Parnassus Biceps (1656) and Pembroke and Ruddier's Poems (1660). Two of the MSS. attribute the poem to Ben Jonson, but others assign it to W. P. or Walton Poole. Mr. Chambers points out that a Walton Poole has verses in Annalia Dubrensia (1636), and also cites from Foster's Alumni Oxonienses: 'Walton Poole of Wilts arm. matr. 9.1.1580 at Trinity Coll. aged 15.' These may be the same person. The signature A. P. or W. P. at the foot of several pages suggests that the Stowe MS. 961 of Donne's poems had belonged to some member of this family. The fragment of an Elegy at p. 462 occurs only in P, where it forms part of an Heroicall Epistle with which it has obviously nothing to do. I have thought it worth preserving because of its intense though mannered style. The line, 'Fortune now do thy worst' recalls Elegie XII, l. 67. The closing poem,'Farewell ye guilded follies,' comes from Walton's Complete Angler (1658), where it is thus introduced: 'I will requite you with a very good copy of verses: it is a farewell to the vanities of the world, and some say written by Dr. D. But let they be written by whom they will, he that writ them had a brave soul, and must needs be possest with happy thoughts of their composure.' In the third edition (1661) the words were changed to 'And some say written by Sir Harry Wotton, who I told you was an excellent Angler.' In one MS. they are attributed to Henry King, Donne's friend and literary executor, and in two others they are assigned to Sir Kenelm Digby, as by whom they are printed in Wits Interpreter (1655). Mr. Chambers points out that 'The closing lines of King's The Farewell are curiously similar to those of this poem.' He quotes:

My woeful Monument shall be a cell, The murmur of the purling brook my knell; My lasting Epitaph the Rock shall groan; Thus when sad lovers ask the weeping stone, What wretched thing does in that centre lie, The hollow echo will reply, 'twas I.

I cannot understand why Mr. Chambers, to whom I am indebted for most of this information, was content to print so inadequate a text when Walton was in his hand. Two of his lines completely puzzled me:

Welcome pure thoughts! welcome, ye careless groans! These are my guests, this is that courtage tones.

'Groans' are generally the sign of care, not of its absence. However, I find that Ashmole MS. 38, in the Bodleian, and some others read:

Welcome pure thoughts! welcome ye careless groves! These are my guests, this is that court age loves.

This explains the mystery. But Mr. Chambers followed Grosart; and Grosart was inclined to prefer the version of a bad MS. which he had found to a good printed version.

Supplementary Notes.

PAGES =5=, =6=. The poems of Ben Jonson are here printed just as they stand in the 1650, 1654, 1669 editions of Donne's Poems. A comparison with the 1616 edition of Jonson's Works shows some errors. The poem To John Donne (p. 5) is xxiii of the Epigrammes. The sixth line runs

And which no affection praise enough can give!

The absurd 'no'n' of 1650 seems to have arisen from the printing 'no'affection' of the 1640 edition of Jonson's Works. The 1719 editor of Donne's Poems corrected this mistake. A more serious mistake occurs in the ninth line, which in the Works (1616) runs:

All which I meant to praise, and, yet I would.

The error 'mean' comes from the 1640 edition of the Works of Ben Jonson, which prints 'meane'.

To Lucy, &c., is xciii of the Epigrammes. The fourteenth line runs:

Be of the best; and 'mongst those, best are you.

The comma makes the sense clearer. In l. 3, 1616 reads 'looke,' with comma.

To John Donne (p. 6) is xcvi. There are no errors; but 'punees' is in 1616 more correctly spelt 'pui'nees'.

PAGES =7=, =175=, =369=. I am indebted for the excellent copies of the engravings here reproduced to the kind services of Mr. Laurence Binyon. The portraits form a striking supplement to the poems along with which they are placed. The first is the young man of the Songs and Sonets, the Elegies and the Satyres, the counterpart of Biron and Benedick and the audacious and witty young men of Shakespeare's Comedies. 'Neither was it possible,' says Hacket in his Scrinia Reserata: a Memorial of John Williams ... Archbishop of York (1693), 'that a vulgar soul should dwell in such promising features.'

The engraving by Lombart is an even more lifelike portrait of the author of the Letters, Epicedes, Anniversaries and earlier Divine Poems, learned and witty, worldly and pious, melancholy yet ever and again 'kindling squibs about himself and flying into sportiveness', writing at one time the serious Pseudo-Martyr, at another the outrageous Ignatius his Conclave, and again the strangely-mooded, self-revealing Biathanatos: 'mee thinks I have the keyes of my prison in mine owne hand, and no remedy presents it selfe so soone to my heart, as mine own sword.'

After describing the circumstances attending the execution of the last portrait of Donne, Walton adds in the 1675 edition of the Lives (the passage is not in the earlier editions of the Life of Donne): 'And now, having brought him through the many labyrinths and perplexities of a various life: even to the gates of death and the grave; my desire is, he may rest till I have told my Reader, that I have seen many Pictures of him, in several habits, and at several ages, and in several postures: And I now mention this, because, I have seen one Picture of him, drawn by a curious hand at his age of eighteen; with his sword and what other adornments might then suit with the present fashions of youth, and the giddy gayeties of that age: and his Motto then was,

How much shall I be chang'd, Before I am chang'd.

And, if that young, and his now dying Picture, were at this time set together, every beholder might say, Lord! How much is Dr. Donne already chang'd, before he is chang'd!' The change written in the portrait is the change from the poet of the Songs and Sonets to the poet of the Holy Sonnets and last Hymns.

The design of this last picture and of the marble monument made from it is not very clear. He was painted, Walton says, standing on the figure of the urn. But the painter brought with him also 'a board of the just height of his body'. What was this for? Walton does not explain. But Mr. Hamo Thornycroft has pointed out that the folds of the drapery show the statue was modelled from a recumbent figure. Can it be that Walton's account confuses two things? The incident of the picture is not in the 1640 Life, but was added in 1658. How could Donne, a dying man, stand on the urn, with his winding-sheet knotted 'at his head and feet'? Is it not probable that he was painted lying in his winding-sheet on the board referred to; but that the monument, as designed by himself, and executed by Nicholas Stone, was intended to represent him rising at the Last Day from the urn, habited as he had lain down--a symbolic rendering of the faith expressed in the closing words of the inscription

Hic licet in Occiduo Cinere Aspicit Eum Cuius nomen est Oriens.

PAGE =37=, l. 14. The textual note should have indicated that in most or all of the MSS. cited the whole line runs:

(Thou lovest Truth) but an Angell at first sight.

This is probably the original form of the line, corrected later to avoid the clashing of the 'but's.

PAGE =96=, l. 6, note. The R212 cited here is Rawlinson Poetical MS. 212, a miscellaneous collection of seventeenth-century prose and poetry (e.g. Davies' Epigrams. See II. p. 101). I had cited it once or twice in my first draft. The present instance escaped my eye. It helps to show how general the reading 'tyde' was.

PAGE =115=, l. 54. goeing on it fashions. The correct reading is probably 'growing on it fashions', which has the support of both JC, and 1650-69 where 'its' is a mere error. I had made my text before JC came into my hand. To 'grow on' for 'to increase' is an Elizabethan idiom: 'And this quarrel grew on so far,' North's Plutarch, Life of Coriolanus, ad fin. See also O.E.D.

I should like in closing to express my indebtedness throughout to the Oxford English Dictionary, an invaluable help and safeguard to the editor of an English text, and also to Franz's admirable Shakespeare-Grammatik (1909), which should be translated.

PAGE =133=, l. 58. To what is said in the note on the taking of yellow amber as a drug add: 'Divers men may walke by the Sea side, and the same beames of the Sunne giving light to them all, one gathereth by the benefit of that light pebles, or speckled shells, for curious vanitie, and another gathers precious Pearle, or medicinall Ambar, by the same light.' Sermons 80. 36. 326.

PAGES =156-7=. Seeke true religion, &c. All this passage savours a little of Montaigne: 'Tout cela, c'est un signe tres-evident que nous ne recevons nostre religion qu'à nostre façon et par nos mains, et non autrement que comme les autres religions se reçoyvent. Nous nous sommes rencontrez au païs où elle estoit en usage; ou nous regardons son ancienneté ou l'authorité des hommes qui l'ont maintenue; ou creignons les menaces qu'ell' attache aux mescreans, ou suyvons ses promesses. Ces considerations là doivent estre employées à nostre creance, mais comme subsidiaires: ce sont liaisons humaines. Une autre region, d'autres tesmoings, pareilles promesses et menasses nous pourroyent imprimer par mesme voye une croyance contraire. Nous sommes chrestiens à mesme titre que nous sommes ou perigordins ou alemans.' Essais (1580), II. 12. Apologie de Raimond Sebond.

PAGE =220=, l. 46. Compare: 'One of the most convenient Hieroglyphicks of God, is a Circle; and a Circle is endlesse; whom God loves, hee loves to the end ... His hailestones and his thunderbolts, and his showres of blood (emblemes and instruments of his Judgements) fall downe in a direct line, and affect or strike some one person, or place: His Sun, and Moone, and Starres (Emblemes and Instruments of his Blessings) move circularly, and communicate themselves to all. His Church is his chariot; in that he moves more gloriously, then in the Sun; as much more, as his begotten Son exceeds his created Sun, and his Son of glory, and of his right hand, the Sun of the firmament; and this Church, his chariot, moves in that communicable motion, circularly; It began in the East, it came to us, and is passing now, shining out now, in the farthest West.' Sermons 80. 2. 13-4.

l. 47. Religious tipes, is the reading of 1633. The comma has been accidentally dropped. There is no comma in 1635-69, which print 'types'.

PAGE =241=, ll. 343-4. As a compassionate Turcoyse, &c. Compare:

And therefore Cynthia, as a turquoise bought, Or stol'n, or found, is virtueless, and nought, It must be freely given by a friend, Whose love and bounty doth such virtue lend, As makes it to compassionate, and tell By looking pale, the wearer is not well. Sir Francis Kynaston, To Cynthia. Saintsbury, Caroline Poets, ii. 161.

PAGE =251=, ll. 9-18. The source of this simile is probably Lucretius, De Rerum Natura, III. 642-56.

Falciferos memorant currus abscidere membra Saepe ita de subito permixta caede calentis, Ut tremere in terra videatur ab artubus id quod Decidit abscisum, cum mens tamen atque hominis vis Mobilitate mali non quit sentire dolorem; Et semel in pugnae studio quod dedita mens est, Corpore reliquo pugnam caedesque petessit, Nec tenet amissam laevam cum tegmine saepe Inter equos abstraxe rotas falcesque rapaces, Nec cecidisse alius dextram, cum scandit et instat. Inde alius conatur adempto surgere crure, Cum digitos agitat propter moribundus humi pes. Et caput abscisum calido viventeque trunco Servat humi voltum vitalem oculosque patentis, Donec reliquias animai reddidit omnes.

PAGE =259=, ll. 275-6. so that there is (For aught thou know'st) piercing of substances.

'Piercing of substances,' the actual penetration of one substance by another, was the Stoic as opposed to the Aristotelian doctrine of mixture of substance ([Greek: krasis]), what is now called chemical combination. The Peripatetics held that, while the qualities of the two bodies combined to produce a new quality, the substances remained in juxtaposition. Plotinus devotes the seventh book of the Enneades to the subject; and one of the arguments of the Stoics which he cites resembles Donne's problem: 'Sweat comes out of the human body without dividing it and without the body being pierced with holes.' The pores were apparently unknown. See Bouillet's Enneades de Plotin, I. 243 f. and 488-9, for references.

PAGE =368=. HYMNE TO GOD MY GOD, IN MY SICKNESSE.

Professor Moore Smith has at the last moment reminded me of a fact, the significance of which should have been discussed in the note on the Divine Poems, that a copy of this poem found (Gosse, Life &c. ii. 279) among the papers of Sir Julius Caesar bears the statement that the verses were written in Donne's 'great sickness in December 1623'. Professor Moore Smith is of opinion that Sir Julius Caesar may have been right and Walton mistaken, and there is a good deal to be said for this view. 'It seems', he says, 'more likely that Walton should have attributed the poem wrongly to Donne's last illness, than that the MS. copy should antedate it by seven years.' In 1640 Walton simply referred it to his deathbed; the precise date was given in 1658. Moreover the date 1623 seems to Professor Moore Smith confirmed by a letter to Sir Robert Ker (later Lord Ancrum) in 1624 (Gosse, Life &c. ii. 191), in which Donne writes, 'If a flat map be but pasted upon a round globe the farthest east and the farthest west meet and are all one.'

On the other hand, Walton's final date is very precise, and was probably given to him by King. If the poem was written at the same time as that 'to God the Father', why did it not pass into wider circulation? Stowe MS. 961 is the only collection in which I have found it. The use of the simile in the letter to Ker is not so conclusive as it seems. In that same letter Donne says, 'Sir, I took up this paper to write a letter; but my imagination was full of a sermon before, for I write but a few hours before I am to preach.' Now I have in my note cited this simile from an undated sermon on one of the Penitentiary Psalms. This, not the poem, may have been the occasion of its repetition in this letter. Donne is very prone to repeat a favourite figure--inundation, the king's stamped face &c. It is quite likely that the poem was the last, not the first, occasion on which he used the flat map. Note that the other chief figure in the poem, the straits which lead to the Pacific Sea, was used in a sermon (see note) dated February 12, 1629.

The figure of the flat map is not used, as one might expect, in the section of the Devotions headed The Patient takes his bed, but the last line of the poem is recalled by some words there: 'and therefore am I cast downe, that I might not be cast away.'

Walton's dates are often inaccurate, but here the balance of the evidence seems to me in his favour. As Mr. Gosse says, Sir Julius Caesar may have confounded this hymn with 'Wilt thou forgive'. In re-reading the Devotions with Professor Moore Smith's statement in view I have come on two other points of interest. Donne's views on the immortality of the soul (see II. pp. 160-2) are very clearly stated: 'That light, which is the very emanation of the light of God ... only that bends not to this Center, to Ruine; that which was not made of Nothing, is not thretned with this annihilation. All other things are; even Angels, even our soules; they move upon the same Poles, they bend to the same Center; and if they were not made immortall by preservation, their Nature could not keep them from sinking to this center, Annihilation' (pp. 216-17).

The difficult line in the sonnet Resurrection (p. 321, l. 8) is perhaps illuminated by pp. 206-8, where Donne speaks of 'thy first booke, the booke of life', 'thy second book, the booke of Nature,' and closes a further list with 'to those, the booke with seven seals, which only the Lamb which was slain, was found worthy to open; which, I hope, it shal not disagree with the measure of thy blessed spirit, to interpret, the promulgation of their pardon, and righteousnes, who are washed in the blood of the Lamb'. This is possibly the 'little booke' of the sonnet, perhaps changed by Donne to 'life-book' to simplify the reference. But the two are not the same.

Addendum.

Vol. I, p. 368, l. 6. Whilst my Physitions by their love are growne Cosmographers ... Sir Julius Caesar's MS. (Addl. MS. 34324) has Loer, scil. Lore. This is probably the true reading.

Erratum.

=P. 274=, l. 28. for figure-inundation read figure--inundation

INDEX OF FIRST LINES.

(VOL. II.)

PAGE

A learned Bishop of this Land 53 Amongst the Poets Dacus numbered is 101 An ill year of a Goodyere us bereft 145 As in tymes past the rusticke shepheards sceant 171

Esteemed knight take triumph over death 145

Goe catch a star that's falling from the sky 12

Henrie the greate, greate both in peace and war 261 How often hath my pen (mine hearts Solicitor) 103

Loe her's a man worthy indeede to travell 129

No want of duty did my mind possess 7

Stay, view this Stone, and if thou beest not such 213

This Lifes a play groaned out by natures Arte 268 Thou send'st me prose and rimes, I send for those 160 Though Ister have put down the Rhene 261 'Tis not a coate of gray or Shepheardes Life 141 Titus the brave and valorous young gallant 101

Whoso termes love a fire, may like a poet 52 Wotton the country and the country swaine 141

* * * * *

Oxford: Horace Hart, M.A., Printer to the University

* * * * *

Transcriber's note:

Although Scotland had accepted the Gregorian calendar in 1600, until 1752, England still followed the Julian calendar (after Julius Caesar, 44 B.C.), and celebrated New Year's Day on March 25th (Annunciation Day). Most Catholic countries accepted the Gregorian calendar (after Pope Gregory XIII) from some time after 1582 (the Catholic countries of France, Spain, Portugal, and Italy in 1582, Belgium, the Netherlands, and Switzerland within a year or two, Hungary in 1587, and Scotland in 1600), and celebrated New Year's Day on January 1st. England finally changed to the Gregorian calendar in 1752.

This is the reason for the double dates in the early months of the years in some parts of this book. e.g., there is a statement, on page 134, that "He died February 7, 1627/8. (i.e. 1627 in England; 1628 in Scotland). Only after March 25th (Julian New Years Day) was the year the same in the two countries. The Julian calendar was known as 'Old Style', and the Gregorian calendar as 'New Style' (N.S.).

Page lxiv, Footnote 9: 'Garrard att his quarters in ??' Perhaps ϑermyte with U+03D1 GREEK THETA SYMBOL: thermyte ? perhaps meaning "(at the sign of) The Hermit"? (The printer, rightly or wrongly, seems to have used a 'theta' at the beginning of the word).

Page lxv, a facsimile of a Title Page, split a cross-page paragraph. One sentence was on page lxiv; the rest of the paragraph was on page lxvi. In the interest of a link to the page, it seemed beneficial to leave the paragraph as it was split.

Page lxv: 'VVith' is as printed.

Page lxxxvi: 'Lo:' retained, although 'Ld.' is printed above. From the context, 'Lo:' may not be a typo, as this form occurs elsewhere.

"and the Obsequies to the Lo: Harrington."

Page cxvi, footnote 39 (cont.: '17-8.' corrected to '17-18.'.

"To Sr Henry Wotton, p. 180, ll. 17-18."

Page cxxx: 'p. 406' corrected to 'p. 412'

"'Dear Love, continue nice and chaste' (p. 412)"

Pages cxxxi-cxxxii: missing word at page-turn? 'and' added in brackets.

"And as one is ascribed to Roe on indisputable (and) three on very strong evidence,..."

Page 23: 'll. 140-6' corrected to 'll. 440-6'

"The Second Anniversary, ll. 440-6 (p. 264)"

Page 34: 'coporales' corrected to 'corporales'.

"'quanto subtilius huiusmodi immutationes occultas corporales perpendunt.'"

Page 84: 'p. 308, ll. 27-8' corrected to p. 308, ll. 317-8

"in the Progresse of the Soule, p. 308, ll. 317-8:"

Page 187: (See Pearsall Smith, Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton (1907). is as printed.

Page 214: p. 416 corrected to p. 422.

"For the relation of this Elegie to that beginning 'Death, be not proud' (p. 422) see Text and Canon, &c., p. cxliii."

Page 213: 'p. 404' corrected to p. 410'

"('Shall I goe force an Elegie,' p. 410)"

Pages 235, 263: The inscriptions have a character which looks like a reversed capital C, but which is actually a ROMAN NUMERAL REVERSED ONE HUNDRED Ↄ (U+2183 or Ↄ).

On Page 235, the date of Anne (More) Donne's death is given as CIↃ. DC. XVII. i.e. hundreds, ten, (1000) plus 600 plus 17, or the year 1617, which is correct.

On Page 263, the date given is CIↃ. IↃC. XXIII.

CIↃ = 1000; IↃC =500+100 (600), XXIII = 23, so the date is 1623.

(Reference for page 263: [http:// hypotheses.org/17871] ... 'Le latin de Locke ... Goudae apud Justum Ab Hoeve

CIↃ IↃC LXXXIX ... CIↃ = 1000 IↃC se décompose en IↃ = 500 + C = 100 soit 600 LXXXIX = 89 La date correspondante est 1689*.

* 2011 serait CIↃ CIↃ XI '.)

(So 2015 would be CIↃ CIↃ XV ').

Page 251: S69 corrected to S96

"S96 and O'F differ from the third group...."

Page 275: Erratum, p. 274.... This has been corrected.

# Project Gutenberg #28375

E-text prepared by Susan Skinner, David Cortesi, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)

Transcriber's note:

The ligatures oe and OE are indicated by [oe] and [OE].

The carat (^) indicates a superscript in the original. One carat indicates that the following single letter is superscript. A pair of carats indicates that the enclosed letters are superscript; for example the abbreviations 8^vo^ and 12^mo^ are used for the printer's page sizes octavo and duodecimo respectively.

In the poem "In Etesiam Lachrymantem" (Page 221) the initial letter of the final line is missing in all extant editions; either "C" or "D" seems possible.

In the Boethius translation Lib. IV. Metrum VI. (page 230), the letter 'y' has been added to make line 9/10 read "...though they/See other stars..." although it is missing in all available editions.

At many points a period, comma or hyphen seems to be omitted in the original. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected, but where missing punctuation is not clearly an error, or the omission is harmless to the sense, the text remains as in the original.

Footnotes in the original appear on the page where they are referenced and are numbered from 1 on each page. Here footnotes are numbered consecutively throughout the book and are grouped following each chapter or poem to which they refer. To locate footnote 17 (for example) search for [17]. Another search for [17] returns to the point of reference.

Poems Of Henry Vaughan Silurist. Vol. Ii.

POEMS OF HENRY VAUGHAN

SILURIST.

VOL. II.

The Muses' Library

Poems Of Henry Vaughan Silurist

POEMS OF HENRY VAUGHAN

SILURIST

Edited by E. K. Chambers

With an Introduction by Canon Beeching

Vol. Ii.

London: George Routledge & Sons, Limited New York: E. P. Dutton & Co.

Contents Of Vol. Ii. Page

CONTENTS OF VOL. II.

PAGE

TABLE OF CONTENTS vii

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE xv

BIBLIOGRAPHY OF HENRY VAUGHAN'S WORKS lvii

POEMS WITH THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL ENGLISHED, 1646 1

To all Ingenious Lovers of Poesy 3

To my Ingenuous Friend, R. W. 5

Les Amours 8

To Amoret. The Sigh 10

To his Friend, Being in Love 11

Song: [Amyntas go, thou art Undone] 12

To Amoret. Walking in a Starry Evening 13

To Amoret Gone from him 15

A Song to Amoret 16

An Elegy 17

A Rhapsodis 18

To Amoret, of the Difference 'twixt him and other Lovers, 21 and what True Love is

To Amoret Weeping 23

Upon the Priory Grove, his Usual Retirement 26

Juvenal's Tenth Satire Translated 28

OLOR ISCANUS. 1651.

Ad Posteros 51

To the ... Lord Kildare Digby 53

The Publisher to the Reader 55

Upon the Most Ingenious Pair of Twins, Eugenius 57 Philalethes and the Author of those Poems [by T. Powell, Oxoniensis]

To my Friend the Author upon these his Poems [by I. 58 Rowlandson, Oxoniensis]

Upon the following Poems [by Eugenius Philalethes, 59 Oxoniensis]

Olor Iscanus. To the River Isca 61

The Charnel-House 65

In Amicum Foeneratorem 68

To his Friend ---- 70

To his Retired Friend, An Invitation to Brecknock 73

Monsieur Gombauld 77

An Elegy on the Death of Mr. R. W., Slain in the late 79 Unfortunate Differences at Routon Heath, near Chester, 1645

Upon a Cloak lent him by Mr. J. Ridsley 83

Upon Mr. Fletcher's Plays, Published 1647 87

Upon the Poems and Plays of the Ever-Memorable Mr. William 90 Cartwright

To the Best and Most Accomplished Couple ---- 92

An Elegy on the Death of Mr. R. Hall, Slain at Pontefract, 94 1648

To my Learned Friend, Mr. T. Powell, upon his Translation 97 of Malvezzi's Christian Politician

To my Worthy Friend, Master T. Lewes 99

To the Most Excellently Accomplished Mrs. K. Philips 100

An Epitaph upon the Lady Elizabeth, Second Daughter to his 102 Late Majesty

To Sir William Davenant upon his Gondibert 104

Translations From Ovid.

To his Fellow Poets at Rome, upon the Birthday of Bacchus 106

To his Friends--after his Many Solicitations--Refusing to 109 Petition Caesar for his Releasement

To his Inconstant Friend, Translated for the Use of all 112 the Judases of this Touchstone Age

To his Wife at Rome, when he was Sick 115

Ausonii. Idyll vi. Cupido [Cruci Affixus] 119

[Translations from Boethius] 125

[Translations from Casimirus] 144

The Praise of a Religious Life of Mathias Casimirus. In 152 Answer to that Ode of Horace, Beatus Ille Qui Procul Negotiis.

Ad Fluvium Iscam 157

Venerabili Viro, Praeceptori Suo Olim Et Semper 158 Colendissimo Magistro Mathaeo Herbert

Praestantissimo Viro, Thomae Poello In Suum De Elementis 159 Opticae Libellum

Ad Echum 160

THALIA REDIVIVA. 1678.

To ... Henry Lord Marquis and Earl of Worcester, &c. 163 [by J. W.]

To the Reader [by I. W.] 167

To Mr. Henry Vaughan, the Silurist: upon These and his 169 Former Poems. [By Orinda]

Upon the Ingenious Poems of his Learned Friend, Mr. Henry 171 Vaughan, the Silurist. [By Tho. Powell, D.D.]

To the Ingenious Author of Thalia Rediviva [By N. W., 172 Jes. Coll., Oxon.]

To my Worthy Friend Mr. Henry Vaughan, the Silurist. 175 [by I. W., A.M., Oxon.]

Choice Poems On Several Occasions.

To his Learned Friend and Loyal Fellow-Prisoner, Thomas 178 Powel of Cant[reff], Doctor of Divinity

The King Disguised 181

The Eagle 184

To Mr. M. L. upon his Reduction of the Psalms into Method 187

To the Pious Memory of C[harles] W[albeoffe] Esquire, Who 189 Finished his Course Here, and Made his Entrance into Immortality upon the 13 of September, in the Year of Redemption, 1653

In Zodiacum Marcelli Palingenii 193

To Lysimachus, the Author Being with him in London 195

On Sir Thomas Bodley's Library, the Author Being Then in 197 Oxford

The Importunate Fortune, Written to Dr. Powel, of 200 Cant[reff]

To I. Morgan of Whitehall, Esq., upon his Sudden Journey 204 and Succeeding Marriage

Fida; or, The Country Beauty. To Lysimachus 206

Fida Forsaken 209

To the Editor of the Matchless Orinda 211

Upon Sudden News of the Much-Lamented Death of Judge 213 Trevers

To Etesia (for Timander); The First Sight 214

The Character, to Etesia 217

To Etesia Looking from her Casement at the Full Moon 219

To Etesia Parted from Him, and Looking Back 220

In Etesiam Lachrymantem 221

To Etesia Going Beyond Sea 222

Etesia Absent 223

Translations.

Some Odes of the Excellent and Knowing [Anicius Manlius] 224 Severinus [Boethius], Englished

The Old Man of Verona, out of Claudian 236

The Sphere of Archimedes, out of Claudian 238

The Ph[oe]nix, out of Claudian 239

Pious Thoughts And Ejaculations.

To his Books 245

Looking Back 247

The Shower 248

Discipline 249

The Eclipse 250

Affliction 251

Retirement 252

The Revival 254

The Day Spring 255

The Recovery 257

The Nativity 259

The True Christmas 261

The Request 263

Jordanis 265

Servilii Fatum, Sive Vindicta Divina 266

De Salmone 267

The World 268

The Bee 272

To Christian Religion 276

Daphnis 278

FRAGMENTS AND TRANSLATIONS. 1641-1661.

From Eucharistica Oxoniensia (1641) 289

From Of the Benefit we may get by our Enemies (1651) 291

From Of the Diseases of the Mind and the Body (1651) 293

From The Mount of Olives (1652) 294

From Man in Glory (1652) 298

From Flores Solitudinis (1654) 299

From Of Temperance and Patience (1654) 300

From Of Life and Death (1654) 305

From Primitive Holiness (1654) 307

From Hermetical Physic (1655) 322

From Cerbyd Fechydwiaeth (1657) 323

From Humane Industry (1661) 324

NOTES TO VOL. II 329

LIST OF FIRST LINES 355

Biographical Note.

Recent inquiries into the life of Henry Vaughan have added but little to the information already contained in the memoirs of Mr. Lyte and Dr. Grosart. I have, however, been enabled to put together a few notes on this somewhat obscure subject, which may be taken as supplementary to Mr. Beeching's Introduction in Vol. I. It will be well to preface them by reprinting the account of Anthony a Wood, our chief original authority (Ath. Oxon., ed. Bliss, 1817, iv. 425):

"Henry Vaughan, called the Silurist from that part of Wales whose inhabitants were in ancient times called Silures, brother twin (but elder)[1] to Eugenius Philalethes, alias Tho. Vaughan ... was born at Newton S. Briget, lying on the river Isca, commonly called Uske, in Brecknockshire, educated in grammar learning in his own country for six years under one Matthew Herbert, a noted schoolmaster of his time, made his first entry into Jesus College in Mich. term 1638, aged 17 years; where spending two years or more in logicals under a noted tutor, was taken thence and designed by his father for the obtaining of some knowledge in the municipal laws at London. But soon after the civil war beginning, to the horror of all good men, he was sent for home, followed the pleasant paths of poetry and philology, became noted for his ingenuity, and published several specimens thereof, of which his Olor Iscanus was most valued. Afterwards applying his mind to the study of physic, became at length eminent in his own country for the practice thereof, and was esteemed by scholars an ingenious person, but proud and humorous.... [A list of Vaughan's works follows.] ... He died in the latter end of April (about the 29th day) in sixteen hundred ninety and five, and was buried in the parish church of Llansenfreid, about two miles distant from Brecknock, in Brecknockshire."

Anthony a Wood seems to have had some personal acquaintance with the poet, for in his account of Thomas Vaughan (Ath. Oxon. iii. 725) he says that "Olor Iscanus sent me a catalogue of his brother's works."

(a) THE VAUGHAN GENEALOGY.

Henry Vaughan's descent from the Vaughans of Tretower, County Brecon, has been accurately traced by Dr. Grosart and others. Little has been hitherto known about his immediate family. Theophilus Jones, in his History of Brecknockshire (1805-9), ii. 544, says: "Henry Vaughan died in 1695, aged 75,[2] leaving by his first wife two sons and three daughters, and by his second a daughter Rachel, who married John Turberville. His grand-daughter, Denys, or Dyenis, a corruption or abbreviation of Dyonisia, who was the daughter of Jenkin Jones of Trebinshwn, by Luce his wife, died single in 1780, aged 92, and is buried in the Priory churchyard.[3] What became of the remainder of his family, or whether they are extinct, I know not." To this statement Mr. Lyte added nothing but some errors, and Dr. Grosart nothing but the following hypothesis:--

"I am inclined to think that William Vaughan, censor of the College of Physicians, physician to William III^d., was one of the sons of our worthy mentioned by Mr. Lyte.... William Vaughan's 'age 20' in 1668 represents 1648 as the birth-date, and that fits in with the love-verse of the Poems of 1646."

Mr. G. T. Clark, in his Genealogies of Glamorgan, p. 240, gives the following account:--

Henry [Vaughan], ob. 1695, aet. 75, father by first wife of (1) a son, s.p.; (2) Lucy ob. 29 Aug., 1780, aet. 92,[4] m. Jenkin Jones of Trebinshwn. Their d. Denise Jones, died single, 1780, aet. 92. By second wife (3) Rachel, m. John Turberville; (4) Edmund; (5) Alexander, ob. 1622 [!], s.p.; (6) Catharine, m. Wm. Harris; (7) Mary, m. John Walbeoffe of Llanhamlach; (8) Elizabeth, m. John Arnold; (9) Frances, m. Wm. Johns of Cwm Dhu.

Unfortunately Mr. Clark is unable to remember his authority for this pedigree. I have found another, which differs from it in many ways, and is exceedingly interesting, inasmuch as it gives, for the first time, the names of Henry Vaughan's two wives, who appear to have been sisters. It is in a volume of Brecknockshire Pedigrees collected by the Welsh Herald, Hugh Thomas, and now amongst the Harleian MSS. Hugh Thomas was born and lived hard by Llansantffread, and must have known Vaughan and his family personally.

Pedigree Of Vaughan Of Tretower And Newton.

(From Harl. MS. 2289, f. 81.)

Thomas m. Denis, d. and h. to Gwillims of Newton Skethrog. | Henry, of Newton. | Henry, of Newton Skethrog, Doctor of Phisick, m. Catharine, d. to Charles Wise, of Ritsonhall, Staffordshire, and secondly Elizabeth, her sister. | | Lucy, m. Ch. Greenleafe of Grisill, m. Roger Prosser. Streton-upon-Trent, Staff. Lucy, m. Jenkin Jones of Trebinshwn.

Catharine, m. Rachel, m. John Turberville Tho. Vaughan, of Newton of Llangattock. Skethrog, m. Frances, Henry, Parson of Penderin, d. to m. Janet, d. of Robert Walbeoffe of Talyllyn.

It will be observed that neither Mr. Clark's pedigree nor Hugh Thomas' agrees with the number of children assigned to each marriage by Theophilus Jones, and that neither of them helps out Dr. Grosart's hypothesis that Dr. William Vaughan was a son of the poet. Mr. W. B. Rye (Genealogist, iii. 33) has made it appear likely that this Dr. Vaughan, who married Anne Newton, of Romford in Essex, belonged to a branch of the Vaughans who had been settled in Romford since 1571.

I now proceed to confirm and illustrate the pedigrees by giving such further facts concerning Vaughan's immediate family as I have been able with Miss Morgan's assistance, to glean. I can trace no family of Wises in Staffordshire so early as the seventeenth century, nor any place in that county called Ritsonhall. It is possible that the R. W. of the Elegy (vol. ii., p. 79, note) may have been a Wise, and also that the connection between Vaughan and the Staffordshire Egertons may have been through this family (vol. ii., p. 294, note). Vaughan's first wife Catharine was probably dead before 1658. Thomas Vaughan, in his diary (MS. Sloane, 1741, f. 106 (b)), makes mention in that year of "eyewater made at the Pinner of Wakefield by my dear wife and my Sister Vaughan, who are both now with God." The second wife, Elizabeth, survived her husband. Administration of his goods was granted to her as the widow of an intestate in May, 1695.[5] The fine old manor-house at Newton was pulled down by a stupid land-agent within the memory of man, but a stone has been found built into the wall of a house half-a-mile from the site, bearing the inscription "H^VE, 1689." This may well stand for H[enry and] E[lizabeth] V[aughan]. Newton probably passed to the poet's eldest son Thomas and his wife Frances.[6] Of their descendants, if any, we know nothing. There was a William Vaughan of Llansantffread who, later than 1714, married Mary Games of Tregaer in Llanfrynach. But this was probably a Vaughan not of Newton, but of Scethrog, also in Llansantffread (cf. footnote to p. xxv. below.) In 1733 William Vaughan was churchwarden of Llanfrynach. In 1740 William Vaughan of Tregaer was high sheriff of Brecknock. In 1760 Tregaer had passed by purchase to a Mr. Phillips. The registers of Llanfrynach from 1695-1756 are now lost. Lucy Greenleafe and her sister Catharine are quite obscure. One of them may have been the niece who was living with Thomas Vaughan when news came from the country in 1658 of his father's death (MS. Sloane, 1741, f. 89 (b)). Of the second family, Henry became Rector of Penderin in 1684, and vacated the living, probably through death, in 1713. A tablet to his memory hung during the present century in the church at Penderin, but when the church was restored the tablets were taken down and buried under the tiles of the chancel. His wife, a Walbeoffe of Talyllyn, belonged to the same family as the Walbeoffes of Llanhamlach (vol. ii., p. 189, note). The eldest girl, Grisill, married Roger Prosser. The Prossers were the younger branch of a Brecknockshire family who had become sadlers and mercers in Brecon. Many of their tombs are in the Priory church, but Theophilus Jones states that by his time they were extinct. Grisill Prosser was married a second time, in 1709, to Morgan Watkins, an attorney, and was buried on August 21, 1737. The second girl, Lucy, married Jenkin Jones of Trebinshwn, a cousin of Colonel Jenkin Jones, the local Parliamentary leader. Her daughter, Denise Jones, died single in 1780, as Theophilus Jones states, and her tombstone in the Priory church records her descent. The third girl, Rachel, married John Turberville, one of the Turbervilles of Llangattock, who claimed kinship with the Elizabethan poet of that name. The following pedigree shows the descendants of the three daughters of Henry Vaughan's second marriage, so far as they can be traced.[7]

It will be seen that I can give no evidence of the existence of any living descendants of Henry Vaughan.

Henry's grandfather, Thomas Vaughan, a younger son of Charles Vaughan of Tretower, seems to have come into the possession of Newton through his marriage with an heiress of the family of Gwillims or Williams. Newton, or in Welsh Trenewydd, is a farm of about 200 acres in the manor or lordship, and near the village of Scethrog, both being in the parish of Llansantffread and hundred of Penkelley. Williams is a common name in Breconshire, and I cannot trace the descent of Thomas Vaughan's wife. In the sixteenth century Newton belonged to a family who finally settled on the name of Howel, ap Howell or Powell.[8] The last of these is described on his tombstone in Llansantffread Church as "David Morgan David Howel, who married ... William of Llanhamoloch: and they had issue one daughter called Denys. He died 2nd June, 1598." Perhaps Newton passed in some way from David Morgan David Howel to his wife's family, and so to Thomas Vaughan, who married Denise Gwillims. Theophilus Jones (ii. 538) records that at a later date other Williams's, also apparently connected with Llanhamlach, were succeeded by other Vaughans at Scethrog, hard by Newton. His account is that David Williams, youngest brother of Sir Thomas Williams of Eltham, married a daughter of John Walbeoffe of Llanhamlach (cf. pedigree in vol. ii., p. 189, note), and bought Scethrog. Their son Charles died without issue, and the property passed to his wife Mary (Anne in Harl. MS., 2289, t. 39; cf. vol. ii., p. 204, note), the daughter of Morgan John of Wenallt.... She afterwards married Hugh Powell, clerk, parson of Llansanffread and precentor of St. David's, and her daughter Margaret married Charles Vaughan, son to Vaughan Morgan of Tretower.[9]

A trace of Thomas Vaughan is probably preserved in a window-head from the old church of Llansantffread, now destroyed, which has the inscription:--

1626. E. G. T. V. W. T. W. F. I. [bold reversed 'D'].

T. V. may stand for T[homas] V[aughan].[10]

Of Henry Vaughan, the poet's father, very little is known. His name appears in a list of Breconshire magistrates for 1620. And we learn from Thomas Vaughan's diary in Sloane MS. 1741, f. 89 (b), that he died in August 1658.

The only additional definite fact which I can here record of the poet himself is that in 1691 he entered a caveat against any institution to the vicarage of Llandevalley, he claiming the next presentation under a grant from William Winter, Esq.[11] Mr. Rye has shown that the specimen of handwriting facsimiled by Dr. Grosart in his edition of Henry Vaughan's Works cannot possibly be the poet's. The signatures, however, on the margin of a copy of Olor Iscanus, once in the library of Lady Isham, might be genuine.

(b) VAUGHAN AND JESUS COLLEGE, OXFORD.

Anthony a Wood's statement as to Vaughan's residence at Jesus College, Oxford, has been generally accepted, but I venture to doubt it on the following grounds:--

(1) Vaughan's name does not occur in the University Matriculation Register, although his brother Thomas Vaughan is duly entered as matriculating from Jesus on 14th December, 1638. The only College records which help us are the Battel-books for 1638 and 1640. That for 1639 is unfortunately missing. The Rev. Llewellyn Thomas kindly informs me that he can only trace one undergraduate Vaughan in the two books in question. The Christian name is not given, but I think that we must assume it to be Thomas.

(2) Vaughan does not describe himself on any title-page as of Jesus College; nor does he ever speak of himself as an Oxford man. This omission is the more noticeable as he would naturally have done so in the lines Ad Posteros (vol. ii., p. 51), and might well have done so in those On Sir Thomas Bodley's Library, the Author being then in Oxford (vol. ii., p. 197).

(3) Anthony a Wood cannot be depended on. He describes Thomas Carew, for instance, as of C.C.C., whereas he was a most certainly of Merton. And there was another Henry Vaughan of Jesus, who may have been confused with the poet. This Henry Vaughan, a son of John Vaughan of Cathlin, Merionethshire, matriculated at Oriel on July 4, 1634. He afterwards became a Scholar and Fellow of Jesus, taking his B.A. in 1637 and his M.A. in 1639. In 1643 he became vicar of Penteg, co. Monmouth, and died at Abergavenny in 1661. (Wood, Ath. Oxon., iii. 531; Foster, Alumni Oxon.)

(4) The only confirmation of Anthony a Wood's statement is the poem (vol. ii., p. 289) taken by Dr. Grosart from the Eucharistica Oxoniensia (1641), and signed "H. Vaughan, Jes. Col." If I am right, this may be by Vaughan's namesake. He has indeed another poem in that volume signed "Hen. Vaugh., Jes. Soc." but that is in Latin, and it is not unexampled for one man to contribute more than one poem, especially in different tongues, to such collections. Or it may be by Herbert Vaughan, who was a Gentleman-commoner of the College in 1641, and has, with Henry Vaughan the Fellow, verses in the [Greek: proteleia] Anglo Batava of the same year.

(c) VAUGHAN IN THE CIVIL WAR.

There are several passages which make it probable that Vaughan, like his brother Thomas, bore arms on the King's side in the Civil War. The most important is in the poem To Mr. Ridsley (vol. ii., p. 83), where he speaks of the time

"when this juggling fate Of soldiery first seiz'd me."

In the same poem he mentions

"that day, when we Left craggy Biston and the fatal Dee."

"Craggy Biston" is clearly Beeston Castle, one of the outlying defences of Chester, situated on a steep rock not very far east of the Dee. This castle was besieged on several occasions during the Civil War, especially during the campaign of 1645, when Chester was also besieged by the Parliamentarians.[12] Between Beeston and the Dee was fought, on September 24, 1645, the battle of Rowton Heath, after which Charles the First, who had hoped to raise the siege of Chester, was obliged to retreat to Denbigh.[13] The following lines from Vaughan's Elegy on Mr. R. W. (vol. ii., p. 79), who fell in that battle, seem to have been written by an eye-witness:

"O that day When like the fathers in the fire and cloud I miss'd thy face! I might in ev'ry crowd See arms like thine, and men advance, but none So near to lightning mov'd, nor so fell on. Have you observ'd how soon the nimble eye Brings th' object to conceit, and doth so vie Performance with the soul, that you would swear The act and apprehension both lodg'd there? Just so mov'd he: like shot his active hand Drew blood, ere well the foe could understand. But here I lost him."

This appears to me pretty conclusive evidence; against it, however, must be set the passage on the Civil War in the autobiographical poem Ad Posteros (vol. ii., p. 51).

Vixi, divisos cum fregerat haeresis Anglos Inter Tysiphonas presbyteri et populi. His primum miseris per amoena furentibus arva Prostravit sanctam vilis avena rosam. Turbarunt fontes, et fusis pax perit undis, Moestaque coelestes obruit umbra dies. Duret ut integritas tamen, et pia gloria, partem Me nullam in tanta strage fuisse, scias; Credidimus nempe insonti vocem esse cruori, Et vires quae post funera flere docent. Hinc castae, fidaeque pati me more parentis Commonui, et lachrimis fata levare meis; Hinc nusquam horrendis violavi sacra procellis, Nec mihi mens unquam, nec manus atra fuit.

The natural interpretation of this certainly is that Vaughan took no share in the disturbances of his time, except to grieve over them in retirement. Yet, in the first place, the lines may have been written before he took up arms in 1645, and, in the second, they may only mean that he had no share in bringing about the troubles of England, or in shedding innocent blood. Similarly when elsewhere, as in Abel's Blood (vol. i. p. 254), and in the prayer to be quoted below, he expresses horror of blood-guiltiness, this need not necessarily be taken as extending to the man who fights in a righteous cause.

Miss Morgan, I may add, suggests that Vaughan was at Rowton Heath, not as a combatant, but as a physician. The description which he gives of the battle reads like that of a man who saw it from some commanding point of view, but was not himself engaged. I think it not improbable that Vaughan was one of the garrison of Beeston Castle, which is described to me as "a sort of grand stand for the battle-field." Beeston Castle was invested by the Parliamentarians in the course of September 1645. On the approach of Charles the troops were drawn off on 19th September to Chester.[14] Charles no doubt took the opportunity to strengthen the garrison. After Rowton Heath Beeston Castle was again besieged, and on November 16th it surrendered. The garrison were allowed to march across the Dee to Denbigh. I think that this winter ride from the fallen fortress is the one described by Vaughan in the poem to Mr. Ridsley. It is the more probable that Vaughan took part in this campaign of 1645, in that Charles's force was largely recruited from Wales. After the battle of Naseby on June 14th, the King had marched through Wales, collecting such levies as he could. He was in Brecon on August 5th.[15] It is quite possible that Vaughan, whose kinsman Sir William Vaughan was in command of a brigade, volunteered on this occasion. From Brecon Charles marched through Radnorshire, Shropshire, Staffordshire, Derbyshire, Nottinghamshire, Yorkshire, and so to Oxford. In September he set out again, and after some delay at Hereford and Raglan, finally made for Chester.

It is just conceivable that it is to some occasion in this campaign that Vaughan refers when he calls Dr. Powell his "fellow-prisoner" (vol. ii., p. 178). The poet may even have been the Captain Vaughan whose name appears in the official list of prisoners taken at Rowton Heath.[16] Powell's name is not there, but then the list does not profess to be complete. But on the whole I think that Vaughan and Powell were only fellow-prisoners in the Platonic sense of imprisonment in the flesh, and even if a literal imprisonment is intended, it may have been due to some act of persecution which Vaughan had to suffer as a Royalist at a later date. There is in The Mount of Olives (1652) a Prayer in Adversity and Troubles occasioned by our Enemies (Grosart, vol. iii., p. 75), which, if it is to be taken--I think it is not--as autobiographical, seems to show that, at least for a time, he lost his estate. The prayer runs: "Thou seest, O God, how furious and implacable mine enemies are: they have not only robbed me of that portion and provision which Thou hast graciously given me, but they have also washed their hands in the blood of my friends, my dearest and nearest relations. I know, O God, and I am daily taught by that disciple whom Thou didst love, that no murderer hath eternal life abiding in him. Keep me, therefore, O my God, from the guilt of blood, and suffer me not to stain my soul with the thoughts of recompense and vengeance, which is a branch of Thy great prerogative, and belongs wholly unto Thee. Though they persecute me unto death, and pant after the very dust upon the heads of Thy poor, though they have taken the bread out of Thy children's mouth, and have made me a desolation; yet, Lord, give me Thy grace, and such a measure of charity as may fully forgive them."

It may have been during some such time of trouble, or imprisonment, if imprisonment there was, that Vaughan's wife lived with Thomas Vaughan, as will be seen below, in London.

(d) THOMAS VAUGHAN.

It has not been thought necessary to reprint in this edition of Henry Vaughan's poems the scanty English and Latin verses of his brother, Thomas Vaughan. They may be found, together with verses by Virgil and Campion ascribed to him, in vol. ii. of Dr. Grosart's Fuller Worthies edition. But some account of so curious a person will not be out of place.

As for his brother, our chief authority is Anthony a Wood (Ath. Oxon., iii. 722), who says that he was the son of Thomas Vaughan of Llansantffread,[17] that he was born in 1621, educated under Matthew Herbert and at Jesus College, Oxford, of which he became Fellow, took orders and received [in 1640] the living of Llansanffread from his kinsman, Sir George Vaughan [of Fallerstone, Wilts]. He lost his living in the unquiet times of the Civil War, retired to Oxford, and became an eminent chemist, afterwards moving to London, where he worked under the patronage of Sir Robert Murray. He was a great admirer of Cornelius Agrippa, "a great chymist, a noted son of the fire, an experimental philosopher, a zealous brother of the Rosicrucian fraternity ... neither papist nor sectary, but a true resolute protestant in the best sense of the Church of England." In the great plague he fled with Murray from London to Oxford, and thence went to the house of Samuel Kem at Albury, where he died on February 27, 1665/6, of mercury accidentally getting into his nose while he was operating. He was buried at Albury on March 1st. Writing in 1673, Anthony a Wood gives a list of his alchemical and mystical treatises published between 1650 and 1655. Of these he had received a list from Olor Iscanus (Henry Vaughan). They all bear the name of Eugenius Philalethes, except the Aula Lucis (1652), which was issued as by S. N., i.e. [Thoma]S [Vaugha]N. Some of these pamphlets contain Vaughan's share of a vigorous and scurrilous controversy with Henry More, the Platonist. Anthony a Wood distinguishes from Vaughan another Eugenius Philalethes, author of the Brief Natural History (1669), also one Eirenaeus Philalethes, author of Ripley Redivivus and other works, and Eirenaeus Philoponos Philalethes, author of The Marrow of Alchemy (1654-5).[18]

A few facts, from well-known sources, may be added to Anthony a Wood's account. The University Registers show that "Thos. Vaughan, son of Thomas of Llansanfraid, co. Brecon, pleb., matriculated from Jesus College on 14 Dec, 1638, aged 16." He took his B.A. on 18 Feb., 1641/2, but does not appear to have taken his M.A., though he became Fellow of his College (Foster, Alumni Oxon.). John Walker (Sufferings of the Clergy (1714), p. 389) states that he was ejected from his living on the charges of "drunkenness, immorality, and bearing arms for the King."[19] This must have been in 1649, under the Act for the Propagation of the Gospel in Wales. There exists a letter from Thomas Vaughan to a friend in London, dated from "Newtown, Ash Wednesday, 1653;"[20] and it appears from Jones' History of Brecknockshire (ii., 542), that at one time he lived with his brother Henry there. The allusions to Henry More, to Murray, and to the Isis and Thames seem to show that he is the Daphnis of his brother's Eclogue (vol. ii., p. 278). No trace of his death or burial can however be now found at Albury. Mr. Gordon Goodwin points out to me that Dr. Samuel Kem was a somewhat notorious character (Dict. Nat. Biog., s.v. Kem): perhaps this friendship, together with the personal confession quoted below, throws light on the charges which lost Vaughan his living. On the other hand Anthony a Wood speaks well of him, and the tone of his writings bears out this more kindly judgment, at any rate so far as his later years are concerned.

What has been said fairly well exhausted the available information on Thomas Vaughan until a few years ago, when Mr. A. E. Waite discovered in Sloane MS. 1741 a valuable manuscript of his, containing amongst other things a number of autobiographical memoranda. He printed some extracts from this in the preface to an edition of some of The Magical Writings of Thomas Vaughan (Redway, 1888), and has been kind enough to furnish me with a reference to the MS. itself, which I have carefully examined. It bears the title Aqua Vitae non Vitis, and the inscription "Ex libris Thomas et Rebecca Vaughan, 1651, Sept. 28. Quos Deus coniunxit quis separabit?" The contents are partly personal jottings and records of dreams, partly alchemical formulae. They appear to cover the period 1658-1662. We learn from them the following facts:--Vaughan was married on September 28, 1651, to a lady named Rebecca (f. 106 (b)). With her and his "Sister Vaughan" he lived and studied alchemy at the Pinner of Wakefield.[21] He had previously lodged at Mr. Coalman's in Holborn (f. 104 (b)). His wife died on Saturday, April 17, 1658, and was buried at Mappersall, in Bedfordshire (f. 106 (b)).[22] In 1658 his father and his brother W. were both dead, and he mentions the news of his father's death coming to his niece in a letter from the country (f. 89 (b)). On April 9, 1659, he saw his brother H. in a dream. On 16 July, 1658, he was living at Wapping (f. 103 (b)), and at an earlier period at Paddington. There is an inventory of his wife's goods left at Mrs. Highgate's, and mention of a Mr. Highgate and a Sir John Underhill (f. 107). He names his cousin, Mr. J. Walbeoffe, with whom he had some money transactions (f. 18), and speaks of "a certain person with whom I had in former times revelled away my years in drinking" (f. 103). Perhaps this also was John Walbeoffe, on whom see vol. ii., p. 189, note. The alchemical formulae and receipts are interesting. In one place (f. 12) Vaughan announces the discovery of the "Extract of Oil of Halcaly," which he had previously found in his wife's days and had lost again. This he calls "the greatest joy I can ever have in this world after her death." He seems to have regarded it as the key to an universal solvent. Nearly every receipt is followed by his and his wife's initials in the form T. R. V. or T. ^V. R., and by some expression of devotion to her or of religious piety.

I now come to the remarkable statements made with respect to Thomas Vaughan in the Memoires d'une ex-Palladiste, now in course of publication by Miss Diana Vaughan. Miss Vaughan is a lady who has created a considerable sensation in Paris. Her own account of herself is that she was brought up as a worshipper of Lucifer, and was for some years a leading spirit amongst certain androgynous lodges of Freemasons, in which the worship of Lucifer is largely practised. She has now, owing to the direct interposition of Joan of Arc, become a Catholic, and has made it her mission to combat Luciferian Freemasonry in every way. Her Memoirs are partly a biography, partly an account of this cult.[23] Miss Vaughan claims to be a great-grand-daughter of Thomas Vaughan's. She declares him to have been a Luciferian, Grand-master of the Rosicrucian order, and the founder of modern Freemasonry; and gives an exhaustive account of his career on the authority of family archives. The following paragraphs contain the substance of her narrative, the "legend of Philalethes," as it was told to Miss Vaughan by her father and her uncle, who were intimate friends of Albert Pike.

The traditional accounts of Thomas Vaughan, says Miss Vaughan, contain serious errors. The dates of his birth and of his death, and the pseudonym under which he wrote are all incorrectly stated[24] (p. 110). He was born in Monmouth in 1612, being two years the elder of his brother Henry. The two boys were brought up at Oxford, after their father's death, by their uncle, Robert Vaughan the antiquary,[25] and entered at Jesus College (p. 114). In 1636, at the age of 24, Thomas Vaughan went to London, and became the disciple of Robert Fludd, who was a Rosicrucian (p. 148). The real nature of the Rosicrucians has hitherto been a mystery. They were in reality Luciferians, and carried on in secret during the seventeenth century that warfare against Adonai, the god of the Catholics, out of which had already sprung Wiclif, Luther, and the Reformation, and out of which was some day to spring, more deadly and more dangerous still, Freemasonry. The Fraternity of Rosie-Cross was founded by Faustus Socinus in 1597. He was succeeded as head of it by Caesar Cremonini (1604-1617), Michael Maier (1617-1622), Valentin Andreae (1622-1654), and Thomas Vaughan (1654-1678).[26] When Thomas Vaughan first came to London in 1636, Valentin Andreae was Summus Magister of the Fraternity, and amongst its leading members were Robert Fludd and Amos Komenski, or Comenius (pp. 129-148). Robert Fludd initiated Thomas Vaughan into the lower degrees of the Golden Cross (p. 148), and sent him to Andreae at Calw, near Stuttgart, with a letter in which he prophesied for him a miraculous future (p. 163). After this visit to Germany, Vaughan returned to London, and after Fludd's death, in 1637, undertook in 1638 his first visit to America. In many of his writings he speaks as a Christian minister, and at this time he probably passed as a Nonconformist (p. 164). He was back in London early in June, 1639 (p. 165), and in the same year visited Denmark, and made a report to Komenski on the mysterious golden horn found at Tondern in that country (p. 166). In 1640 Vaughan received from Komenski the first initiation of the Rosie Cross, and chose the pseudonym of Eirenaeus Philalethes.[27] He now became exceedingly active, going and coming upon the face of the earth. When in England, he divided his time between Oxford and London (p. 167). Between 1640 and 1644 he visited Hamburg, the Netherlands, Italy and Sweden (pp. 171-174). It was at this period that he conceived the design of obtaining a far wider circulation than they had yet met with for the ideas of Faustus Socinus. Some of the Rosicrucians were already "accepted masons." Vaughan determined to capture the vast organization of craft masonry by permeating the lodges with Luciferianism. His associate in this task was Elias Ashmole, with whose aid, a few years later, he composed the degrees of Apprentice (1646), Companion (1648), and Master (1649) (pp. 142, 169-175, 197-206). The Civil War had now approached. Oliver Cromwell was a freemason, a Rosicrucian, and a friend of Vaughan's (p. 176). With the execution of Laud came the crisis of Vaughan's life, his initiation into the highest degree of Rosie Cross by the hands of Lucifer himself. It took place in this wise. At the last moment Vaughan was substituted for the intended executioner of Laud.[28] He had prepared a sacramental cloth which he soaked in the martyr's blood, and on the same night he sacrificed the relic to Lucifer. The divinity appeared, consecrated Vaughan as Magus, named him as the next Summus Magister of the Fraternity, and signed a pact, granting him thirty-three years more life, at the end of which he should be borne away from earth without death (p. 177). In 1645 Vaughan wrote, but did not yet publish, his most important treatise, the Introitus Apertus ad Occlusum Regis Palatium. In 1645, still following the direct command of Lucifer, he departed for America. Here he met the apothecary George Starkey, and in his presence performed the alchemical feat of making gold (p. 179).[29] Here, too, he lived amongst the Lenni-Lennaps, where he was united to the demon Venus-Astarte in the form of a beautiful woman, who after eleven days bore him a daughter. This girl was brought up among the Lenni-Lennaps under the name of Diana Wulisso-Waghan, and became Miss Diana Vaughan's great-great-grandmother (p. 181). In 1648 Vaughan returned to England, and after composing the masonic degree of Master in 1649 (p. 197), he began the publication of a series of alchemical and, in reality, Luciferian writings. In 1650 appeared the Anthroposophia Theomagica and the Magia Adamica, in 1651 the Lumen de Lumine; in 1652 the Aula Lucis (p. 211). In 1654 Valentin Andreae died, and Vaughan succeeded him as Summus Magister of the Rosie Cross, the event being announced to him by the homage of three demons, Leviathan, Cerberus, and Belphegor (p. 214). In 1655 he published his Euphrates, and in 1656 made his head-quarters at Amsterdam or Eirenaeopolis. In 1659 came his Fraternity of R. C.; in 1664 his Medulla Alchymiae.[30] In 1666 he exhibited the philosopher's stone to Helvetius at La Haye and converted him to occultism: in 1667 he at last resolved to publish his Opus Magnum, the Introitus Apertus, already written in 1645 (p. 215). In 1668 this was followed by the Experimenta de Praeparatione Mercurii Sophici and the Tractatus Tres (p. 236). The time was now approaching when Vaughan, in fulfilment of the pact of 1644, must disappear from earth. He named Charles Blount as his successor (p. 237), and was granted a magical vision of his grandson, the child of Diana Wulisso-Waghan and a Lenni-Lennap (p. 239). He finished his Memoirs, published the Ripley Revised[31] and the Enarratio Methodica trium Gebri Medicinarum, left his poems to his brother Henry, who published them in the next year as the Thalia Rediviva,[32] and on March 25, 1678, disappeared in the company of Lucifer Dieu-Bon himself (p. 240). This event is vouched for, not only by a written statement of Henry Vaughan (p. 114), but also by the existence in a masonic triangle at Valetta of a magical talisman into which, when properly evoked, the spirit of Philalethes enters and records his glorious end for the edification of the Luciferians present[33] (p. 243).

I fear that I have taken Miss Vaughan with undue seriousness. Her account of Thomas Vaughan is not only unsupported by direct evidence,[34] but much of it is of a character which we should not be justified in accepting, even were direct evidence forthcoming. And it is all discordant with the little that we do happen to know of Thomas Vaughan from other sources. The whole thing is, in fact, a pretty obvious romance of very modern fabrication. It appears to have been compiled from such information as to the alchemical and mystical writers of the seventeenth century as was within the reach of Albert Pike and the brothers Vaughan about the year 1870.[35] It is always better to explain than to refute an error; and the nature of the Luciferian tradition of Thomas Vaughan is pretty clearly shown by the fact that it is not corroborated in a single particular by any of the new facts about him that have come to light since this probable date of its composition.[36] The fabricator put Thomas Vaughan's birth-place in Monmouth instead of Brecon, because he had never seen Dr. Grosart's Fuller Worthies Edition of Henry Vaughan. He makes no mention of any of the facts contained in Sloane MS. 1741, because that MS. was still unknown. And, most fatal of all, he puts Thomas Vaughan's birth in 1612 instead of 1621-2, because Foster's Alumni Oxonienses being yet unpublished, he was ignorant of the record of that date preserved in the University Registers. But we can go a step further. We can confute him, not only by pointing to the books he did not use, but by pointing to those he did. It has already been shown that the ascription to Vaughan of the English translation of Maier's Themis Aurea is due to a misunderstanding of a phrase used by Anthony a Wood. The Athenae Oxonienses then was one source of the compilation. Another was the Histoire de la Philosophie Hermetique, written by Lenglet-Dufresnoy in 1742. Here is the proof. Miss Vaughan supports her statement as to the birth-date in 1612 by a quotation from the Introitus Apertus, in which the writer states it to have been composed "en l'an 1645 de notre salut, et le trente-troisieme de mon age." This she professes to translate from the editio princeps published by Jean Lange in 1667. As a matter of fact it is taken from the version given in Lenglet-Dufresnoy's book. And Lenglet-Dufresnoy followed, not the edition of 1667, but the later edition published by J. M. Faust at Frankfort in 1706. In this the words are "trigesimo tertio," whereas in the editio princeps they are "vicesimo tertio," and in W. Cooper's English translation of 1669, "in the 23rd year of my age," thus bringing the date of the birth of Eirenaeus Philalethes not to 1612, but to 1622. The "legend of Philalethes" need detain us no longer. Miss Vaughan's narrative is a very insufficient basis for regarding the pious minister and mystic which Thomas Vaughan appears to have been as a secret enemy of Christianity and a worshipper of Lucifer.

But when the legend is set aside, there still remain certain questions suggested by it which may be considered without much reference to the statements of Miss Vaughan. Was Thomas Vaughan a Rosicrucian? And was he, admittedly the author of a series of tracts under the name of Eugenius Philalethes, also the author of those which bear the name of Eirenaeus Philalethes? The first question is, I am afraid, insoluble, until it has been decided whether the Fraternity of R. C. ever had an actual existence. Anthony a Wood states that Thomas Vaughan was a zealous Rosicrucian, but probably Anthony a Wood took the term in the general sense of mystic and alchemist. On the other hand Vaughan himself, in his preface to the English translation of the Rosicrucian manifestoes, seems to disavow any personal acquaintance with the members of the fraternity. Even this is not conclusive, for the Rosicrucian rule, as given in the Laws of the Brotherhood, published by Sincerus Renatus in 1710,[37] obliges the members to deny their membership.

There is more material for the discussion of the second question, but I do not know that it is more possible to come to a definite conclusion. The personality of the anonymous adept who took the name of Eirenaeus Philalethes was shrouded in mystery even to his contemporaries. The fullest account given of him on any of his title-pages is on that of the Experimenta de Praeparatione Mercurii Sophici (1668), which is said to be "ex manuscripto Philosophi Americani alias Eyrenaei Philalethis, natu Angli, habitatione Cosmopolitae."[38] We have also the description given by George Starkey, or whoever it was, in the Marrow of Alchemy (1654-5), p. 25. Starkey says:--

"His present place in which he doth abide I know not, for the world he walks about, Of which he is a citizen; this tide He is to visit artists and seek out Antiquities a voyage gone and will Return when he of travel hath his fill.

"By nation an Englishman, of note His family is in the place where he Was born, his fortune's good, and eke his coat Of arms is of a great antiquity; His learning rare, his years scarce thirty-three; Fuller description get you not from me."

Starkey gives the age of Eirenaeus Philalethes as 33 in 1654. This precisely confirms the writer's own statement in the earlier editions of the Introitus Apertus that he was 23 in 1645, and fixes the birth-date as 1621 or 1622. Now this agrees remarkably with the birth-date ascertained from other sources of Thomas Vaughan. But Thomas died in 1666, and it is usually asserted that Eirenaeus Philalethes lived until at least 1678. Miss Vaughan states that he must have been alive in that year, because he then published the Ripley Revived, and the Enarratio Trium Gebri Medicinarum. She declares that the author of the Enarratio mentions the pains taken about that edition (p. 240). I do not find any prefatory matter in this book at all. There is a preface to the Ripley Revived, but this was written long before 1678, for it mentions the Introitus Apertus, published in 1667, as still in manuscript. Neither Jean Lange, the editor of the Introitus Apertus of 1667, writing 9th December, 1666, nor William Cooper, the editor of the English translation[39] of 1669, writing 15th September, 1668, know whether the author is still alive. In fact he cannot be shown to have outlived Thomas Vaughan, for there is no proof that the adept who showed the philosopher's stone to Helvetius on December 27th, 1666,[40] was the same as he who showed it to George Starkey many years before. I will briefly enumerate a few other links which connect Eirenaeus Philalethes with Thomas Vaughan. A German translation of the Introitus Apertus, published at Hamburg under the title of Abyssus Alchemiae (1704), is said on the title-page to be "von T. de Vagan." Miss Vaughan states that a similar translation of the first of the Tres Tractatus, published at Hamburg in 1705, also bears this name (p. 237), and this is borne out by Lenglet-Dufresnoy (iii. 261-6), who speaks of a French MS. of the Tres Tractatus inscribed "par Thomas de Vagan, dit Philalethe ou Martin Birrhius." Birrhius, however, was only the editor. These ascriptions are probably made on the authority of G. W. Wedelius, who in his preface, dated 2nd Sept., 1698, to an edition of the Introitus Apertus, published at Jena in 1699, says of the author:--"Ex Anglia tamen vulgo habetur oriundus ... et Thomas De Vagan appellatus." The English Three Tracts (1694) are stated on the title-page to have been written in Latin by Eirenaeus Philalethes; but there is a note in the British Museum Catalogue to the effect that the Latin original has the name Eugenius Philalethes. Unfortunately this Latin Tres Tractatus, published in 1668 by Martin Birrhius at Amsterdam, is not in the Library, and I cannot verify the statement. Finally, I may note that the Ripley Revived (1678) has an engraved title-page by Robert Vaughan, who also did the title-page to Olor Iscanus, and that Starkey's Marrow of Alchemy contains, at the end of the preface to Part ii., some lines by William Sampson, which mention

"Harry Mastix Moor Who judged of Nature when he did not know her";

clearly an allusion to More's controversy with Thomas Vaughan.

It will be seen that there is some prima facie evidence for identifying Eirenaeus Philalethes with Thomas Vaughan, whereas he was probably not George Starkey (Eirenaeus Philoponos Philalethes), and cannot be shown to have been anyone else. But I am not satisfied. We do not know that Thomas Vaughan was ever in America, and there is the strong evidence of Anthony a Wood, who distinguishes between Eirenaeus and Eugenius, and who appears to have had information from Henry Vaughan himself. Mr. A. E. Waite argues against the identification on the ground that Eirenaeus Philalethes was a "physical alchemist," whereas Thomas Vaughan's alchemy was spiritual and mystical. But we have Vaughan's authority for saying that he had pursued the physical alchemy also.[41] And he was clearly doing so when he wrote Sloane MS. 1741. A more pertinent objection is perhaps that Eirenaeus Philalethes appears to have been in possession of the grand secret when he wrote the Introitus Apertus in 1645, whereas Thomas Vaughan was still seeking it in 1658. To pursue the matter further would require a wide knowledge of the alchemical writings of the seventeenth century, which unfortunately I do not possess.[42]

My gratitude is due for help received in compiling the biographical and other notes in these volumes to Dr. Grosart, Mr. C. H. Firth, Mr. W. C. Hazlitt, Mr. A. E. Waite, and the Rev. Llewellyn Thomas; notably to Miss G. E. F. Morgan of Brecon, whose knowledge of local genealogy and antiquities has been invaluable.

July, 1896. E. K. Chambers.

Footnotes

[1] Dr. Grosart, however, says (ii. 298), "In all the pedigrees that have been submitted to me, Thomas is placed as the first of the twins." But, as Henry inherited Newton, and Thomas took orders, Anthony a Wood is probably right.

[2] The tombstone says 73. G. T. Clark repeats Jones' error.

[3] The tombstone is actually in the north aisle of the church itself.

[4] Obviously Mr. Clark has confused Lucy Jones with her daughter, Denise Jones.

[5] This was noted by Mr W. B. Rye in The Genealogist, iii. 33, from the Entry Book of the Registry at Hereford. Since then Mr. Clark of Hereford has kindly sent me, through Miss Morgan, a copy of the bond entered into by the administratrix, Elizabetha Vaughan de Llansanfread, and her son-in-law and surety, Roger Prosser de Villa Brecon. The bond, or the copy, is dated in error "30 May, 1694, et 7th Wm. iii." Administration was granted on May 29, 1695. The inventory of the personal property amounted to L49 4s. 0d. The witnesses are Walter Prosser and David Thomas.

[6] An old alphabetical catalogue of wills in the Hereford Registry, between 1660-1677, has the following entries:--

Thomas Vaughan, Lansamfread, 11 Dec., 1660. Franca Vaughan, Lansamfread, 16 Nov., 1677.

The wills cannot, in the present state of the Registry, be found (Genealogist, iii., 33). These dates are much too early for the poet's son and daughter-in-law; but whose are the wills?

[7] The Turberville and Jones lines are taken from Theophilus Jones' History of Brecknockshire (ii. 444), and from Harl. MS. 2289, f. 70, respectively. Miss Morgan has kindly traced the Prossers from the Registers of St. John's and St. Mary's Churches, Brecon.

[8] Miss Morgan tells me that David Morgan David Howel's father, Morgan ap Howel, is described in a pedigree as "of Trenewydd in Penkelley"; and I find from Harl. MS. 2289, ff. 84 (b), 85, that the Powells "of Newton Penkelley" were related to the Powells of Cantreff. (See vol. ii., p. 57, note.)

[9] The will of this Charles Vaughan has been abstracted by Mr. W. B. Rye (Genealogist, iii. 33) from the Hereford Will Office. It was made 9th April, 1707, and proved 29th May, 1707. The testator is described as of Skellrog, Llansanffread, and mention is made of his wife Margaret Powell, and of a son William. This William, therefore, and not a grandson of Henry Vaughan, may be the William Vaughan of Llansantffread, who married Mary Games of Tregaer (p. xxi). Skellrog appears to have passed to another and probably elder son, Charles.

[10] S. W. Williams, Llansaintffread Church in Archaeologia Cambrensis (1887.)

[11] W. B. Rye in Genealogist, iii. 36, from Entry Book in Hereford Will Office.

[12] An account of the part played by Beeston Castle during the Civil War will be found in Ormerod's History of Cheshire (ed. Helsby), ii. 272 sqq.

[13] Gardiner, The Great Civil War, ch. xxxvi.; J. R. Phillips, The Civil War in Wales and the Marches, i. 329; ii. 270.

[14] Ormerod, i. 243.

[15] Phillips, i. 314.

[16] Phillips, ii. 272.

[17] Both Wood and Foster give the father's name as Thomas, but it appears to be Henry in all the pedigrees.

[18] The following list of Vaughan's admitted prose treatises is mainly taken from Dr. Grosart:--Anthroposophia Theomagica (1650); Anima Magica Abscondita (1650); Magia Adamica with the Coelum Terrae (1650); The Man-Mouse taken in a Trap (1650); The Second Wash; or, the Moor scoured once more (1651) [These two are polemics against Henry More]; Lumen de Lumine, with the Aphorismi Magici Eugeniani (1651); The Fame and Confession of the Fraternity of R:C: (1653); Aula Lucis (1652); Euphrates (1655); Nollius' Chymist's Key (1657); A Brief Natural History (1669); [Wood ascribes this to another writer, as it was not in the list furnished him by Henry Vaughan].--Henry More's pamphlets against Vaughan are the Observations upon Anthroposophia Theomagica and Anima Magica Abscondita (1650), issued under the name of Alazonomastix Philalethes and The Second Lash of Alazonomastix (1651).

[19] Walker falls into the curious confusion of supposing that there were two Thomas Vaughans, one rector of Llansantffread, the other of Newton St. Bridget. But "St. Bridget" is only the English form of the Welsh "Santffread."

[20] Printed from the Rawl. MSS. in Thurloe's State Papers, ii. 120.

[21] Is this the inn of that name once in the Gray's Inn Road? (Cunningham and Wheatley, Handbook to London.)

[22] The Rev. Henry Howlett has kindly sent me the following extract from the registers of Meppershall:--

"1658. Buried. Rebecka, the Wife of Mr. Vahanne the 26th of Aprill."

[23] An entire literature has grown up in Paris during the last year around the question whether the cultus of Lucifer is practised in certain Masonic Lodges. A number of Catholic journalists and pamphleteers assert very categorically that this is the case, that the centre of this cultus, containing the full Luciferian initiates, is the 33^rd^ degree of a so-called New and Reformed Palladian Rite, having its head-quarters at Charlestown, and that the chiefs of this Rite have obtained a controlling influence over the whole of Freemasonry. The creed is described as Manichaean in character, with Lucifer as Dieu-Bon and Adonai, the God of the Catholics, as Dieu-Mauvais. Adonai is the principle of asceticism, Lucifer of natural humanity and la joie de vivre. The rituals and the accepted interpretation of the Masonic symbolism used in the lodges, or "triangles," are of a phallic type. Women are admitted to membership. Immorality, a parody of the Eucharist, known as the black mass, and the practice of black magic, take place at the meetings. Lucifer is worshipped in the form of Baphomet, but from time to time he is personally evoked, and manifested to his followers. Luciferianism tends to become identical with Satanism, in which Lucifer and Satan are identified and frankly worshipped as evil. The first mention of Luciferian Freemasonry was in the Y-a-t-il des Femmes dans la Franc Maconnerie? (1891), of the somewhat notorious Leo Taxil. But the case rests mainly on the alleged revelations of writers who claim to have themselves been members of the Palladian Rite. The chief of these are Dr. Hacke or Bataille, Signor Margiotta and Miss Diana Vaughan. Unfortunately very little evidence is forthcoming as to the identity of any of these personages. Many leading Masons, e.g., M. Papus in his Le Diable et l'Occultisme, deny that Luciferian Freemasonry exists at all, and it is freely stated (cf. Light for 27 June and 4 July, 1896, pp. 305, 322) that Miss Diana Vaughan is a myth, and that her Memoires with the rest of the revelations are the ingenious concoction of a band of irresponsible journalists of whom Leo Taxil is the chief. No one appears to have seen Miss Vaughan, and she is alleged to be hiding in some convent from the vengeance of the Luciferians. Probably there will be some further light thrown on the matter before long: in the meantime a good summary of the evidence up-to-date may be found in A. E. Waite's Devil-Worship in France (1896). Assuming that Luciferianism really exists, I do not for a moment believe that it has the antiquity which Miss Vaughan claims for it. The various Rites of modern Freemasonry, with their fantastic and high-sounding degrees, are comparatively recent excrescences upon the original Craft Masonry. The New and Reformed Palladian Rite is said to have been founded at Charlestown by the well-known Mason, Albert Pike, in 1870. It is based on the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite, which dates from the beginning of the century. If there is such a thing as Luciferianism, I do not think we need look further back than 1870 for its origin. As expounded by Miss Vaughan and others, it is pretty clearly a compilation from Eliphaz Levi and other occultist and Cabbalistic writers, with a good deal of modern American Spiritualism thrown in. Albert Pike, a man of considerable learning, could easily have invented it. Masonic symbolism lends itself readily enough to a wide range of interpretations. I do not say that seventeenth-century occultism has left no traces upon Freemasonry which modern ritual-mongers may have elaborated; but it is a far cry from this to the belief that Thomas Vaughan and Luther were Manichaean worshippers of Lucifer and Protestantism an organized warfare on Adonai.

[24] Miss Vaughan quotes from Allibone's History of English Literature. Allibone only repeats Anthony a Wood's account.

[25] Robert Vaughan belonged to quite a different branch from the Vaughans of Newton: and, as Sl. MS. 1741 shows, the father of Henry and Thomas Vaughan did not die until 1658.

[26] Miss Vaughan gives an elaborate account of the Rosicrucians and of their famous manifestoes, which I have no room to reproduce.

[27] Miss Vaughan states that Thomas Vaughan signed "not Eugenius Philalethes, but Eirenaeus Philalethes" (p. 114). But she ascribes to him the Anthroposophia Theomagica and other writings which are signed, though she does not mention it, Eugenius Philalethes (p. 211). She quotes from Anthony a Wood the assertion, which he does not make, that the English translations of the Fama Fraternitatis Rosae Crucis (1652) and of Maier's Themis Aurea (1656) both bear the name of Eugenius, and were by another Thomas Vaughan! The manuscripts of both are, she says, signed Eirenaeus (p. 163). What Wood says is that he has seen a translation of Maier's tract, dedicated to Elias Ashmole by [N. L.]/[T. S.] H. S., and that Ashmole has forgotten whose the initials are. He does not suggest that this translation is by a Thomas Vaughan. (Ath. Oxon., iii. 724.)

[28] This episode has previously done duty in the Vingt Ans Apres (vol. iii., ch. 8-10), of Alexandre Dumas, in which Mordaunt acts as the executioner of Charles. There is a Latin poem amongst Vaughan's remains in Thalia Rediviva entitled Epitaphium Gulielmi Laud Episcopi Cantuariensis, full of sorrow for the archbishop's death.

[29] Miss Vaughan refers to Lenglet-Dufresnoy's Histoire de la Philosophie Hermetique as an authority on Starkey's relations with Eirenaeus Philalethes. Lenglet-Dufresnoy probably took his account from The Marrow of Alchemy (1654-5). The prefaces to this are signed with anagrams of George Starkey's name. But he ascribes the poem to a friend, who is called in the Breve Manuductorium ad Campum Sophiae Agricola Rhomaeus. Perhaps Starkey himself was the real author. The title-page has the name Eirenaeus Philoponus Philalethes, apparently a distinct designation from that of Eirenaeus Philalethes.

[30] The Medulla Alchemiae (1664) is only a Latin translation of the Marrow of Alchemy (1654-5) of Eirenaeus Philoponos Philalethes.

[31] The actual name of the tract is Ripley Revived.

[32] The Thalia Rediviva was actually published in 1678, not 1679.

[33] Miss Vaughan has herself witnessed this, in the presence of Lucifer. Moreover, the spirit of Philalethes has appeared, and conversed with her (pp. 257-267).

[34] Miss Vaughan refers to several family documents, but does not offer them for inspection. They include (a) the will of her grandfather James, enumerating the proofs of his descent (p. 111); (b) the autobiographical Memoirs of Philalethes, from which Miss Vaughan quotes largely (pp. 174, 240); (c) a letter from Fludd to Andreae (pp. 114, 149); (d) a MS. of the Introitus Apertus, of which the margin has been covered by Vaughan with a comment for Luciferian initiates (pp. 111, 217, 225); (e) a letter from Andreae in the archives of the Sovereign Patriarchal Council of Hamburg (p. 197); (f) Henry Vaughan's account of his brother's disappearance in the archives of the Supreme Dogmatic Directory of Charleston (p. 114); (g) Masonic rituals in the archives of Masonic chapters at Bristol and Gibraltar (p. 200); (h) Rosicrucian rituals drawn up by one Nick Stone in the hands of Dr. W. W. W[estcott] of London (p. 141). The documents in Masonic hands are presumably, like the Valetta talisman, now out of Miss Vaughan's reach. A communication signed Q. V. in Light for May 16, 1896, denies, on Dr. Westcott's authority, that his rituals have anything to do with Nick Stone, or that Miss Vaughan ever saw them. Dr. Westcott is the head of the modern Societas Rosicruciana in Anglia. This body does not even pretend to be the Fraternity of R. C. Finally, there is (i) Thomas Vaughan's original pact with Lucifer, now, according to Miss Vaughan, in holy hands, and to be destroyed on the day she takes the veil.

[35] Miss Vaughan somewhat naively gives us a lead. After describing Thomas Vaughan's sojourn with Venus-Astarte among the Lenni-Lennaps, she adds: "This legend is not accepted by all the Elect Mages; there are those who regard it as fabricated by my grandfather James of Boston, who was, they believe, of Delaware origin, or, at any rate, a half-breed; and they even assert that, in the desire to Anglicize himself, he invented an entirely false genealogy, by way of justifying his change of the Lennap name Waghan into Vaughan. Herein the opponents of the Luciferian legend of Thomas Vaughan go too far" (p. 181).

[36] I have already pointed out that Miss Vaughan is quite possibly a myth. But, if she exists, I do not see any reason to suppose that she personally invented the "legend of Philalethes." It lies between Leo Taxil and his friends in 1895, and the alleged founders of Palladism in or about 1870, that is Albert Pike and Miss Vaughan's father and uncle. And, so far as it goes, the ignorance shown in the legend of all books published in the last twenty years is evidence for the earlier date, and therefore, to some extent, for the actual existence of Luciferianism.

[37] Cf. A. E. Waite, Real History of the Rosicrucians, p. 274.

[38] The principal writings ascribed to Eirenaeus Philalethes are Introitus Apertus in Occlusum Regis Palatium (1667), Tres Tractatus (1668), Experimenta de Praeparatione Mercurii Sophici (1668), Ripley Revived (1678), Enarratio Trium Gebri Medicinarum (1678). The works of Eirenaeus Philoponos Philalethes (George Starkey?) are often attributed to him in error. The B. M. Catalogue, s.vv. Philaletha, Philalethes, is a mass of confusions. Lenglet-Dufresnoy, Histoire de la Philosophie Hermetique (iii. 261-266), gives a long list of printed and manuscript works. Most of these he had probably never seen. He probably took many items in his list from one in J. M. Faust's edition of the Introitus Apertus (Frankfort, 1706); and this, in its turn, was based on what Eirenaeus Philalethes himself says he has written in the preface to Ripley Revived. He there says, after naming other works: "Two English Poems I wrote, declaring the whole secret, which are lost. Also an Enchiridion of Experiments, together with a Diurnal of Meditations, in which were many Philosophical receipts, declaring the whole secret, with an Aenigma annexed; which also fell into such hands which I conceive will never restore it. This last was written in English." Can this Enchiridion and Diurnal be Sl. MS. 1741? I find no "Aenigma." Can Starkey have stolen the poems and published them as the Marrow of Alchemy?

[39] The preface to Ripley Revived makes it clear that the Introitus Apertus was originally written in Latin, not in English.

[40] This is recorded in Helvetius' Vitulus Aureus (1667). Helvetius describes his master as 43 or 44 years old, and calls him Elias Artistes.

[41] See the passage from the Epistle to Euphrates, quoted by Grosart (Vol. ii., p. 312).

[42] The "legend of Philalethes" has already been exposed by Mr. A. E. Waite in his Devil Worship in France (ch. xiii.). I am also indebted to what Mr. Waite has written on Eirenaeus Philalethes in that book, as well as in his True History of the Rosicrucians (1887) and his Lives of Alchymistical Philosophers (1888).

Bibliography Of Henry Vaughan'S Works.

(1)

The translation from Juvenal has a separate title-page.

(2)

(3)

The Preface is dated "Newton by Usk this 17 of Decemb. 1647."

The prose translations in this volume have separate title-pages:

(4)

The preface is dated "Newton by Usk this first of October 1651."

The translation from Anselm has a separate title-page:

(5)

The Preface is dated "Newton by Usk, in South-Wales, April 17, 1652." The pieces have separate title-pages:

The Preface is dated "Newton by Uske neare Sketh-Rock. 1653."

(6)

A reissue, with additions and a fresh title-page, of (2). The Preface is dated "Newton by Usk, near Sketh-rock Septem. 30, 1654."

(7)

(8)

The Remains of Eugenius Philalethes [Thomas Vaughan] have a separate title-page.

(9)

Olor Iscanus. A collection of some Select Poems, Together with these Translations following, etc. All Englished by H. Vaughan, Silurist. London: Printed and are to be sold by Peter Parker ... 1679. [8^vo^.]

A reissue, according to Dr. Grosart (ii. 59) and W. C. Hazlitt (Supplement to Third Series Of Collections, p. 106), of the 1651 Olor Iscanus, with a fresh title-page. I have not seen a copy.

(10)

[Miss L. I. Guiney writes in her essay on Henry Vaughan, the Silurist (Atlantic Monthly, May, 1894): "Mr. Carew Hazlitt has been fortunate enough to discover the advertisement of an eighteenth-century Vaughan reprint."

As to this Mr. Hazlitt writes to me: "I cannot tell where Miss Guiney heard about the Vaughan--not certainly from me. But there is an edition of his 'Spiritual Songs,' 8^vo^, 1706, of which, however, I don't at present know the whereabouts."]

(11)

Silex Scintillans: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations of Henry Vaughan, with Memoir by the Rev. H. F. Lyte. London: William Pickering, 1847. [12^mo^.]

An edition of (6) and part of (8).

(12)

The Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations of Henry Vaughan, with a Memoir by the Rev. H. F. Lyte. Boston [U. S. A.]: Little, Brown and Company, 1856. [8^vo^.]

A reprint of (11).

(13)

Silex Scintillans, etc.: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations, by Henry Vaughan. London: Bell and Daldy. 1858.

A reprint, with a revised text, of (11).

(14)

The Fuller Worthies' Library. The Works in Verse and Prose complete of Henry Vaughan, Silurist, for the first time collected and edited: with Memorial-Introduction: Essay on Life and Writings: and Notes: by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart, St. George's, Blackburn, Lancashire. In four Volumes.... Printed for Private Circulation. 1871.

A reprint of the original editions, with biographical and critical matter. Only 50 4^to^, 106 8^vo^, and 156 12^mo^ copies printed. In Vol. II. are included the Poems of Thomas Vaughan, with a separate title-page.

The English and Latin Verse-Remains of Thomas Vaughan ('Eugenius Philalethes'), twin-brother of the Silurist. For the first time collected and edited: with Memorial-Introduction and Notes: by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart [etc.].

(15)

Silex Scintillans, etc. Sacred Poems and Pious Ejaculations. By Henry Vaughan, "Silurist." With a Memoir by the Rev. H. F. Lyte. Job xxxv. 10, 11 [in full]. London: George Bell and Sons, York Street, Covent Garden. 1883. [8^vo^.]

A reprint, with a text further revised, of (11) and (13), forming a volume of the Aldine Poets. Since reprinted in 1891.

(16)

The Jewel Poets. Henry Vaughan. Edinburgh. Macniven and Wallace. 1884.

A selection, with a short preface by W. R. Nicoll.

(17)

Silex Scintillans. Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations, by Henry Vaughan (Silurist). Being a facsimile of the First Edition, published in 1650, with an Introduction by the Rev. William Clare, B.A. (Adelaide). London: Elliot Stock, 62, Paternoster Row. 1885. [12^mo^.]

A facsimile reprint of (2).

(18)

Secular Poems by Henry Vaughan, Silurist. Including a few pieces by his twin-brother Thomas ("Eugenius Philalethes"). Selected and arranged, with Notes and Bibliography, by J. R. Tutin, Editor of "Poems of Richard Crashaw," etc. Hull: J. R. Tutin. 1893.

A selection from Vol. II. of (14).

(19)

The Poems of Henry Vaughan, Silurist. With an Introduction by H. C. Beeching, Rector of Yattendon. [Publishers' Device.] London: Lawrence and Bullen, 16, Henrietta Street, W.C. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 153-157 Fifth Avenue. 1896. [Two vols. 8^vo^.]

The present edition. A hundred copies are printed on large paper.

Poems, With The Tenth Satire Of Juvenal Englished.

POEMS,

WITH THE

TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL

ENGLISHED.

1646.

To All Ingenious Lovers Of Poesy.

Gentlemen,

To you alone, whose more refined spirits out-wing these dull times, and soar above the drudgery of dirty intelligence, have I made sacred these fancies: I know the years, and what coarse entertainment they afford poetry. If any shall question that courage that durst send me abroad so late, and revel it thus in the dregs of an age, they have my silence: only,

Languescente seculo, liceat aegrotari.

My more calm ambition, amidst the common noise, hath thus exposed me to the world: you have here a flame, bright only in its own innocence, that kindles nothing but a generous thought: which though it may warm the blood, the fire at highest is but Platonic; and the commotion, within these limits, excludes danger. For the satire, it was of purpose borrowed to feather some slower hours; and what you see here is but the interest: it is one of his whose Roman pen had as much true passion for the infirmities of that state, as we should have pity to the distractions of our own: honest--I am sure--it is, and offensive cannot be, except it meet with such spirits that will quarrel with antiquity, or purposely arraign themselves. These indeed may think that they have slept out so many centuries in this satire and are now awakened; which, had it been still Latin, perhaps their nap had been everlasting. But enough of these,--it is for you only that I have adventured thus far, and invaded the press with verse; to whose more noble indulgence I shall now leave it, and so am gone.--

H. V. To My Ingenuous Friend, R. W.

H. V.

TO MY INGENUOUS FRIEND, R. W.

When we are dead, and now, no more Our harmless mirth, our wit, and score Distracts the town; when all is spent That the base niggard world hath lent Thy purse, or mine; when the loath'd noise Of drawers, 'prentices and boys Hath left us, and the clam'rous bar Items no pints i' th' Moon or Star; When no calm whisp'rers wait the doors, To fright us with forgotten scores; And such aged long bills carry, As might start an antiquary; When the sad tumults of the maze, Arrests, suits, and the dreadful face Of sergeants are not seen, and we No lawyers' ruffs, or gowns must fee: When all these mulcts are paid, and I From thee, dear wit, must part, and die; We'll beg the world would be so kind, To give's one grave as we'd one mind; There, as the wiser few suspect, That spirits after death affect, Our souls shall meet, and thence will they, Freed from the tyranny of clay, With equal wings, and ancient love Into the Elysian fields remove, Where in those blessed walks they'll find More of thy genius, and my mind. First, in the shade of his own bays, Great Ben they'll see, whose sacred lays The learned ghosts admire, and throng To catch the subject of his song. Then Randolph in those holy meads, His Lovers and Amyntas reads, Whilst his Nightingale, close by, Sings his and her own elegy. From thence dismiss'd, by subtle roads, Through airy paths and sad abodes, They'll come into the drowsy fields Of Lethe, which such virtue yields, That, if what poets sing be true, The streams all sorrow can subdue. Here, on a silent, shady green, The souls of lovers oft are seen, Who, in their life's unhappy space, Were murder'd by some perjur'd face. All these th' enchanted streams frequent, To drown their cares, and discontent, That th' inconstant, cruel sex Might not in death their spirits vex. And here our souls, big with delight Of their new state, will cease their flight: And now the last thoughts will appear, They'll have of us, or any here; But on those flow'ry banks will stay, And drink all sense and cares away. So they that did of these discuss, Shall find their fables true in us.

Les Amours

Tyrant, farewell! this heart, the prize And triumph of thy scornful eyes, I sacrifice to heaven, and give To quit my sins, that durst believe A woman's easy faith, and place True joys in a changing face. Yet ere I go: by all those tears And sighs I spent 'twixt hopes and fears; By thy own glories, and that hour Which first enslav'd me to thy power; I beg, fair one, by this last breath, This tribute from thee after death. If, when I'm gone, you chance to see That cold bed where I lodged be, Let not your hate in death appear, But bless my ashes with a tear: This influx from that quick'ning eye, By secret pow'r, which none can spy, The cold dust shall inform, and make Those flames, though dead, new life partake Whose warmth, help'd by your tears, shall bring O'er all the tomb a sudden spring Of crimson flowers, whose drooping heads Shall curtain o'er their mournful beds: And on each leaf, by Heaven's command, These emblems to the life shall stand Two hearts, the first a shaft withstood; The second, shot and wash'd in blood; And on this heart a dew shall stay, Which no heat can court away; But fix'd for ever, witness bears That hearty sorrow feeds on tears. Thus Heaven can make it known, and true That you kill'd me, 'cause I lov'd you.

To Amoret.

The Sigh.

Nimble sigh, on thy warm wings, Take this message and depart; Tell Amoret, that smiles and sings, At what thy airy voyage brings, That thou cam'st lately from my heart.

Tell my lovely foe that I Have no more such spies to send, But one or two that I intend, Some few minutes ere I die, To her white bosom to commend.

Then whisper by that holy spring, Where for her sake I would have died, Whilst those water-nymphs did bring Flowers to cure what she had tried; And of my faith and love did sing.

That if my Amoret, if she In after-times would have it read, How her beauty murder'd me, With all my heart I will agree, If she'll but love me, being dead.

To His Friend Being In Love.

Ask, lover, ere thou diest; let one poor breath Steal from thy lips, to tell her of thy death; Doating idolater! can silence bring Thy saint propitious? or will Cupid fling One arrow for thy paleness? leave to try This silent courtship of a sickly eye. Witty to tyranny, she too well knows This but the incense of thy private vows, That breaks forth at thine eyes, and doth betray The sacrifice thy wounded heart would pay; Ask her, fool, ask her; if words cannot move, The language of thy tears may make her love. Flow nimbly from me then; and when you fall On her breast's warmer snow, O may you all, By some strange fate fix'd there, distinctly lie, The much lov'd volume of my tragedy. Where, if you win her not, may this be read, The cold that freez'd you so, did strike me dead.

SONG.

Amyntas go, thou art undone, Thy faithful heart is cross'd by fate; That love is better not begun, Where love is come to love too late.[43]

Had she professed[44] hidden fires, Or show'd one[45] knot that tied her heart, I could have quench'd my first desires, And we had only met to part.

But, tyrant, thus to murder men, And shed a lover's harmless blood, And burn him in those flames again, Which he at first might have withstood.

Yet, who that saw fair Chloris weep Such sacred dew, with such pure[46] grace; Durst think them feigned tears, or seek For treason in an angel's face.

This is her art, though this be true, Men's joys are kill'd with[47] griefs and fears, Yet she, like flowers oppress'd with dew, Doth thrive and flourish in her tears.

This, cruel, thou hast done, and thus That face hath many servants slain, Though th' end be not to ruin us, But to seek glory by our pain.[48]

FOOTNOTES:

[43] MS. Whose pure offering comes too late.

[44] MS. profess'd her.

[45] MS. the.

[46] MS. such a.

[47] MS. by.

[48]

MS. Your aime is sure to ruine us. Seeking your glory by our paine

TO AMORET.

Walking in a Starry Evening.

If, Amoret, that glorious eye, In the first birth of light, And death of Night, Had with those elder fires you spy Scatter'd so high, Received form and sight;

We might suspect in the vast ring, Amidst these golden glories, And fiery stories;[49] Whether the sun had been the king And guide of day, Or your brighter eye should sway.

But, Amoret, such is my fate, That if thy face a star Had shin'd from far, I am persuaded in that state, 'Twixt thee and me, Of some predestin'd sympathy.[50]

For sure such two conspiring minds, Which no accident, or sight, Did thus unite; Whom no distance can confine, Start, or decline, One for another were design'd.

FOOTNOTES:

[49] MS.

MS. We may suspect in the vast ring, Which rolls those fiery spheres Thro' years and years.

[50] MS. There would be perfect sympathy.

To Amoret Gone From Him.

Fancy and I, last evening, walk'd, And Amoret, of thee we talk'd; The West just then had stolen the sun, And his last blushes were begun: We sate, and mark'd how everything Did mourn his absence: how the spring That smil'd and curl'd about his beams, Whilst he was here, now check'd her streams: The wanton eddies of her face Were taught less noise, and smoother grace; And in a slow, sad channel went, Whisp'ring the banks their discontent: The careless ranks of flowers that spread Their perfum'd bosoms to his head. And with an open, free embrace, Did entertain his beamy face, Like absent friends point to the West, And on that weak reflection feast. If creatures then that have no sense, But the loose tie of influence, Though fate and time each day remove Those things that element their love, At such vast distance can agree, Why, Amoret, why should not we?

A Song To Amoret.

If I were dead, and in my place Some fresher youth design'd To warm thee with new fires, and grace Those arms I left behind;

Were he as faithful as the sun, That's wedded to the sphere; His blood as chaste and temp'rate run, As April's mildest tear;

Or were he rich, and with his heaps And spacious share of earth, Could make divine affection cheap, And court his golden birth:

For all these arts I'd not believe, --No, though he should be thine-- The mighty amorist could give So rich a heart as mine.

Fortune and beauty thou might'st find, And greater men than I: But my true resolved mind They never shall come nigh.[51]

For I not for an hour did love, Or for a day desire, But with my soul had from above This endless, holy fire.

FOOTNOTES:

[51]

MS. But with my true steadfast minde None can pretend to vie.

An Elegy.

'Tis true, I am undone: yet, ere I die, I'll leave these sighs and tears a legacy To after-lovers: that, rememb'ring me, Those sickly flames which now benighted be, Fann'd by their warmer sighs, may love; and prove In them the metempsychosis of love. 'Twas I--when others scorn'd--vow'd you were fair, And sware that breath enrich'd the coarser air, Lent roses to your cheeks, made Flora bring Her nymphs with all the glories of the spring To wait upon thy face, and gave my heart A pledge to Cupid for a quicker dart, To arm those eyes against myself; to me Thou ow'st that tongue's bewitching harmony. I courted angels from those upper joys, And made them leave their spheres to hear thy voice. I made the Indian curse the hours he spent To seek his pearls, and wisely to repent His former folly, and confess a sin, Charm'd by the brighter lustre of thy skin. I borrow'd from the winds the gentler wing Of Zephyrus, and soft souls of the spring; And made--to air those cheeks with fresher grace-- The warm inspirers dwell upon thy face. Oh! jam satis ...

A Rhapsodis

Occasionally written upon a meeting with some of his friends at the Globe Tavern, in a chamber painted overhead with a cloudy sky and some few dispersed stars, and on the sides with landscapes, hills, shepherds and sheep.

Darkness, and stars i' th' mid-day! They invite Our active fancies to believe it night: For taverns need no sun, but for a sign, Where rich tobacco and quick tapers shine; And royal, witty sack, the poet's soul, With brighter suns than he doth gild the bowl; As though the pot and poet did agree, Sack should to both illuminator be. That artificial cloud, with its curl'd brow, Tells us 'tis late; and that blue space below Is fir'd with many stars: mark! how they break In silent glances o'er the hills, and speak The evening to the plains, where, shot from far, They meet in dumb salutes, as one great star. The room, methinks, grows darker; and the air Contracts a sadder colour, and less fair. Or is't the drawer's skill? hath he no arts To blind us so we can't know pints from quarts? No, no, 'tis night: look where the jolly clown Musters his bleating herd and quits the down. Hark! how his rude pipe frets the quiet air, Whilst ev'ry hill proclaims Lycoris fair. Rich, happy man! that canst thus watch and sleep, Free from all cares, but thy wench, pipe and sheep! But see, the moon is up; view, where she stands Sentinel o'er the door, drawn by the hands Of some base painter, that for gain hath made Her face the landmark to the tippling trade. This cup to her, that to Endymion give; 'Twas wit at first, and wine that made them live. Choke may the painter! and his box disclose No other colours than his fiery nose; And may we no more of his pencil see Than two churchwardens, and mortality. Should we go now a-wand'ring, we should meet With catchpoles, whores and carts in ev'ry street: Now when each narrow lane, each nook and cave, Sign-posts and shop-doors, pimp for ev'ry knave, When riotous sinful plush, and tell-tale spurs Walk Fleet Street and the Strand, when the soft stirs Of bawdy, ruffled silks, turn night to day; And the loud whip and coach scolds all the way; When lust of all sorts, and each itchy blood From the Tower-wharf to Cymbeline, and Lud, Hunts for a mate, and the tir'd footman reels 'Twixt chairmen, torches, and the hackney wheels. Come, take the other dish; it is to him That made his horse a senator: each brim Look big as mine: the gallant, jolly beast Of all the herd--you'll say--was not the least. Now crown the second bowl, rich as his worth I'll drink it to; he, that like fire broke forth Into the Senate's face, cross'd Rubicon, And the State's pillars, with their laws thereon, And made the dull grey beards and furr'd gowns fly Into Brundusium to consult, and lie. This, to brave Sylla! why should it be said We drink more to the living than the dead? Flatt'rers and fools do use it: let us laugh At our own honest mirth; for they that quaff To honour others, do like those that sent Their gold and plate to strangers to be spent. Drink deep; this cup be pregnant, and the wine Spirit of wit, to make us all divine, That big with sack and mirth we may retire Possessors of more souls, and nobler fire; And by the influx of this painted sky, And labour'd forms, to higher matters fly; So, if a nap shall take us, we shall all, After full cups, have dreams poetical.

Let's laugh now, and the press'd grape drink, Till the drowsy day-star wink; And in our merry, mad mirth run Faster, and further than the sun; And let none his cup forsake, Till that star again doth wake; So we men below shall move Equally with the gods above.

TO AMORET, OF THE DIFFERENCE 'TWIXT HIM AND OTHER LOVERS, AND WHAT TRUE LOVE IS.

Mark, when the evening's cooler wings Fan the afflicted air, how the faint sun, Leaving undone, What he begun, Those spurious flames suck'd up from slime and earth To their first, low birth, Resigns, and brings.

They shoot their tinsel beams and vanities, Threading with those false fires their way; But as you stay And see them stray, You lose the flaming track, and subtly they Languish away, And cheat your eyes.

Just so base, sublunary lovers' hearts Fed on loose profane desires, May for an eye Or face comply: But those remov'd, they will as soon depart, And show their art, And painted fires.

Whilst I by pow'rful love, so much refin'd, That my absent soul the same is, Careless to miss A glance or kiss, Can with those elements of lust and sense Freely dispense, And court the mind.

Thus to the North the loadstones move, And thus to them th' enamour'd steel aspires: Thus Amoret I do affect; And thus by winged beams, and mutual fire, Spirits and stars conspire: And this is Love.

TO AMORET WEEPING.

Leave Amoret, melt not away so fast Thy eyes' fair treasure; Fortune's wealthiest cast Deserves not one such pearl; for these, well spent, Can purchase stars, and buy a tenement For us in heaven; though here the pious streams Avail us not; who from that clue of sunbeams Could ever steal one thread? or with a kind Persuasive accent charm the wild loud wind? Fate cuts us all in marble, and the Book Forestalls our glass of minutes; we may look But seldom meet a change; think you a tear Can blot the flinty volume? shall our fear Or grief add to their triumphs? and must we Give an advantage to adversity? Dear, idle prodigal! is it not just We bear our stars? What though I had not dust Enough to cabinet a worm? nor stand Enslav'd unto a little dirt, or sand? I boast a better purchase, and can show The glories of a soul that's simply true. But grant some richer planet at my birth Had spied me out, and measur'd so much earth Or gold unto my share: I should have been Slave to these lower elements, and seen My high-born soul flag with their dross, and lie A pris'ner to base mud, and alchemy. I should perhaps eat orphans, and suck up A dozen distress'd widows in one cup; Nay, further, I should by that lawful stealth, Damn'd usury, undo the commonwealth; Or patent it in soap, and coals, and so Have the smiths curse me, and my laundress too; Geld wine, or his friend tobacco; and so bring The incens'd subject rebel to his king; And after all--as those first sinners fell-- Sink lower than my gold, and lie in hell. Thanks then for this deliv'rance! blessed pow'rs, You that dispense man's fortune and his hours, How am I to you all engag'd! that thus By such strange means, almost miraculous, You should preserve me; you have gone the way To make me rich by taking all away. For I--had I been rich--as sure as fate, Would have been meddling with the king, or State, Or something to undo me; and 'tis fit, We know, that who hath wealth should have no wit, But, above all, thanks to that Providence That arm'd me with a gallant soul, and sense, 'Gainst all misfortunes, that hath breath'd so much Of Heav'n into me, that I scorn the touch Of these low things; and can with courage dare Whatever fate or malice can prepare: I envy no man's purse or mines: I know That, losing them, I've lost their curses too; And Amoret--although our share in these Is not contemptible, nor doth much please-- Yet, whilst content and love we jointly vie, We have a blessing which no gold can buy.

UPON THE PRIORY GROVE, HIS USUAL RETIREMENT.

Hail, sacred shades! cool, leafy house! Chaste treasurer of all my vows And wealth! on whose soft bosom laid My love's fair steps I first betray'd: Henceforth no melancholy flight, No sad wing, or hoarse bird of night, Disturb this air, no fatal throat Of raven, or owl, awake the note Of our laid echo, no voice dwell Within these leaves, but Philomel. The poisonous ivy here no more His false twists on the oak shall score; Only the woodbine here may twine, As th' emblem of her love, and mine; The amorous sun shall here convey His best beams, in thy shades to play; The active air the gentlest show'rs Shall from his wings rain on thy flowers; And the moon from her dewy locks Shall deck thee with her brightest drops. Whatever can a fancy move, Or feed the eye, be on this grove! And when at last the winds and tears Of heaven, with the consuming years, Shall these green curls bring to decay, And clothe thee in an aged grey --If ought a lover can foresee, Or if we poets prophets be-- From hence transplanted, thou shalt stand A fresh grove in th' Elysian land; Where--most bless'd pair!--as here on earth Thou first didst eye our growth, and birth; So there again, thou'lt see us move In our first innocence and love; And in thy shades, as now, so then, We'll kiss, and smile, and walk again.

JUVENAL'S TENTH SATIRE TRANSLATED.

In all the parts of earth, from farthest West, And the Atlantic Isles, unto the East And famous Ganges, few there be that know What's truly good, and what is good, in show, Without mistake: for what is't we desire, Or fear discreetly? to whate'er aspire, So throughly bless'd, but ever as we speed, Repentance seals the very act, and deed? The easy gods, mov'd by no other fate Than our own pray'rs, whole kingdoms ruinate, And undo families: thus strife, and war Are the sword's prize, and a litigious bar The gown's prime wish. Vain confidence to share In empty honours and a bloody care To be the first in mischief, makes him die Fool'd 'twixt ambition and credulity. An oily tongue with fatal, cunning sense, And that sad virtue ever, eloquence, Are th' other's ruin, but the common curse; And each day's ill waits on the rich man's purse; He, whose large acres and imprison'd gold So far exceeds his father's store of old, As British whales the dolphins do surpass. In sadder times therefore, and when the laws Of Nero's fiat reign'd, an armed band Seiz'd on Longinus, and the spacious land Of wealthy Seneca, besieg'd the gates Of Lateranus, and his fair estate Divided as a spoil: in such sad feasts Soldiers--though not invited--are the guests. Though thou small pieces of the blessed mine Hast lodg'd about thee, travelling in the shine Of a pale moon, if but a reed doth shake, Mov'd by the wind, the shadow makes thee quake. Wealth hath its cares, and want has this relief, It neither fears the soldier nor the thief; Thy first choice vows, and to the gods best known, Are for thy stores' increase, that in all town Thy stock be greatest, but no poison lies I' th' poor man's dish; he tastes of no such spice. Be that thy care, when, with a kingly gust, Thou suck'st whole bowls clad in the gilded dust Of some rich mineral, whilst the false wine Sparkles aloft, and makes the draught divine. Blam'st thou the sages, then? because the one Would still be laughing, when he would be gone From his own door; the other cried to see His times addicted to such vanity? Smiles are an easy purchase, but to weep Is a hard act; for tears are fetch'd more deep. Democritus his nimble lungs would tire With constant laughter, and yet keep entire His stock of mirth, for ev'ry object was Addition to his store; though then--alas!-- Sedans, and litters, and our Senate gowns, With robes of honour, fasces, and the frowns Of unbrib'd tribunes were not seen; but had He liv'd to see our Roman praetor clad In Jove's own mantle, seated on his high Embroider'd chariot 'midst the dust and cry Of the large theatre, loaden with a crown, Which scarce he could support--for it would down, But that his servant props it--and close by His page, a witness to his vanity: To these his sceptre and his eagle add, His trumpets, officers, and servants clad In white and purple; with the rest that day, He hir'd to triumph, for his bread, and pay; Had he these studied, sumptuous follies seen, 'Tis thought his wanton and effusive spleen Had kill'd the Abderite, though in that age --When pride and greatness had not swell'd the stage So high as ours--his harmless and just mirth From ev'ry object had a sudden birth. Nor was't alone their avarice or pride, Their triumphs or their cares he did deride; Their vain contentions or ridiculous fears, But even their very poverty and tears. He would at Fortune's threats as freely smile As others mourn; nor was it to beguile His crafty passions; but this habit he By nature had, and grave philosophy. He knew their idle and superfluous vows, And sacrifice, which such wrong zeal bestows, Were mere incendiaries; and that the gods, Not pleas'd therewith, would ever be at odds. Yet to no other air, nor better place Ow'd he his birth, than the cold, homely Thrace; Which shows a man may be both wise and good, Without the brags of fortune, or his blood. But envy ruins all: what mighty names Of fortune, spirit, action, blood, and fame, Hath this destroy'd? yea, for no other cause Than being such; their honour, worth and place, Was crime enough; their statues, arms and crowns Their ornaments of triumph, chariots, gowns, And what the herald, with a learned care, Had long preserv'd, this madness will not spare. So once Sejanus' statue Rome allow'd Her demi-god, and ev'ry Roman bow'd To pay his safety's vows; but when that face Had lost Tiberius once, its former grace Was soon eclips'd; no diff'rence made--alas!-- Betwixt his statue then, and common brass, They melt alike, and in the workman's hand For equal, servile use, like others stand. Go, now fetch home fresh bays, and pay new vows To thy dumb Capitol gods! thy life, thy house, And state are now secur'd: Sejanus lies I' th' lictors' hands. Ye gods! what hearts and eyes Can one day's fortune change? the solemn cry Of all the world is, "Let Sejanus die!" They never lov'd the man, they swear; they know Nothing of all the matter, when, or how, By what accuser, for what cause, or why, By whose command or sentence he must die. But what needs this? the least pretence will hit, When princes fear, or hate a favourite. A large epistle stuff'd with idle fear, Vain dreams, and jealousies, directed here From Caprea does it; and thus ever die Subjects, when once they grow prodigious high. 'Tis well, I seek no more; but tell me how This took his friends? no private murmurs now? No tears? no solemn mourner seen? must all His glory perish in one funeral? O still true Romans! State-wit bids them praise The moon by night, but court the warmer rays O' th' sun by day; they follow fortune still, And hate or love discreetly, as their will And the time leads them. This tumultuous fate Puts all their painted favours out of date. And yet this people that now spurn, and tread This mighty favourite's once honour'd head, Had but the Tuscan goddess, or his stars Destin'd him for an empire, or had wars, Treason, or policy, or some higher pow'r Oppress'd secure Tiberius; that same hour That he receiv'd the sad Gemonian doom, Had crown'd him emp'ror of the world and Rome But Rome is now grown wise, and since that she Her suffrages, and ancient liberty Lost in a monarch's name, she takes no care For favourite or prince; nor will she share Their fickle glories, though in Cato's days She rul'd whole States and armies with her voice. Of all the honours now within her walls, She only dotes on plays and festivals. Nor is it strange; for when these meteors fall, They draw an ample ruin with them: all Share in the storm; each beam sets with the sun, And equal hazard friends and flatt'rers run. This makes, that circled with distractive fear The lifeless, pale Sejanus' limbs they tear, And lest the action might a witness need, They bring their servants to confirm the deed; Nor is it done for any other end, Than to avoid the title of his friend. So falls ambitious man, and such are still All floating States built on the people's will: Hearken all you! whom this bewitching lust Of an hour's glory, and a little dust Swells to such dear repentance! you that can Measure whole kingdoms with a thought or span! Would you be as Sejanus? would you have, So you might sway as he did, such a grave? Would you be rich as he? command, dispose, All acts and offices? all friends and foes? Be generals of armies and colleague Unto an emperor? break or make a league? No doubt you would; for both the good and bad An equal itch of honour ever had. But O! what state can be so great or good, As to be bought with so much shame and blood? Alas! Sejanus will too late confess 'Twas only pride and greatness made him less: For he that moveth with the lofty wind Of Fortune, and Ambition, unconfin'd In act or thought, doth but increase his height, That he may loose it with more force and weight; Scorning a base, low ruin, as if he Would of misfortune make a prodigy. Tell, mighty Pompey, Crassus, and O thou That mad'st Rome kneel to thy victorious brow, What but the weight of honours, and large fame After your worthy acts, and height of name, Destroy'd you in the end? The envious Fates, Easy to further your aspiring States, Us'd them to quell you too; pride, and excess. In ev'ry act did make you thrive the less. Few kings are guilty of grey hairs, or die Without a stab, a draught, or treachery. And yet to see him, that but yesterday Saw letters first, how he will scrape, and pray; And all her feast-time tire Minerva's ears For fame, for eloquence, and store of years To thrive and live in; and then lest he dotes, His boy assists him with his box and notes. Fool that thou art! not to discern the ill These vows include; what, did Rome's consul kill Her Cicero? what, him whose very dust Greece celebrates as yet; whose cause, though just, Scarce banishment could end; nor poison save His free-born person from a foreign grave? All this from eloquence! both head and hand The tongue doth forfeit; petty wits may stand Secure from danger, but the nobler vein With loss of blood the bar doth often stain.

} Carmen O fortunatam natam me Consule Romam. } Ciceronianum }

Had all been thus, thou might'st have scorn'd the sword Of fierce Antonius; here is not one word Doth pinch; I like such stuff, 'tis safer far Than thy Philippics, or Pharsalia's war. What sadder end than his, whom Athens saw At once her patriot, oracle, and law? Unhappy then is he, and curs'd in stars Whom his poor father, blind with soot and scars, Sends from the anvil's harmless chine, to wear The factious gown, and tire his client's ear And purse with endless noise. Trophies of war, Old rusty armour, with an honour'd scar, And wheels of captiv'd chariots, with a piece Of some torn British galley, and to these The ensign too, and last of all the train The pensive pris'ner loaden with his chain, Are thought true Roman honours; these the Greek And rude barbarians equally do seek. Thus air, and empty fame, are held a prize Beyond fair virtue; for all virtue dies Without reward; and yet by this fierce lust Of fame, and titles to outlive our dust, And monuments--though all these things must die And perish like ourselves--whole kingdoms lie Ruin'd and spoil'd: put Hannibal i' th' scale, What weight affords the mighty general? This is the man, whom Afric's spacious land Bounded by th' Indian Sea, and Nile's hot sand Could not contain--Ye gods! that give to men Such boundless appetites, why state you them So short a time? either the one deny, Or give their acts and them eternity. All Aethiopia, to the utmost bound Of Titan's course,--than which no land is found Less distant from the sun--with him that ploughs That fertile soil where fam'd[52] Iberus flows, Are not enough to conquer; pass'd now o'er The Pyrrhene hills, the Alps with all its store Of ice, and rocks clad in eternal snow, --As if that Nature meant to give the blow-- Denies him passage; straight on ev'ry side He wounds the hill, and by strong hand divides The monstrous pile; nought can ambition stay. The world and Nature yield to give him way. And now pass'd o'er the Alps, that mighty bar 'Twixt France and Rome, fear of the future war Strikes Italy; success and hope doth fire His lofty spirits with a fresh desire. All is undone as yet--saith he--unless Our Paenish forces we advance, and press Upon Rome's self; break down her gates and wall, And plant our colours in Suburra's vale. O the rare sight! if this great soldier we Arm'd on his Getick elephant might see! But what's the event? O glory, how the itch Of thy short wonders doth mankind bewitch! He that but now all Italy and Spain Had conquer'd o'er, is beaten out again; And in the heart of Afric, and the sight Of his own Carthage, forc'd to open flight. Banish'd from thence, a fugitive he posts To Syria first, then to Bithynia's coasts, Both places by his sword secur'd, though he In this distress must not acknowledg'd be; Where once a general he triumphed, now To show what Fortune can, he begs as low. And thus that soul which through all nations hurl'd Conquest and war, and did amaze the world, Of all those glories robb'd, at his last breath, Fortune would not vouchsafe a soldier's death. For all that blood the field of Cannae boasts, And sad Apulia fill'd with Roman ghosts, No other end--freed from the pile and sword-- Than a poor ring would Fortune him afford. Go now, ambitious man! new plots design, March o'er the snowy Alps and Apennine; That, after all, at best thou may'st but be A pleasing story to posterity! The Macedon one world could not contain, We hear him of the narrow earth complain, And sweat for room, as if Seriphus Isle Or Gyara had held him in exile; But Babylon this madness can allay, And give the great man but his length of clay. The highest thoughts and actions under heaven Death only with the lowest dust lays even. It is believed--if what Greece writes be true-- That Xerxes with his Persian fleet did hew Their ways through mountains, that their sails full blown Like clouds hung over Athos and did drown The spacious continent, and by plain force Betwixt the mount and it, made a divorce; That seas exhausted were, and made firm land, And Sestos joined unto Abydos strand; That on their march his Medes but passing by Drank thee, Scamander, and Melenus dry; With whatsoe'er incredible design Sostratus sings, inspir'd with pregnant wine. But what's the end? He that the other day Divided Hellespont, and forc'd his way Through all her angry billows, that assign'd New punishments unto the waves, and wind, No sooner saw the Salaminian seas But he was driven out by Themistocles, And of that fleet--supposed to be so great, That all mankind shar'd in the sad defeat-- Not one sail sav'd, in a poor fisher's boat, Chas'd o'er the working surge, was glad to float, Cutting his desp'rate course through the tir'd flood, And fought again with carcases, and blood. O foolish mad Ambition! these are still The famous dangers that attend thy will. Give store of days, good Jove, give length of years, Are the next vows; these with religious fears And constancy we pay; but what's so bad As a long, sinful age? what cross more sad Than misery of years? how great an ill Is that which doth but nurse more sorrow still? It blacks the face, corrupt and dulls the blood, Benights the quickest eye, distastes the food, And such deep furrows cuts i' th' checker'd skin As in th' old oaks of Tabraca are seen. Youth varies in most things; strength, beauty, wit, Are several graces; but where age doth hit It makes no difference; the same weak voice, And trembling ague in each member lies: A general hateful baldness, with a curs'd Perpetual pettishness; and, which is worst, A foul, strong flux of humours, and more pain To feed, than if he were to nurse again; So tedious to himself, his wife, and friends, That his own sons, and servants, wish his end. His taste and feeling dies; and of that fire The am'rous lover burns in, no desire: Or if there were, what pleasure could it be, Where lust doth reign without ability? Nor is this all: what matters it, where he Sits in the spacious stage? who can nor see, Nor hear what's acted, whom the stiller voice Of spirited, wanton airs, or the loud noise Of trumpets cannot pierce; whom thunder can But scarce inform who enters, or what man He personates, what 'tis they act, or say? How many scenes are done? what time of day? Besides that little blood his carcase holds Hath lost[53] its native warmth, and fraught with colds Catarrhs, and rheums, to thick black jelly turns, And never but in fits and fevers burns. Such vast infirmities, so huge a stock Of sickness and diseases to him flock, That Hyppia ne'er so many lovers knew, Nor wanton Maura; physic never slew So many patients, nor rich lawyers spoil More wards and widows; it were lesser toil To number out what manors and domains Licinius' razor purchas'd: one complains Of weakness in the back, another pants For lack of breath, the third his eyesight wants; Nay, some so feeble are, and full of pain, That infant-like they must be fed again. These faint too at their meals; their wine they spill, And like young birds, that wait the mother's bill, They gape for meat; but sadder far than this Their senseless ignorance and dotage is; For neither they, their friends, nor servants know, Nay, those themselves begot, and bred up too, No longer now they'll own; for madly they Proscribe them all, and what, on the last day, The misers cannot carry to the grave For their past sins, their prostitutes must have. But grant age lack'd these plagues: yet must they see As great, as many: frail mortality, In such a length of years, hath many falls, And deads a life with frequent funerals. The nimblest hour in all the span can steal A friend, or brother from's; there's no repeal In death, or time; this day a wife we mourn, To-morrow's tears a son; and the next urn A sister fills. Long-livers have assign'd These curses still, that with a restless mind, An age of fresh renewing cares they buy, And in a tide of tears grow old and die. Nestor,--if we great Homer may believe-- In his full strength three hundred years did live: Happy--thou'lt say--that for so long a time Enjoy'd free nature, with the grape and wine Of many autumns; but, I prithee thee, hear What Nestor says himself, when he his dear Antilochus had lost; how he complains Of life's too large extent, and copious pains? Of all he meets, he asks what is the cause He liv'd thus long; for what breach of their laws The gods thus punish'd him? what sin had he Done worthy of a long life's misery. Thus Peleus his Achilles mourned, and he Thus wept that his Ulysses lost at sea. Had Priam died before Phereclus' fleet Was built, or Paris stole the fatal Greek, Troy had yet stood, and he perhaps had gone In peace unto the lower shades; his son Sav'd with his plenteous offspring, and the rest In solemn pomp bearing his fun'ral chest. But long life hinder'd this: unhappy he, Kept for a public ruin, liv'd to see All Asia lost, and ere he could aspire, In his own house saw both the sword and fire; All white with age and cares, his feeble arm Had now forgot the war; but this alarm Gathers his dying spirits; and as we An aged ox worn out with labour see By his ungrateful master, after all His years of toil, a thankless victim fall: So he by Jove's own altar; which shows we Are nowhere safe from heaven, and destiny: Yet died a man; but his surviving queen, Freed from the Greekish sword, was barking seen. I haste to Rome, and Pontus' king let pass, With Lydian Cr[oe]sus, whom in vain--alas!-- Just Solon's grave advice bad to attend, That happiness came not before the end. What man more bless'd in any age to come Or past, could Nature show the world, or Rome, Than Marius was? if amidst the pomp of war, And triumphs fetch'd with Roman blood from far, His soul had fled; exile and fetters then He ne'er had seen, nor known Minturna's fen; Nor had it, after Carthage got, been said A Roman general had begg'd his bread. Thus Pompey th' envious gods, and Rome's ill stars --Freed from Campania's fevers, and the wars-- Doom'd to Achilles' sword: our public vows Made Caesar guiltless; but sent him to lose His head at Nile: this curse Cethegus miss'd: This Lentulus, and this made him resist That mangled by no lictor's axe, fell dead Entirely Catiline, and sav'd his head. The anxious matrons, with their foolish zeal, Are the last votaries, and their appeal Is all for beauty; with soft speech, and slow, They pray for sons, but with a louder vow Commend a female feature: all that can Make woman pleasing now they shift, and scan And when[54] reprov'd, they say, Latona's pair The mother never thinks can be too fair. But sad Lucretia warns to wish no face Like hers: Virginia would bequeath her grace To crook-back Rutila in exchange; for still The fairest children do their parents fill With greatest cares; so seldom chastity Is found with beauty; though some few there be That with a strict, religious care contend Th' old, modest, Sabine customs to defend: Besides, wise Nature to some faces grants An easy blush, and where she freely plants A less instruction serves: but both these join'd, At Rome would both be forc'd or else purloin'd. So steel'd a forehead Vice hath, that dares win, And bribe the father to the children's sin; But whom have gifts defiled not? what good face Did ever want these tempters? pleasing grace Betrays itself; what time did Nero mind A coarse, maim'd shape? what blemish'd youth confin'd His goatish pathic? whence then flow these joys Of a fair issue? whom these sad annoys Wait, and grow up with; whom perhaps thou'lt see Public adulterers, and must be Subject to all the curses, plagues, and awe Of jealous madmen, and the Julian law; Nor canst thou hope they'll find a milder star, Or more escapes than did the god of war. But worse than all, a jealous brain confines His fury to no law; what rage assigns Is present justice: thus the rash sword spills This lecher's blood; the scourge another kills. But thy spruce boy must touch no other face Than a patrician? is of any race So they be rich; Servilia is as good, With wealth, as she that boasts Iulus' blood. To please a servant all is cheap; what thing In all their stock to the last suit, and king, But lust exacts? the poorest whore in this As generous as the patrician is. But thou wilt say what hurt's a beauteous skin With a chaste soul? Ask Theseus' son, and him That Stenob[oe]a murder'd; for both these Can tell how fatal 'twas in them to please. A woman's spleen then carries most of fate, When shame and sorrow aggravate her hate. Resolve me now, had Silius been thy son, In such a hazard what should he have done? Of all Rome's youth, this was the only best, In whom alone beauty and worth did rest. This Messalina saw, and needs he must Be ruin'd by the emp'ror, or her lust. All in the face of Rome, and the world's eye Though Caesar's wife, a public bigamy She dares attempt; and that the act might bear More prodigy, the notaries appear, And augurs to't; and to complete the sin In solemn form, a dowry is brought in. All this--thou'lt say--in private might have pass'd But she'll not have it so; what course at last? What should he do? If Messaline be cross'd, Without redress thy Silius will be lost; If not, some two days' length is all he can Keep from the grave; just so much as will span This news to Hostia, to whose fate he owes That Claudius last his own dishonour knows. But he obeys, and for a few hours' lust Forfeits that glory should outlive his dust; Nor was it much a fault; for whether he Obey'd or not, 'twas equal destiny. So fatal beauty is, and full of waste. That neither wanton can be safe, nor chaste. What then should man pray for? what is't that he Can beg of Heaven, without impiety? Take my advice: first to the gods commit All cares; for they things competent and fit For us foresee; besides, man is more dear To them than to himself; we blindly here, Led by the world and lust, in vain assay To get us portions, wives and sons; but they Already know all that we can intend, And of our children's children see the end. Yet that thou may'st have something to commend With thanks unto the gods for what they send; Pray for a wise and knowing soul; a sad, Discreet, true valour, that will scorn to add A needless horror to thy death; that knows 'Tis but a debt which man to nature owes; That starts not at misfortunes, that can sway And keep all passions under lock and key; That covets nothing, wrongs none, and prefers An honest want, before rich injurers. All this thou hast within thyself, and may Be made thy own, if thou wilt take the way; What boots the world's wild, loose applause? what [can] Frail, perilous honours add unto a man? What length of years, wealth, or a rich fair wife? Virtue alone can make a happy life. To a wise man nought comes amiss: but we Fortune adore, and make our deity.

FOOTNOTES:

[52] The original has framed.

[53] The original has low.

[54] The original has why

OLOR ISCANUS.

1651.

----O quis me gelidis in vallibus Iscae Sistat, et ingenti ramorum protegat umbra!

AD POSTEROS.

Diminuat ne sera dies praesentis honorem Quis, qualisque fui, percipe Posteritas. Cambria me genuit, patulis ubi vallibus errans Subjacet aeriis montibus Isca pater. Inde sinu placido suscepit maximus arte Herbertus, Latiae gloria prima scholae. Bis ternos, illo me conducente, per annos Profeci, et geminam contulit unus opem; Ars et amor, mens atque manus certare solebant, Nec lassata illi mensue, manusue fuit. Hinc qualem cernis crevisse: sed ut mea certus Tempora cognoscas, dura mere, scias. Vixi, divisos cum fregerat haeresis Anglos Inter Tysiphonas presbyteri et populi. His primum miseris per am[oe]na furentibus arva Prostravit sanctam vilis avena rosam, Turbarunt fontes, et fusis pax perit undis, Moestaque coelestes obruit umbra dies. Duret ut integritas tamen, et pia gloria, partem Me nullam in tanta strage fuisse, scias; Credidimus nempe insonti vocem esse cruori, Et vires quae post funera flere docent. Hinc castae, fidaeque pati me more parentis Commonui, et lachrymis fata levare meis; Hinc nusquam horrendis violavi sacra procellis, Nec mihi mens unquam, nec manus atra fuit. Si pius es, ne plura petas; satur ille recedat Qui sapit et nos non scripsimus insipidis.

TO THE TRULY NOBLE AND MOST EXCELLENTLY ACCOMPLISHED, THE LORD KILDARE DIGBY.

My Lord,

It is a position anciently known, and modern experience hath allowed it for a sad truth, that absence and time,--like cold weather, and an unnatural dormition--will blast and wear out of memory the most endearing obligations; and hence it was that some politicians in love have looked upon the former of these two as a main remedy against the fondness of that passion. But for my own part, my Lord, I shall deny this aphorism of the people, and beg leave to assure your Lordship, that, though these reputed obstacles have lain long in my way, yet neither of them could work upon me: for I am now--without adulation--as warm and sensible of those numerous favours and kind influences received sometimes from your Lordship, as I really was at the instant of fruition. I have no plot by preambling thus to set any rate upon this present address, as if I should presume to value a return of this nature equal with your Lordship's deserts, but the design is to let you see that this habit I have got of being troublesome flows from two excusable principles, gratitude and love. These inward counsellors--I know not how discreetly--persuaded me to this attempt and intrusion upon your name, which if your Lordship will vouchsafe to own as the genius to these papers, you will perfect my hopes, and place me at my full height. This was the aim, my Lord, and is the end of this work, which though but a pazzarello to the voluminose insani, yet as jessamine and the violet find room in the bank as well as roses and lilies, so happily may this, and--if shined upon by your Lordship--please as much. To whose protection, sacred as your name and those eminent honours which have always attended upon it through so many generations, I humbly offer it, and remain in all numbers of gratitude,

My honoured Lord, Your most affectionate, humblest Servant, Vaughan. Newton by Usk this 17 of Decemb. 1647.

THE PUBLISHER TO THE READER.

It was the glorious Maro that referred his legacies to the fire, and though princes are seldom executors, yet there came a Caesar to his testament, as if the act of a poet could not be repealed but by a king. I am not, Reader, Augustus vindex: here is no royal rescue, but here is a Muse that deserves it. The Author had long ago condemned these poems to obscurity, and the consumption of that further fate which attends it. This censure gave them a gust of death, and they have partly known that oblivion which our best labours must come to at last. I present thee then not only with a book, but with a prey, and in this kind the first recoveries from corruption. Here is a flame hath been sometimes extinguished, thoughts that have been lost and forgot, but now they break out again like the Platonic reminiscency. I have not the Author's approbation to the fact, but I have law on my side, though never a sword. I hold it no man's prerogative to fire his own house. Thou seest how saucy I am grown, and it thou dost expect I should commend what is published, I must tell thee, I cry no Seville oranges. I will not say, Here is fine or cheap: that were an injury to the verse itself, and to the effects it can produce. Read on, and thou wilt find thy spirit engaged: not by the deserts of what we call tolerable, but by the commands of a pen that is above it.

UPON THE MOST INGENIOUS PAIR OF TWINS, EUGENIUS PHILALETHES, AND THE AUTHOR OF THESE POEMS.

What planet rul'd your birth? what witty star? That you so like in souls as bodies are! So like in both, that you seem born to free The starry art from vulgar calumny. My doubts are solv'd, from hence my faith begins, Not only your faces but your wits are twins.

When this bright Gemini shall from Earth ascend, They will new light to dull-ey'd mankind lend, Teach the star-gazers, and delight their eyes, Being fix'd a constellation in the skies.

T. Powell, Oxoniensis.

TO MY FRIEND THE AUTHOR UPON THESE HIS POEMS.

I call'd it once my sloth: in such an age So many volumes deep, I not a page? But I recant, and vow 'twas thrifty care That kept my pen from spending on slight ware, And breath'd it for a prize, whose pow'rful shine Doth both reward the striver, and refine. Such are thy poems, friend: for since th' hast writ, I can't reply to any name, but wit; And lest amidst the throng that make us groan, Mine prove a groundless heresy alone, Thus I dispute, Hath there not rev'rence been Paid to the beard at door, for Lord within? Who notes the spindle-leg or hollow eye Of the thin usher, the fair lady by? Thus I sin freely, neighbour to a hand Which, while I aim to strengthen, gives command For my protection; and thou art to me At once my subject and security.

I. Rowlandson, Oxoniensis.

UPON THE FOLLOWING POEMS.

I write not here, as if thy last in store Of learned friends; 'tis known that thou hast more; Who, were they told of this, would find a way To raise a guard of poets without pay, And bring as many hands to thy edition, As th' City should unto their May'r's petition. But thou wouldst none of this, lest it should be Thy muster rather than our courtesy; Thou wouldst not beg as knights do, and appear Poet by voice and suffrage of the shire; That were enough to make my Muse advance Amongst the crutches; nay, it might enhance Our charity, and we should think it fit The State should build an hospital for wit. But here needs no relief: thy richer verse Creates all poets, that can but rehearse, And they, like tenants better'd by their land, Should pay thee rent for what they understand. Thou art not of that lamentable nation Who make a blessed alms of approbation, Whose fardel-notes are briefs in ev'rything, But, that they are not Licens'd by the king. Without such scrape-requests thou dost come forth Arm'd--though I speak it--with thy proper worth, And needest not this noise of friends, for we Write out of love, not thy necessity. And though this sullen age possessed be With some strange desamour to poetry, Yet I suspect--thy fancy so delights-- The Puritans will turn thy proselytes, And that thy flame, when once abroad it shines, Will bring thee as many friends as thou hast lines.

Eugenius Philalethes, Oxoniensis.

OLOR ISCANUS.

TO THE RIVER ISCA.

When Daphne's lover here first wore the bays, Eurotas' secret streams heard all his lays, And holy Orpheus, Nature's busy child, By headlong Hebrus his deep hymns compil'd; Soft Petrarch--thaw'd by Laura's flames--did weep On Tiber's banks, when she--proud fair!--could sleep; Mosella boasts Ausonius, and the Thames Doth murmur Sidney's Stella to her streams; While Severn, swoln with joy and sorrow, wears Castara's smiles mix'd with fair Sabrin's tears. Thus poets--like the nymphs, their pleasing themes-- Haunted the bubbling springs and gliding streams; And happy banks! whence such fair flow'rs have sprung, But happier those where they have sat and sung! Poets--like angels--where they once appear Hallow the place, and each succeeding year Adds rev'rence to't, such as at length doth give This aged faith, that there their genii live. Hence th' ancients say, that from this sickly air They pass to regions more refin'd and fair, To meadows strew'd with lilies and the rose, And shades whose youthful green no old age knows; Where all in white they walk, discourse, and sing Like bees' soft murmurs, or a chiding spring. But Isca, whensoe'er those shades I see, And thy lov'd arbours must no more know me, When I am laid to rest hard by thy streams, And my sun sets, where first it sprang in beams, I'll leave behind me such a large, kind light, As shall redeem thee from oblivious night, And in these vows which--living yet--I pay, Shed such a previous and enduring ray, As shall from age to age thy fair name lead, 'Till rivers leave to run, and men to read. First, may all bards born after me --When I am ashes--sing of thee! May thy green banks or streams,--or none-- Be both their hill and Helicon! May vocal groves grow there, and all The shades in them prophetical, Where laid men shall more fair truths see Than fictions were of Thessaly! May thy gentle swains--like flow'rs-- Sweetly spend their youthful hours, And thy beauteous nymphs--like doves-- Be kind and faithful to their loves! Garlands, and songs, and roundelays, Mild, dewy nights, and sunshine days, The turtle's voice, joy without fear, Dwell on thy bosom all the year! May the evet and the toad Within thy banks have no abode, Nor the wily, winding snake Her voyage through thy waters make! In all thy journey to the main No nitrous clay, nor brimstone-vein Mix with thy streams, but may they pass Fresh on the air, and clear as glass, And where the wand'ring crystal treads Roses shall kiss, and couple heads! The factor-wind from far shall bring The odours of the scatter'd Spring, And loaden with the rich arrear, Spend it in spicy whispers there. No sullen heats, nor flames that are Offensive, and canicular, Shine on thy sands, nor pry to see Thy scaly, shading family, But noons as mild as Hesper's rays, Or the first blushes of fair days! What gifts more Heav'n or Earth can add, With all those blessings be thou clad! Honour, Beauty, Faith and Duty, Delight and Truth, With Love and Youth, Crown all about thee! and whatever Fate Impose elsewhere, whether the graver state Or some toy else, may those loud, anxious cares For dead and dying things--the common wares And shows of Time--ne'er break thy peace, nor make Thy repos'd arms to a new war awake! But freedom, safety, joy and bliss, United in one loving kiss, Surround thee quite, and style thy borders The land redeem'd from all disorders!

THE CHARNEL-HOUSE.

Bless me! what damps are here! how stiff an air! Kelder of mists, a second fiat's care, Front'spiece o' th' grave and darkness, a display Of ruin'd man, and the disease of day, Lean, bloodless shamble, where I can descry Fragments of men, rags of anatomy, Corruption's wardrobe, the transplantive bed Of mankind, and th' exchequer of the dead! How thou arrests my sense! how with the sight My winter'd blood grows stiff to all delight! Torpedo to the eye! whose least glance can Freeze our wild lusts, and rescue headlong man. Eloquent silence! able to immure An atheist's thoughts, and blast an epicure. Were I a Lucian, Nature in this dress Would make me wish a Saviour, and confess. Where are you, shoreless thoughts, vast tenter'd hope, Ambitious dreams, aims of an endless scope, Whose stretch'd excess runs on a string too high, And on the rack of self-extension die? Chameleons of state, air-monging band, Whose breath--like gunpowder--blows up a land, Come see your dissolution, and weigh What a loath'd nothing you shall be one day. As th' elements by circulation pass From one to th' other, and that which first was I so again, so 'tis with you; the grave And Nature but complot; what the one gave The other takes; think, then, that in this bed There sleep the relics of as proud a head, As stern and subtle as your own, that hath Perform'd, or forc'd as much, whose tempest-wrath Hath levell'd kings with slaves, and wisely then Calm these high furies, and descend to men. Thus Cyrus tam'd the Macedon; a tomb Check'd him, who thought the world too straight a room. Have I obey'd the powers of face, A beauty able to undo the race Of easy man? I look but here, and straight I am inform'd, the lovely counterfeit Was but a smoother clay. That famish'd slave Beggar'd by wealth, who starves that he may save, Brings hither but his sheet; nay, th' ostrich-man That feeds on steel and bullet, he that can Outswear his lordship, and reply as tough To a kind word, as if his tongue were buff, Is chap-fall'n here: worms without wit or fear Defy him now; Death hath disarm'd the bear. Thus could I run o'er all the piteous score Of erring men, and having done, meet more, Their shuffled wills, abortive, vain intents, Fantastic humours, perilous ascents, False, empty honours, traitorous delights, And whatsoe'er a blind conceit invites; But these and more which the weak vermins swell, Are couch'd in this accumulative cell, Which I could scatter; but the grudging sun Calls home his beams, and warns me to be gone; Day leaves me in a double night, and I Must bid farewell to my sad library. Yet with these notes--Henceforth with thought of thee I'll season all succeeding jollity, Yet damn not mirth, nor think too much is fit; Excess hath no religion, nor wit; But should wild blood swell to a lawless strain, One check from thee shall channel it again.

IN AMICUM F[OE]NERATOREM.

Thanks, mighty Silver! I rejoice to see How I have spoil'd his thrift, by spending thee. Now thou art gone, he courts my wants with more, His decoy gold, and bribes me to restore. As lesser lode-stones with the North consent, Naturally moving to their element, As bodies swarm to th' centre, and that fire Man stole from heaven, to heav'n doth still aspire, So this vast crying sum draws in a less; And hence this bag more Northward laid I guess, For 'tis of pole-star force, and in this sphere Though th' least of many, rules the master-bear. Prerogative of debts! how he doth dress His messages in chink! not an express Without a fee for reading; and 'tis fit, For gold's the best restorative of wit. Oh how he gilds them o'er! with what delight I read those lines, which angels do indite! But wilt have money, Og? must I dispurse Will nothing serve thee but a poet's curse? Wilt rob an altar thus? and sweep at once What Orpheus-like I forc'd from stocks and stones? 'Twill never swell thy bag, nor ring one peal In thy dark chest. Talk not of shreeves, or gaol; I fear them not. I have no land to glut Thy dirty appetite, and make thee strut Nimrod of acres; I'll no speech prepare To court the hopeful cormorant, thine heir. For there's a kingdom at thy beck if thou But kick this dross: Parnassus' flow'ry brow I'll give thee with my Tempe, and to boot That horse which struck a fountain with his foot. A bed of roses I'll provide for thee, And crystal springs shall drop thee melody. The breathing shades we'll haunt, where ev'ry leaf Shall whisper us asleep, though thou art deaf. Those waggish nymphs, too, which none ever yet Durst make love to, we'll teach the loving fit; We'll suck the coral of their lips, and feed Upon their spicy breath, a meal at need: Rove in their amber-tresses, and unfold That glist'ring grove, the curled wood of gold; Then peep for babies, a new puppet play, And riddle what their prattling eyes would say. But here thou must remember to dispurse, For without money all this is a curse. Thou must for more bags call, and so restore This iron age to gold, as once before. This thou must do, and yet this is not all, For thus the poet would be still in thrall, Thou must then--if live thus--my nest of honey Cancel old bonds, and beg to lend more money.

TO HIS FRIEND----

I wonder, James, through the whole history Of ages, such entails of poverty Are laid on poets; lawyers--they say--have found A trick to cut them; would they were but bound To practise on us, though for this thing we Should pay--if possible--their bribes and fee. Search--as thou canst--the old and modern store Of Rome and ours, in all the witty score Thou shalt not find a rich one; take each clime, And run o'er all the pilgrimage of time, Thou'lt meet them poor, and ev'rywhere descry A threadbare, goldless genealogy. Nature--it seems--when she meant us for earth Spent so much of her treasure in the birth As ever after niggards her, and she, Thus stor'd within, beggars us outwardly. Woful profusion! at how dear a rate Are we made up! all hope of thrift and state Lost for a verse. When I by thoughts look back Into the womb of time, and see the rack Stand useless there, until we are produc'd Unto the torture, and our souls infus'd To learn afflictions, I begin to doubt That as some tyrants use from their chain'd rout Of slaves to pick out one whom for their sport They keep afflicted by some ling'ring art; So we are merely thrown upon the stage The mirth of fools and legend of the age. When I see in the ruins of a suit Some nobler breast, and his tongue sadly mute Feed on the vocal silence of his eye, And knowing cannot reach the remedy; When souls of baser stamp shine in their store, And he of all the throng is only poor; When French apes for foreign fashions pay, And English legs are dress'd th' outlandish way, So fine too, that they their own shadows woo, While he walks in the sad and pilgrim shoe; I'm mad at Fate, and angry ev'n to sin, To see deserts and learning clad so thin; To think how th' earthly usurer can brood Upon his bags, and weigh the precious food With palsied hands, as if his soul did fear The scales could rob him of what he laid there. Like devils that on hid treasures sit, or those Whose jealous eyes trust not beyond their nose, They guard the dirt and the bright idol hold Close, and commit adultery with gold. A curse upon their dross! how have we sued For a few scatter'd chips? how oft pursu'd Petitions with a blush, in hope to squeeze For their souls' health, more than our wants, a piece? Their steel-ribb'd chests and purse--rust eat them both!-- Have cost us with much paper many an oath, And protestations of such solemn sense, As if our souls were sureties for the pence. Should we a full night's learned cares present, They'll scarce return us one short hour's content. 'Las! they're but quibbles, things we poets feign, The short-liv'd squibs and crackers of the brain. But we'll be wiser, knowing 'tis not they That must redeem the hardship of our way. Whether a Higher Power, or that star Which, nearest heav'n, is from the earth most far, Oppress us thus, or angell'd from that sphere By our strict guardians are kept luckless here, It matters not, we shall one day obtain Our native and celestial scope again.

TO HIS RETIRED FRIEND, AN INVITATION TO BRECKNOCK.

Since last we met, thou and thy horse--my dear-- Have not so much as drunk, or litter'd here; I wonder, though thyself be thus deceas'd, Thou hast the spite to coffin up thy beast; Or is the palfrey sick, and his rough hide With the penance of one spur mortified? Or taught by thee--like Pythagoras's ox-- Is then his master grown more orthodox Whatever 'tis, a sober cause't must be That thus long bars us of thy company. The town believes thee lost, and didst thou see But half her suff'rings, now distress'd for thee, Thou'ldst swear--like Rome--her foul, polluted walls Were sack'd by Brennus and the savage Gauls. Abominable face of things! here's noise Of banged mortars, blue aprons, and boys, Pigs, dogs, and drums, with the hoarse, hellish notes Of politicly-deaf usurers' throats, With new fine Worships, and the old cast team Of Justices vex'd with the cough and phlegm. 'Midst these the Cross looks sad, and in the Shire- Hall furs of an old Saxon fox appear, With brotherly ruffs and beards, and a strange sight Of high monumental hats, ta'en at the fight Of 'Eighty-eight; while ev'ry burgess foots The mortal pavement in eternal boots. Hadst thou been bach'lor, I had soon divin'd Thy close retirements, and monastic mind; Perhaps some nymph had been to visit, or The beauteous churl was to be waited for, And like the Greek, ere you the sport would miss, You stay'd, and strok'd the distaff for a kiss. But in this age, when thy cool, settled blood Is ti'd t'one flesh, and thou almost grown good, I know not how to reach the strange device, Except--Domitian-like--thou murder'st flies. Or is't thy piety? for who can tell But thou may'st prove devout, and love a cell, And--like a badger--with attentive looks In the dark hole sit rooting up of books. Quick hermit! what a peaceful change hadst thou, Without the noise of haircloth, whip, or vow! But there is no redemption? must there be No other penance but of liberty? Why, two months hence, if thou continue thus, Thy memory will scarce remain with us, The drawers have forgot thee, and exclaim They have not seen thee here since Charles, his reign, Or if they mention thee, like some old man, That at each word inserts--"Sir, as I can Remember"--so the cyph'rers puzzle me With a dark, cloudy character of thee. That--certs!--I fear thou wilt be lost, and we Must ask the fathers ere't be long for thee. Come! leave this sullen state, and let not wine And precious wit lie dead for want of thine. Shall the dull market-landlord with his rout Of sneaking tenants dirtily swill out This harmless liquor? shall they knock and beat For sack, only to talk of rye and wheat? O let not such prepost'rous tippling be In our metropolis; may I ne'er see Such tavern-sacrilege, nor lend a line To weep the rapes and tragedy of wine! Here lives that chymic, quick fire which betrays Fresh spirits to the blood, and warms our lays. I have reserv'd 'gainst thy approach a cup That were thy Muse stark dead, shall raise her up, And teach her yet more charming words and skill Than ever C[oe]lia, Chloris, Astrophil, Or any of the threadbare names inspir'd Poor rhyming lovers with a mistress fir'd. Come then! and while the slow icicle hangs At the stiff thatch, and Winter's frosty pangs Benumb the year, blithe--as of old--let us 'Midst noise and war of peace and mirth discuss. This portion thou wert born for: why should we Vex at the time's ridiculous misery? An age that thus hath fool'd itself, and will --Spite of thy teeth and mine--persist so still. Let's sit then at this fire, and while we steal A revel in the town, let others seal, Purchase or cheat, and who can, let them pay, Till those black deeds bring on the darksome day. Innocent spenders we! a better use Shall wear out our short lease, and leave th' obtuse Rout to their husks; they and their bags at best Have cares in earnest; we care for a jest.

MONSIEUR GOMBAULD.

I've read thy soul's fair nightpiece, and have seen Th' amours and courtship of the silent Queen, Her stoln descents to Earth, and what did move her To juggle first with Heav'n, then with a lover, With Latmos' louder rescue, and--alas!-- To find her out a hue and cry in brass; Thy journal of deep mysteries, and sad Nocturnal pilgrimage, with thy dreams clad In fancies darker than thy cave, thy glass Of sleepy draughts; and as thy soul did pass In her calm voyage what discourse she heard Of spirits, what dark groves and ill-shap'd guard Ismena led thee through, with thy proud flight O'er Periardes, and deep, musing night Near fair Eurotas' banks; what solemn green The neighbour shades wear, and what forms are seen In their large bowers, with that sad path and seat Which none but light-heel'd nymphs and fairies beat;[55] Their solitary life, and how exempt From common frailty, the severe contempt They have of man, their privilege to live A tree, or fountain, and in that reprieve What ages they consume, with the sad vale Of Diophania, and the mournful tale, Of th' bleeding vocal myrtle; these and more Thy richer thoughts, we are upon the score To thy rare fancy for, nor dost thou fall From thy first majesty, or ought at all Betray consumption; thy full vig'rous bays Wear the same green, and scorn the lean decays Of style, or matter. Just so have I known Some crystal spring, that from the neighbour down Deriv'd her birth, in gentle murmurs steal To their next vale, and proudly there reveal Her streams in louder accents, adding still More noise and waters to her channel, till At last swoln with increase she glides along The lawns and meadows in a wanton throng Of frothy billows, and in one great name Swallows the tributary brooks' drown'd fame. Nor are they mere inventions, for we In th' same piece find scatter'd philosophy And hidden, dispers'd truths that folded lie In the dark shades of deep allegory; So neatly weav'd, like arras, they descry Fables with truth, fancy with history. So that thou hast in this thy curious mould Cast that commended mixture wish'd of old, Which shall these contemplations render far Less mutable, and lasting as their star, And while there is a people or a sun, Endymion's story with the moon shall run.

FOOTNOTES:

[55] So Grosart, for the heat of the original.

AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF MR. R. W., SLAIN IN THE LATE UNFORTUNATE DIFFERENCES AT ROUTON HEATH, NEAR CHESTER, 1645.

I am confirmed, and so much wing is given To my wild thoughts, that they dare strike at heav'n. A full year's grief I struggled with, and stood Still on my sandy hopes' uncertain good, So loth was I to yield; to all those fears I still oppos'd thee, and denied my tears. But thou art gone! and the untimely loss Like that one day hath made all others cross. Have you seen on some river's flow'ry brow A well-built elm or stately cedar grow, Whose curled tops gilt with the morning-ray Beckon'd the sun, and whisper'd to the day, When unexpected from the angry North A fatal sullen whirlwind sallies forth, And with a full-mouth'd blast rends from the ground The shady twins, which rushing scatter round Their sighing leaves, whilst overborn with strength Their trembling heads bow to a prostrate length? So forc'd fell he; so immaturely Death Stifled his able heart and active breath. The world scarce knew him yet, his early soul Had but new-broke her day, and rather stole A sight than gave one; as if subtly she Would learn our stock, but hide his treasury. His years--should Time lay both his wings and glass Unto his charge--could not be summ'd--alas!-- To a full score; though in so short a span His riper thoughts had purchas'd more of man Than all those worthless livers, which yet quick Have quite outgone their own arithmetic. He seiz'd perfections, and without a dull And mossy grey possess'd a solid skull; No crooked knowledge neither, nor did he Wear the friend's name for ends and policy, And then lay't by; as those lost youths of th' stage Who only flourish'd for the Play's short age And then retir'd; like jewels, in each part He wore his friends, but chiefly at his heart. Nor was it only in this he did excel, His equal valour could as much, as well. He knew no fear but of his God; yet durst No injury, nor--as some have--e'er purs'd The sweat and tears of others, yet would be More forward in a royal gallantry Than all those vast pretenders, which of late Swell'd in the ruins of their king and State. He weav'd not self-ends and the public good Into one piece, nor with the people's blood Fill'd his own veins; in all the doubtful way Conscience and honour rul'd him. O that day When like the fathers in the fire and cloud I miss'd thy face! I might in ev'ry crowd See arms like thine, and men advance, but none So near to lightning mov'd, nor so fell on. Have you observ'd how soon the nimble eye Brings th' object to conceit, and doth so vie Performance with the soul, that you would swear The act and apprehension both lodg'd there; Just so mov'd he: like shot his active hand Drew blood, ere well the foe could understand. But here I lost him. Whether the last turn Of thy few sands call'd on thy hasty urn, Or some fierce rapid fate--hid from the eye-- Hath hurl'd thee pris'ner to some distant sky, I cannot tell, but that I do believe Thy courage such as scorn'd a base reprieve. Whatever 'twas, whether that day thy breath Suffer'd a civil or the common death, Which I do most suspect, and that I have Fail'd in the glories of so known a grave; Though thy lov'd ashes miss me, and mine eyes Had no acquaintance with thy exequies, Nor at the last farewell, torn from thy sight On the cold sheet have fix'd a sad delight, Yet whate'er pious hand--instead of mine-- Hath done this office to that dust of thine, And till thou rise again from thy low bed Lent a cheap pillow to thy quiet head, Though but a private turf, it can do more To keep thy name and memory in store Than all those lordly fools which lock their bones In the dumb piles of chested brass, and stones Th'art rich in thy own fame, and needest not These marble-frailties, nor the gilded blot Of posthume honours; there is not one sand Sleeps o'er thy grave, but can outbid that hand And pencil too, so that of force we must Confess their heaps show lesser than thy dust. And--blessed soul!--though this my sorrow can Add nought to thy perfections, yet as man Subject to envy, and the common fate, It may redeem thee to a fairer date. As some blind dial, when the day is done, Can tell us at midnight there was a sun, So these perhaps, though much beneath thy fame, May keep some weak remembrance of thy name, And to the faith of better times commend Thy loyal upright life, and gallant end.

Nomen et arma locum servant, te, amice, nequivi Conspicere------------

UPON A CLOAK LENT HIM BY MR. J. RIDSLEY.

Here, take again thy sackcloth! and thank heav'n Thy courtship hath not kill'd me; Is't not even Whether we die by piecemeal, or at once? Since both but ruin, why then for the nonce Didst husband my afflictions, and cast o'er Me this forc'd hurdle to inflame the score? Had I near London in this rug been seen Without doubt I had executed been For some bold Irish spy, and 'cross a sledge Had lain mess'd up for their four gates and bridge. When first I bore it, my oppressed feet Would needs persuade me 'twas some leaden sheet; Such deep impressions, and such dangerous holes Were made, that I began to doubt my soles, And ev'ry step--so near necessity-- Devoutly wish'd some honest cobbler by; Besides it was so short, the Jewish rag Seem'd circumcis'd, but had a Gentile shag. Hadst thou been with me on that day, when we Left craggy Biston, and the fatal Dee, When beaten with fresh storms and late mishap It shar'd the office of a cloak, and cap, To see how 'bout my clouded head it stood Like a thick turban, or some lawyer's hood, While the stiff, hollow pleats on ev'ry side Like conduit-pipes rain'd from the bearded hide: I know thou wouldst in spite of that day's fate Let loose thy mirth at my new shape and state, And with a shallow smile or two profess Some Saracen had lost the clouted dress. Didst ever see the good wife--as they say-- March in her short cloak on the christ'ning day, With what soft motions she salutes the church, And leaves the bedrid mother in the lurch; Just so jogg'd I, while my dull horse did trudge Like a circuit-beast, plagu'd with a gouty judge. But this was civil. I have since known more And worser pranks: one night--as heretofore Th' hast known--for want of change--a thing which I And Bias us'd before me--I did lie Pure Adamite, and simply for that end Resolv'd, and made this for my bosom-friend. O that thou hadst been there next morn, that I Might teach thee new Micro-cosmo-graphy! Thou wouldst have ta'en me, as I naked stood, For one of the seven pillars before the flood. Such characters and hieroglyphics were In one night worn, that thou mightst justly swear I'd slept in cere-cloth, or at Bedlam, where The madmen lodge in straw. I'll not forbear To tell thee all; his wild impress and tricks Like Speed's old Britons made me look, or Picts; His villanous, biting, wire-embraces Had seal'd in me more strange forms and faces Than children see in dreams, or thou hast read In arras, puppet-plays, and gingerbread, With angled schemes, and crosses that bred fear Of being handled by some conjurer; And nearer, thou wouldst think--such strokes were drawn-- I'd been some rough statue of Fetter-lane. Nay, I believe, had I that instant been By surgeons or apothecaries seen, They had condemned my raz'd skin to be Some walking herbal, or anatomy. But--thanks to th' day!--'tis off. I'd now advise Thee, friend, to put this piece to merchandise. The pedlars of our age have business yet, And gladly would against the Fair-day fit Themselves with such a roof, that can secure Their wares from dogs and cats rained in shower. It shall perform; or if this will not do 'Twill take the ale-wives sure; 'twill make them two Fine rooms of one, and spread upon a stick Is a partition, without lime or brick. Horn'd obstinacy! how my heart doth fret To think what mouths and elbows it would set In a wet day! have you for twopence ere Seen King Harry's chapel at Westminster, Where in their dusty gowns of brass and stone The judges lie, and mark'd you how each one, In sturdy marble-pleats about the knee, Bears up to show his legs and symmetry? Just so would this, that I think't weav'd upon Some stiffneck'd Brownist's exercising loom. O that thou hadst it when this juggling fate Of soldiery first seiz'd me! at what rate Would I have bought it then; what was there but I would have giv'n for the compendious hut? I do not doubt but--if the weight could please-- 'Twould guard me better than a Lapland-lease. Or a German shirt with enchanted lint Stuff'd through, and th' devil's beard and face weav'd in't. But I have done. And think not, friend, that I This freedom took to jeer thy courtesy. I thank thee for't, and I believe my Muse So known to thee, thou'lt not suspect abuse. She did this, 'cause--perhaps--thy love paid thus Might with my thanks outlive thy cloak, and us.

UPON MR. FLETCHER'S PLAYS, PUBLISHED 1647.

I knew thee not, nor durst attendance strive, Label to wit, verser remonstrative, And in some suburb-page--scandal to thine-- Like Lent before a Christmas scatter mine. This speaks thee not, since at the utmost rate Such remnants from thy piece entreat their date; Nor can I dub the copy, or afford Titles to swell the rear of verse with lord; Nor politicly big, to inch low fame, Stretch in the glories of a stranger's name, And clip those bays I court; weak striver I, But a faint echo unto poetry. I have not clothes t'adopt me, nor must sit For plush and velvet's sake, esquire of wit. Yet modesty these crosses would improve, And rags near thee, some reverence may move. I did believe--great Beaumont being dead-- Thy widow'd Muse slept on his flow'ry bed; But I am richly cozen'd, and can see Wit transmigrates: his spirit stay'd with thee; Which, doubly advantag'd by thy single pen, In life and death now treads the stage again. And thus are we freed from that dearth of wit Which starv'd the land, since into schisms split, Wherein th' hast done so much, we must needs guess Wit's last edition is now i' th' press. For thou hast drain'd invention, and he That writes hereafter, doth but pillage thee. But thou hast plots; and will not the Kirk strain At the designs of such a tragic brain? Will they themselves think safe, when they shall see Thy most abominable policy? Will not the Ears assemble, and think't fit Their Synod fast and pray against thy wit? But they'll not tire in such an idle quest; Thou dost but kill, and circumvent in jest; And when thy anger'd Muse swells to a blow 'Tis but for Field's, or Swansted's overthrow. Yet shall these conquests of thy bays outlive Their Scottish zeal, and compacts made to grieve The peace of spirits: and when such deeds fail Of their foul ends, a fair name is thy bail. But--happy thou!--ne'er saw'st these storms, our air Teem'd with even in thy time, though seeming fair. Thy gentle soul, meant for the shade and ease, Withdrew betimes into the Land of Peace. So nested in some hospitable shore The hermit-angler, when the mid-seas roar, Packs up his lines, and--ere the tempest raves-- Retires, and leaves his station to the waves. Thus thou died'st almost with our peace, and we This breathing time thy last fair issue see, Which I think such--if needless ink not soil So choice a Muse--others are but thy foil. This, or that age may write, but never see A wit that dares run parallel with thee. True, Ben must live! but bate him, and thou hast Undone all future wits, and match'd the past.

UPON THE POEMS AND PLAYS OF THE EVER-MEMORABLE MR. WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT.

I did but see thee! and how vain it is To vex thee for it with remonstrances, Though things in fashion; let those judge, who sit Their twelve pence out, to clap their hands at wit I fear to sin thus near thee; for--great saint!-- 'Tis known true beauty hath no need of paint. Yet, since a label fix'd to thy fair hearse Is all the mode, and tears put into verse Can teach posterity our present grief And their own loss, but never give relief; I'll tell them--and a truth which needs no pass-- That wit in Cartwright at her zenith was. Arts, fancy, language, all conven'd in thee, With those grand miracles which deify The old world's writings, kept yet from the fire Because they force these worst times to admire. Thy matchless genius, in all thou didst write, Like the sun, wrought with such staid heat and light, That not a line--to the most critic he-- Offends with flashes, or obscurity. When thou the wild of humours track'st, thy pen So imitates that motley stock in men, As if thou hadst in all their bosoms been, And seen those leopards that lurk within. The am'rous youth steals from thy courtly page His vow'd address, the soldier his brave rage; And those soft beauteous readers whose looks can Make some men poets, and make any man A lover, when thy slave but seems to die, Turn all his mourners, and melt at the eye. Thus thou thy thoughts hast dress'd in such a strain As doth not only speak, but rule and reign; Nor are those bodies they assum'd dark clouds, Or a thick bark, but clear, transparent shrouds, Which who looks on, the rays so strongly beat They'll brush and warm him with a quick'ning heat; So souls shine at the eyes, and pearls display Through the loose crystal-streams a glance of day. But what's all this unto a royal test? Thou art the man whom great Charles so express'd! Then let the crowd refrain their needless hum, When thunder speaks, then squibs and winds are dumb.

TO THE BEST AND MOST ACCOMPLISHED COUPLE----

Blessings as rich and fragrant crown your heads As the mild heav'n on roses sheds, When at their cheeks--like pearls--they wear The clouds that court them in a tear! And may they be fed from above By Him which first ordain'd your love!

Fresh as the hours may all your pleasures be, And healthful as eternity! Sweet as the flowers' first breath, and close As th' unseen spreadings of the rose, When he unfolds his curtain'd head, And makes his bosom the sun's bed!

Soft as yourselves run your whole lives, and clear As your own glass, or what shines there! Smooth as heav'n's face, and bright as he When without mask or tiffany! In all your time not one jar meet But peace as silent as his feet!

Like the day's warmth may all your comforts be, Untoil'd for, and serene as he, Yet free and full as is that sheaf Of sunbeams gilding ev'ry leaf, When now the tyrant-heat expires And his cool'd locks breathe milder fires!

And as those parcell'd glories he doth shed Are the fair issues of his head, Which, ne'er so distant, are soon known By th' heat and lustre for his own; So may each branch of yours we see Your copies and our wonders be!

And when no more on earth you must remain, Invited hence to heav'n again, Then may your virtuous, virgin-flames Shine in those heirs of your fair names, And teach the world that mystery, Yourselves in your posterity!

So you to both worlds shall rich presents bring, And, gather'd up to heav'n, leave here a spring.

AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF MR. R. HALL, SLAIN AT PONTEFRACT, 1648.

I knew it would be thus! and my just fears Of thy great spirit are improv'd to tears. Yet flow these not from any base distrust Of a fair name, or that thy honour must Confin'd to those cold relics sadly sit In the same cell an obscure anchorite. Such low distempers murder; they that must Abuse thee so, weep not, but wound thy dust. But I past such dim mourners can descry Thy fame above all clouds of obloquy, And like the sun with his victorious rays Charge through that darkness to the last of days. 'Tis true, fair manhood hath a female eye, And tears are beauteous in a victory, Nor are we so high-proof, but grief will find Through all our guards a way to wound the mind; But in thy fall what adds the brackish sum More than a blot unto thy martyrdom? Which scorns such wretched suffrages, and stands More by thy single worth than our whole bands. Yet could the puling tribute rescue ought In this sad loss, or wert thou to be brought Back here by tears, I would in any wise Pay down the sum, or quite consume my eyes. Thou fell'st our double ruin; and this rent Forc'd in thy life shak'd both the Church and tent. Learning in others steals them from the van, And basely wise emasculates the man, But lodg'd in thy brave soul the bookish feat Serv'd only as the light unto thy heat. Thus when some quitted action, to their shame, And only got a discreet coward's name, Thou with thy blood mad'st purchase of renown, And died'st the glory of the sword and gown. Thy blood hath hallow'd Pomfret, and this blow --Profan'd before--hath church'd the Castle now. Nor is't a common valour we deplore, But such as with fifteen a hundred bore, And lightning-like--not coop'd within a wall-- In storms of fire and steel fell on them all. Thou wert no woolsack soldier, nor of those Whose courage lies in winking at their foes, That live at loopholes, and consume their breath On match or pipes, and sometimes peep at death; No, it were sin to number these with thee, But that--thus pois'd--our loss we better see. The fair and open valour was thy shield, And thy known station, the defying field. Yet these in thee I would not virtues call, But that this age must know that thou hadst all. Those richer graces that adorn'd thy mind Like stars of the first magnitude, so shin'd, That if oppos'd unto these lesser lights All we can say is this, they were fair nights. Thy piety and learning did unite, And though with sev'ral beams made up one light, And such thy judgment was, that I dare swear Whole councils might as soon and synods err. But all these now are out! and as some star Hurl'd in diurnal motions from far, And seen to droop at night, is vainly said To fall and find an occidental bed, Though in that other world what we judge West Proves elevation, and a new, fresh East; So though our weaker sense denies us sight, And bodies cannot trace the spirit's flight, We know those graces to be still in thee, But wing'd above us to eternity. Since then--thus flown--thou art so much refin'd That we can only reach thee with the mind, I will not in this dark and narrow glass Let thy scant shadow for perfections pass, But leave thee to be read more high, more quaint, In thy own blood a soldier and a saint.

----Salve aeternum mihi maxime Palla! Aeternumque vale!----

TO MY LEARNED FRIEND, MR. T. POWELL, UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF MALVEZZI'S CHRISTIAN POLITICIAN.

We thank you, worthy Sir, that now we see MALVEZZI languag'd like our infancy, And can without suspicion entertain This foreign statesman to our breast or brain; You have enlarg'd his praise, and from your store By this edition made his worth the more. Thus by your learned hand--amidst the coil-- Outlandish plants thrive in our thankless soil, And wise men after death, by a strange fate, Lie leiger here, and beg to serve our State. Italy now, though mistress of the bays, Waits on this wreath, proud of a foreign praise; For, wise Malvezzi, thou didst lie before Confin'd within the language of one shore, And like those stars which near the poles do steer Were't but in one part of the globe seen clear. Provence and Naples were the best and most Thou couldst shine in; fix'd to that single coast, Perhaps some cardinal, to be thought wise, And honest too, would ask, what was thy price? Then thou must pack to Rome, where thou mightst lie Ere thou shouldst have new clothes eternally, For though so near the sev'n hills, ne'ertheless Thou cam'st to Antwerp for thy Roman dress. But now thou art come hither, thou mayst run Through any clime as well known as the sun, And in thy sev'ral dresses, like the year, Challenge acquaintance with each peopled sphere. Come then, rare politicians of the time, Brains of some standing, elders in our clime, See here the method. A wise, solid State Is quick in acting, friendly in debate, Joint in advice, in resolutions just, Mild in success, true to the common trust. It cements ruptures, and by gentle hand Allays the heat and burnings of a land; Religion guides it, and in all the tract Designs so twist, that Heav'n confirms the act. If from these lists you wander as you steer, Look back, and catechize your actions here. These are the marks to which true statesmen tend, And greatness here with goodness hath one end.

TO MY WORTHY FRIEND, MASTER T. LEWES.

Sees not my friend, what a deep snow Candies our country's woody brow? The yielding branch his load scarce bears, Oppress'd with snow and frozen tears; While the dumb rivers slowly float, All bound up in an icy coat. Let us meet then! and while this world In wild eccentrics now is hurl'd, Keep we, like nature, the same key, And walk in our forefathers' way. Why any more cast we an eye On what may come, not what is nigh? Why vex ourselves with fear, or hope And cares beyond our horoscope? Who into future times would peer, Looks oft beyond his term set here, And cannot go into those grounds But through a churchyard, which them bounds. Sorrows and sighs and searches spend And draw our bottom to an end, But discreet joys lengthen the lease, Without which life were a disease; And who this age a mourner goes, Doth with his tears but feed his foes

TO THE MOST EXCELLENTLY ACCOMPLISHED MRS. K. PHILIPS.

Say, witty fair one, from what sphere Flow these rich numbers you shed here? For sure such incantations come From thence, which strike your readers dumb. A strain, whose measures gently meet Like virgin-lovers or Time's feet; Where language smiles, and accents rise As quick and pleasing as your eyes; The poem smooth, and in each line Soft as yourself, yet masculine; Where not coarse trifles blot the page With matter borrow'd from the age, But thoughts as innocent and high As angels have, or saints that die. These raptures when I first did see New miracles in poetry, And by a hand their good would miss His bays and fountains but to kiss, My weaker genius--cross to fashion-- Slept in a silent admiration: A rescue, by whose grave disguise Pretenders oft have pass'd for wise. And yet as pilgrims humbly touch Those shrines to which they bow so much, And clouds in courtship flock, and run To be the mask unto the sun, So I concluded it was true I might at distance worship you, A Persian votary, and say It was your light show'd me the way. So loadstones guide the duller steel, And high perfections are the wheel Which moves the less, for gifts divine Are strung upon a vital line, Which, touch'd by you, excites in all Affections epidemical. And this made me--a truth most fit-- Add my weak echo to your wit; Which pardon, Lady, for assays Obscure as these might blast your bays; As common hands soil flow'rs, and make That dew they wear weep the mistake. But I'll wash off the stain, and vow No laurel grows but for your brow.

AN EPITAPH UPON THE LADY ELIZABETH, SECOND DAUGHTER TO HIS LATE MAJESTY.

Youth, beauty, virtue, innocence, Heav'n's royal and select expense, With virgin-tears and sighs divine Sit here the genii of this shrine; Where now--thy fair soul wing'd away-- They guard the casket where she lay. Thou hadst, ere thou the light couldst see, Sorrows laid up and stor'd for thee; Thou suck'dst in woes, and the breasts lent Their milk to thee but to lament; Thy portion here was grief, thy years Distill'd no other rain but tears, Tears without noise, but--understood-- As loud and shrill as any blood. Thou seem'st a rosebud born in snow, A flower of purpose sprung to bow To headless tempests, and the rage Of an incensed, stormy age. Others, ere their afflictions grow, Are tim'd and season'd for the blow, But thine, as rheums the tend'rest part, Fell on a young and harmless heart. And yet, as balm-trees gently spend Their tears for those that do them rend, So mild and pious thou wert seen, Though full of suff'rings; free from spleen, Thou didst not murmur, nor revile, But drank'st thy wormwood with a smile. As envious eyes blast and infect, And cause misfortunes by aspect, So thy sad stars dispens'd to thee No influx but calamity; They view'd thee with eclipsed rays, And but the back side of bright days.

A Rhapsodis (part 2)

* * * * *

These were the comforts she had here, As by an unseen Hand 'tis clear, Which now she reads, and, smiling, wears A crown with Him who wipes off tears.

TO SIR WILLIAM D'AVENANT UPON HIS GONDIBERT.

Well, we are rescued! and by thy rare pen Poets shall live, when princes die like men. Th' hast clear'd the prospect to our harmless hill, Of late years clouded with imputed ill, And the soft, youthful couples there may move, As chaste as stars converse and smile above. Th' hast taught their language and their love to flow Calm as rose-leaves, and cool as virgin-snow, Which doubly feasts us, being so refin'd, They both delight and dignify the mind; Like to the wat'ry music of some spring, Whose pleasant flowings at once wash and sing. And where before heroic poems were Made up of spirits, prodigies, and fear, And show'd--through all the melancholy flight-- Like some dark region overcast with night, As if the poet had been quite dismay'd, While only giants and enchantments sway'd; Thou like the sun, whose eye brooks no disguise, Hast chas'd them hence, and with discoveries So rare and learned fill'd the place, that we Those fam'd grandezas find outdone by thee, And underfoot see all those vizards hurl'd Which bred the wonder of the former world. 'Twas dull to sit, as our forefathers did, At crumbs and voiders, and because unbid, Refrain wise appetite. This made thy fire Break through the ashes of thy aged sire, To lend the world such a convincing light As shows his fancy darker than his sight. Nor was't alone the bars and length of days --Though those gave strength and stature to his bays-- Encounter'd thee, but what's an old complaint And kills the fancy, a forlorn restraint. How couldst thou, mur'd in solitary stones, Dress Birtha's smiles, though well thou mightst her groans? And, strangely eloquent, thyself divide 'Twixt sad misfortunes and a bloomy bride? Through all the tenour of thy ample song, Spun from thy own rich store, and shar'd among Those fair adventurers, we plainly see Th' imputed gifts inherent are in thee. Then live for ever--and by high desert-- In thy own mirror, matchless Gondibert, And in bright Birtha leave thy love enshrin'd Fresh as her em'rald, and fair as her mind, While all confess thee--as they ought to do-- The prince of poets, and of lovers too.

[OVID,] TRISTIUM, LIB. V. ELEG. III.

TO HIS FELLOW-POETS AT ROME, UPON THE BIRTHDAY OF BACCHUS.

This is the day--blithe god of sack--which we, If I mistake not, consecrate to thee, When the soft rose we marry to the bays, And, warm'd with thy own wine, rehearse thy praise; 'Mongst whom--while to thy poet fate gave way-- I have been held no small part of the day. But now, dull'd with the cold Bear's frozen seat, Sarmatia holds me, and the warlike Gete. My former life, unlike to this my last, With Rome's best wits of thy full cup did taste, Who since have seen the savage Pontic band, And all the choler of the sea and land. Whether sad chance or Heav'n hath this design'd, And at my birth some fatal planet shin'd, Of right thou shouldst the sisters' knots undo, And free thy votary and poet too; Or are you gods--like us--in such a state As cannot alter the decrees of fate? I know with much ado thou didst obtain Thy jovial godhead, and on earth thy pain Was no whit less, for, wand'ring, thou didst run To the Getes too, and snow-weeping Strymon, With Persia, Ganges, and whatever streams The thirsty Moor drinks in the mid-day beams. But thou wert twice-born, and the Fates to thee --To make all sure--doubled thy misery. My sufferings too are many--if it be Held safe for me to boast adversity-- Nor was't a common blow, but from above, Like his that died for imitating Jove; Which, when thou heardst, a ruin so divine And mother-like should make thee pity mine, And on this day, which poets unto thee Crown with full bowls, ask what's become of me? Help, buxom god, then! so may thy lov'd vine Swarm with the num'rous grape, and big with wine Load the kind elm, and so thy orgies be With priests' loud shouts and satyrs' kept to thee! So may in death Lycurgus ne'er be blest, Nor Pentheus' wand'ring ghost find any rest! And so for ever bright--thy chief desires-- May thy wife's crown outshine the lesser fires! If but now, mindful of my love to thee, Thou wilt, in what thou canst, my helper be. You gods have commerce with yourselves; try then If Caesar will restore me Rome again. And you, my trusty friends--the jolly crew Of careless poets! when, without me, you Perform this day's glad myst'ries, let it be Your first appeal unto his deity, And let one of you--touch'd with my sad name-- Mixing his wine with tears, lay down the same, And--sighing--to the rest this thought commend, O! where is Ovid now, our banish'd friend? This do, if in your breasts I e'er deserv'd So large a share, nor spitefully reserv'd, Nor basely sold applause, or with a brow Condemning others, did myself allow. And may your happier wits grow loud with fame As you--my best of friends!--preserve my name.

[OVID, EPISTOLARUM] DE PONTO, LIB. III. [EPIST. VII.].

TO HIS FRIENDS--AFTER HIS MANY SOLICITATIONS--REFUSING TO PETITION CAESAR FOR HIS RELEASEMENT.

You have consum'd my language, and my pen, Incens'd with begging, scorns to write again. You grant, you knew my suit: my Muse and I Had taught it you in frequent elegy. That I believe--yet seal'd--you have divin'd Our repetitions, and forestall'd my mind, So that my thronging elegies and I Have made you--more than poets--prophesy. But I am now awak'd; forgive my dream Which made me cross the proverb and the stream, And pardon, friends, that I so long have had Such good thoughts of you; I am not so mad As to continue them. You shall no more Complain of troublesome verse, or write o'er How I endanger you, and vex my wife With the sad legends of a banish'd life. I'll bear these plagues myself: for I have pass'd Through greater ones, and can as well at last These petty crosses. 'Tis for some young beast To kick his bands, or wish his neck releas'd From the sad yoke. Know then, that as for me Whom Fate hath us'd to such calamity, I scorn her spite and yours, and freely dare The highest ills your malice can prepare. 'Twas Fortune threw me hither, where I now Rude Getes and Thrace see, with the snowy brow Of cloudy Aemus, and if she decree Her sportive pilgrim's last bed here must be, I am content; nay, more, she cannot do That act which I would not consent unto. I can delight in vain hopes, and desire That state more than her change and smiles; then high'r I hug a strong despair, and think it brave To baffle faith, and give those hopes a grave. Have you not seen cur'd wounds enlarg'd, and he That with the first wave sinks, yielding to th' free Waters, without th' expense of arms or breath, Hath still the easiest and the quickest death. Why nurse I sorrows then? why these desires Of changing Scythia for the sun and fires Of some calm kinder air? what did bewitch My frantic hopes to fly so vain a pitch, And thus outrun myself? Madman! could I Suspect fate had for me a courtesy? These errors grieve: and now I must forget Those pleas'd ideas I did frame and set Unto myself, with many fancied springs And groves, whose only loss new sorrow brings. And yet I would the worst of fate endure, Ere you should be repuls'd, or less secure. But--base, low souls!--you left me not for this, But 'cause you durst not. Caesar could not miss Of such a trifle, for I know that he Scorns the cheap triumphs of my misery. Then since--degen'rate friends--not he, but you Cancel my hopes, and make afflictions new, You shall confess, and fame shall tell you, I At Ister dare as well as Tiber die.

[OVID, EPISTOLARUM] DE PONTO, LIB. IV. EPIST. III.

TO HIS INCONSTANT FRIEND, TRANSLATED FOR THE USE OF ALL THE JUDASES OF THIS TOUCHSTONE-AGE.

Shall I complain, or not? or shall I mask Thy hateful name, and in this bitter task Master my just impatience, and write down Thy crime alone, and leave the rest unknown? Or wilt thou the succeeding years should see And teach thy person to posterity? No, hope it not; for know, most wretched man, 'Tis not thy base and weak detraction can Buy thee a poem, nor move me to give Thy name the honour in my verse to live. Whilst yet my ship did with no storms dispute, And temp'rate winds fed with a calm salute My prosp'rous sails, thou wert the only man That with me then an equal fortune ran; But now since angry heav'n with clouds and night Stifled those sunbeams, thou hast ta'en thy flight; Thou know'st I want thee, and art merely gone To shun that rescue I reli'd upon; Nay, thou dissemblest too, and dost disclaim Not only my acquaintance, but my name. Yet know--though deaf to this--that I am he Whose years and love had the same infancy With thine, thy deep familiar that did share Souls with thee, and partake thy joys or care; Whom the same roof lodg'd, and my Muse those nights So solemnly endear'd to her delights. But now, perfidious traitor, I am grown The abject of thy breast, not to be known In that false closet more; nay, thou wilt not So much as let me know I am forgot. If thou wilt say thou didst not love me, then Thou didst dissemble: or if love again, Why now inconstant? Came the crime from me That wrought this change? Sure, if no justice be Of my side, thine must have it. Why dost hide Thy reasons then? For me, I did so guide Myself and actions, that I cannot see What could offend thee, but my misery. 'Las! if thou wouldst not from thy store allow Some rescue to my wants, at least I know Thou couldst have writ, and with a line or two Reliev'd my famish'd eye, and eas'd me so. I know not what to think! and yet I hear, Not pleas'd with this, th'art witty, and dost jeer. Bad man! thou hast in this those tears kept back I could have shed for thee, shouldst thou but lack. Know'st not that Fortune on a globe doth stand, Whose upper slipp'ry part without command Turns lowest still? the sportive leaves and wind Are but dull emblems of her fickle mind. In the whole world there's nothing I can see Will throughly parallel her ways but thee. All that we hold hangs on a slender twine, And our best states by sudden chance decline. Who hath not heard of Cr[oe]sus' proverb'd gold, Yet knows his foe did him a pris'ner hold? He that once aw'd Sicilia's proud extent By a poor art could famine scarce prevent; And mighty Pompey, ere he made an end, Was glad to beg his slave to be his friend. Nay, he that had so oft Rome's consul been, And forc'd Jugurtha and the Cimbrians in, Great Marius! with much want and more disgrace, In a foul marsh was glad to hide his face. A Divine hand sways all mankind, and we Of one short hour have not the certainty. Hadst thou one day told me the time should be When the Getes' bows, and th' Euxine I should see, I should have check'd thy madness, and have thought Th' hadst need of all Anticyra in a draught. And yet 'tis come to pass! nor, though I might Some things foresee, could I procure a sight Of my whole destiny, and free my state From those eternal, higher ties of fate. Leave then thy pride, and though now brave and high, Think thou mayst be as poor and low as I.

[OVID,] TRISTIUM, LIB. III. ELEG. III.

TO HIS WIFE AT ROME, WHEN HE WAS SICK.

Dearest! if you those fair eyes--wond'ring--stick On this strange character, know I am sick; Sick in the skirts of the lost world, where I Breathe hopeless of all comforts, but to die. What heart--think'st thou?--have I in this sad seat, Tormented 'twixt the Sauromate and Gete? Nor air nor water please: their very sky Looks strange and unaccustom'd to my eye; I scarce dare breathe it, and, I know not how, The earth that bears me shows unpleasant now. Nor diet here's, nor lodging for my ease, Nor any one that studies a disease; No friend to comfort me, none to defray With smooth discourse the charges of the day. All tir'd alone I lie, and--thus--whate'er Is absent, and at Rome, I fancy here. But when thou com'st, I blot the airy scroll, And give thee full possession of my soul. Thee--absent--I embrace, thee only voice. And night and day belie a husband's joys. Nay, of thy name so oft I mention make That I am thought distracted for thy sake. When my tir'd spirits fail, and my sick heart Draws in that fire which actuates each part, If any say, th'art come! I force my pain, And hope to see thee gives me life again. Thus I for thee, whilst thou--perhaps--more blest, Careless of me dost breathe all peace and rest, Which yet I think not, for--dear soul!--too well Know I thy grief, since my first woes befell. But if strict Heav'n my stock of days hath spun, And with my life my error will be gone, How easy then--O Caesar!--were't for thee To pardon one, that now doth cease to be? That I might yield my native air this breath, And banish not my ashes after death. Would thou hadst either spar'd me until dead, Or with my blood redeem'd my absent head! Thou shouldst have had both freely, but O! thou Wouldst have me live to die an exile now. And must I then from Rome so far meet death, And double by the place my loss of breath? Nor in my last of hours on my own bed --In the sad conflict--rest my dying head? Nor my soul's whispers--the last pledge of life,-- Mix with the tears and kisses of a wife? My last words none must treasure, none will rise And--with a tear--seal up my vanquish'd eyes; Without these rites I die, distress'd in all The splendid sorrows of a funeral; Unpitied, and unmourn'd for, my sad head In a strange land goes friendless to the dead. When thou hear'st this, O! how thy faithful soul Will sink, whilst grief doth ev'ry part control! How often wilt thou look this way, and cry, O! where is't yonder that my love doth lie? Yet spare these tears, and mourn not thou for me, Long since--dear heart!--have I been dead to thee. Think then I died, when thee and Rome I lost, That death to me more grief than this hath cost. Now, if thou canst--but thou canst not--best wife, Rejoice, my cares are ended with my life. At least, yield not to sorrows, frequent use Should make these miseries to thee no news. And here I wish my soul died with my breath, And that no part of me were free from death; For, if it be immortal, and outlives The body, as Pythagoras believes, Betwixt these Sarmates' ghosts, a Roman I Shall wander, vex'd to all eternity. But thou--for after death I shall be free-- Fetch home these bones, and what is left of me; A few flow'rs give them, with some balm, and lay Them in some suburb grave, hard by the way; And to inform posterity, who's there, This sad inscription let my marble wear; "Here lies the soft-soul'd lecturer of love, Whose envi'd wit did his own ruin prove. But thou,--whoe'er thou be'st, that, passing by, Lend'st to this sudden stone a hasty eye, If e'er thou knew'st of love the sweet disease, Grudge not to say, May Ovid rest in peace!" This for my tomb: but in my books they'll see More strong and lasting monuments of me, Which I believe--though fatal--will afford An endless name unto their ruin'd lord. And now thus gone, it rests, for love of me, Thou show'st some sorrow to my memory; Thy funeral off'rings to my ashes bear, With wreaths of cypress bath'd in many a tear. Though nothing there but dust of me remain, Yet shall that dust perceive thy pious pain. But I have done, and my tir'd, sickly head, Though I would fain write more, desires the bed; Take then this word--perhaps my last--to tell, Which though I want, I wish it thee, farewell!

AUSONII. IDYLL VI.

CUPIDO [CRUCI AFFIXUS].

In those bless'd fields of everlasting air --Where to a myrtle grove the souls repair Of deceas'd lovers--the sad, thoughtful ghosts Of injur'd ladies meet, where each accosts The other with a sigh, whose very breath Would break a heart, and--kind souls--love in death. A thick wood clouds their walks, where day scarce peeps, And on each hand cypress and poppy sleeps; The drowsy rivers slumber, and springs there Blab not, but softly melt into a tear; A sickly dull air fans them, which can have, When most in force, scarce breath to build a wave. On either bank through the still shades appear A scene of pensive flow'rs, whose bosoms wear Drops of a lover's blood, the emblem'd truths Of deep despair, and love-slain kings and youths. The Hyacinth, and self-enamour'd boy Narcissus flourish there, with Venus' joy, The spruce Adonis, and that prince whose flow'r Hath sorrow languag'd on him to this hour; All sad with love they hang their heads, and grieve As if their passions in each leaf did live; And here--alas!--these soft-soul'd ladies stray, And--O! too late!--treason in love betray. Her blasted birth sad Semele repeats, And with her tears would quench the thund'rer's heats, Then shakes her bosom, as if fir'd again, And fears another lightning's flaming train. The lovely Procris here bleeds, sighs, and swoons, Then wakes, and kisses him that gave her wounds. Sad Hero holds a torch forth, and doth light Her lost Leander through the waves and night, Her boatman desp'rate Sappho still admires, And nothing but the sea can quench her fires. Distracted Phaedra with a restless eye Her disdain'd letters reads, then casts them by. Rare, faithful Thisbe--sequest'red from these-- A silent, unseen sorrow doth best please; For her love's sake and last good-night poor she Walks in the shadow of a mulberry. Near her young Canace with Dido sits, A lovely couple, but of desp'rate wits; Both di'd alike, both pierc'd their tender breasts, This with her father's sword, that with her guest's. Within the thickest textures of the grove Diana in her silver beams doth rove; Her crown of stars the pitchy air invades, And with a faint light gilds the silent shades, Whilst her sad thoughts, fix'd on her sleepy lover, To Latmos hill and his retirements move her. A thousand more through the wide, darksome wood Feast on their cares, the maudlin lover's food; For grief and absence do but edge desire, And death is fuel to a lover's fire. To see these trophies of his wanton bow, Cupid comes in, and all in triumph now-- Rash unadvised boy!--disperseth round The sleepy mists; his wings and quiver wound With noise the quiet air. This sudden stir Betrays his godship, and as we from far A clouded, sickly moon observe, so they Through the false mists his eclips'd torch betray. A hot pursuit they make, and, though with care And a slow wing, he softly stems the air, Yet they--as subtle now as he--surround His silenc'd course, and with the thick night bound Surprise the wag. As in a dream we strive To voice our thoughts, and vainly would revive Our entranc'd tongues, but cannot speech enlarge, 'Till the soul wakes and reassumes her charge; So, joyous of their prize, they flock about And vainly swell with an imagin'd shout. Far in these shades and melancholy coasts A myrtle grows, well known to all the ghosts, Whose stretch'd top--like a great man rais'd by Fate-- Looks big, and scorns his neighbour's low estate; His leafy arms into a green cloud twist, And on each branch doth sit a lazy mist, A fatal tree, and luckless to the gods, Where for disdain in life--Love's worst of odds-- The queen of shades, fair Proserpine, did rack The sad Adonis: hither now they pack This little god, where, first disarm'd, they bind His skittish wings, then both his hands behind His back they tie, and thus secur'd at last, The peevish wanton to the tree make fast. Here at adventure, without judge or jury, He is condemn'd, while with united fury They all assail him. As a thief at bar Left to the law, and mercy of his star, Hath bills heap'd on him, and is question'd there By all the men that have been robb'd that year; So now whatever Fate or their own will Scor'd up in life, Cupid must pay the bill. Their servant's falsehood, jealousy, disdain, And all the plagues that abus'd maids can feign, Are laid on him, and then to heighten spleen, Their own deaths crown the sum. Press'd thus between His fair accusers, 'tis at last decreed He by those weapons, that they died, should bleed. One grasps an airy sword, a second holds Illusive fire, and in vain wanton folds Belies a flame; others, less kind, appear To let him blood, and from the purple tear Create a rose. But Sappho all this while Harvests the air, and from a thicken'd pile Of clouds like Leucas top spreads underneath A sea of mists; the peaceful billows breathe Without all noise, yet so exactly move They seem to chide, but distant from above Reach not the ear, and--thus prepar'd--at once She doth o'erwhelm him with the airy sconce. Amidst these tumults, and as fierce as they, Venus steps in, and without thought or stay Invades her son; her old disgrace is cast Into the bill, when Mars and she made fast In their embraces were expos'd to all The scene of gods, stark naked in their fall. Nor serves a verbal penance, but with haste From her fair brow--O happy flow'rs so plac'd!-- She tears a rosy garland, and with this Whips the untoward boy; they gently kiss His snowy skin, but she with angry haste Doubles her strength, until bedew'd at last With a thin bloody sweat, their innate red, --As if griev'd with the act--grew pale and dead. This laid their spleen; and now--kind souls--no more They'll punish him; the torture that he bore Seems greater than his crime; with joint consent Fate is made guilty, and he innocent. As in a dream with dangers we contest, And fictious pains seem to afflict our rest, So, frighted only in these shades of night, Cupid--got loose--stole to the upper light, Where ever since--for malice unto these-- The spiteful ape doth either sex displease. But O! that had these ladies been so wise To keep his arms, and give him but his eyes!

BOET[HIUS, DE CONSOLATIONE]

LIB. I. METRUM I.

I whose first year flourish'd with youthful verse, In slow, sad numbers now my grief rehearse. A broken style my sickly lines afford, And only tears give weight unto my words. Yet neither fate nor force my Muse could fright, The only faithful consort of my flight. Thus what was once my green years' greatest glory, Is now my comfort, grown decay'd and hoary; For killing cares th' effects of age spurr'd on, That grief might find a fitting mansion; O'er my young head runs an untimely grey, And my loose skin shrinks at my blood's decay. Happy the man, whose death in prosp'rous years Strikes not, nor shuns him in his age and tears! But O! how deaf is she to hear the cry Of th' oppress'd soul, or shut the weeping eye! While treach'rous Fortune with slight honours fed My first estate, she almost drown'd my head, And now since--clouded thus--she hides those rays, Life adds unwelcom'd length unto my days. Why then, my friends, judg'd you my state so good? He that may fall once, never firmly stood.

METRUM II.

O in what haste, with clouds and night Eclips'd, and having lost her light, The dull soul whom distraction rends Into outward darkness tends! How often--by these mists made blind-- Have earthly cares oppress'd the mind! This soul, sometimes wont to survey The spangled Zodiac's fiery way, Saw th' early sun in roses dress'd, With the cool moon's unstable crest, And whatsoever wanton star, In various courses near or far, Pierc'd through the orbs, he could full well Track all her journey, and would tell Her mansions, turnings, rise and fall, By curious calculation all. Of sudden winds the hidden cause, And why the calm sea's quiet face With impetuous waves is curl'd, What spirit wheels th' harmonious world, Or why a star dropp'd in the west Is seen to rise again by east, Who gives the warm Spring temp'rate hours, Decking the Earth with spicy flow'rs, Or how it comes--for man's recruit-- That Autumn yields both grape and fruit, With many other secrets, he Could show the cause and mystery. But now that light is almost out, And the brave soul lies chain'd about With outward cares, whose pensive weight Sinks down her eyes from their first height. And clean contrary to her birth Pores on this vile and foolish Earth.

METRUM IV.

Whose calm soul in a settled state Kicks under foot the frowns of Fate, And in his fortunes, bad or good, Keeps the same temper in his blood; Not him the flaming clouds above, Nor Aetna's fiery tempests move; No fretting seas from shore to shore, Boiling with indignation o'er, Nor burning thunderbolt that can A mountain shake, can stir this man. Dull cowards then! why should we start To see these tyrants act their part? Nor hope, nor fear what may befall, And you disarm their malice all. But who doth faintly fear or wish, And sets no law to what is his, Hath lost the buckler, and--poor elf!-- Makes up a chain to bind himself.

METRUM V.

O Thou great builder of this starry frame, Who fix'd in Thy eternal throne doth tame The rapid spheres, and lest they jar Hast giv'n a law to ev'ry star. Thou art the cause that now the moon With fall orb dulls the stars, and soon Again grows dark, her light being done, The nearer still she's to the sun. Thou in the early hours of night Mak'st the cool evening-star shine bright, And at sun-rising--'cause the least-- Look pale and sleepy in the east. Thou, when the leaves in winter stray, Appoint'st the sun a shorter way, And in the pleasant summer light, With nimble hours dost wing the night. Thy hand the various year quite through Discreetly tempers, that what now The north-wind tears from ev'ry tree In spring again restor'd we see. Then what the winter stars between The furrows in mere seed have seen, The dog-star since--grown up and born-- Hath burnt in stately, full-ear'd corn. Thus by creation's law controll'd All things their proper stations hold, Observing--as Thou didst intend-- Why they were made, and for what end. Only human actions Thou Hast no care of, but to the flow And ebb of Fortune leav'st them all. Hence th' innocent endures that thrall Due to the wicked; whilst alone They sit possessors of his throne. The just are kill'd, and virtue lies Buried in obscurities; And--which of all things is most sad-- The good man suffers by the bad. No perjuries, nor damn'd pretence Colour'd with holy, lying sense Can them annoy, but when they mind To try their force, which most men find, They from the highest sway of things Can pull down great and pious kings. O then at length, thus loosely hurl'd, Look on this miserable world, Whoe'er Thou art, that from above Dost in such order all things move! And let not man--of divine art Not the least, nor vilest part-- By casual evils thus bandied, be The sport of Fate's obliquity. But with that faith Thou guid'st the heaven Settle this earth, and make them even.

METRUM VI.

When the Crab's fierce constellation Burns with the beams of the bright sun, Then he that will go out to sow, Shall never reap, where he did plough, But instead of corn may rather The old world's diet, acorns, gather. Who the violet doth love, Must seek her in the flow'ry grove, But never when the North's cold wind The russet fields with frost doth bind. If in the spring-time--to no end-- The tender vine for grapes we bend, We shall find none, for only--still-- Autumn doth the wine-press fill. Thus for all things--in the world's prime-- The wise God seal'd their proper time, Nor will permit those seasons, He Ordain'd by turns, should mingled be; Then whose wild actions out of season Cross to Nature, and her reason, Would by new ways old orders rend, Shall never find a happy end.

METRUM VII.

Curtain'd with clouds in a dark night, The stars cannot send forth their light. And if a sudden southern blast The sea in rolling waves doth cast, That angry element doth boil, And from the deep with stormy coil Spews up the sands, which in short space Scatter, and puddle his curl'd face. Then those calm waters, which but now Stood clear as heaven's unclouded brow, And like transparent glass did lie Open to ev'ry searcher's eye, Look foully stirr'd and--though desir'd-- Resist the sight, because bemir'd. So often from a high hill's brow Some pilgrim-spring is seen to flow, And in a straight line keep her course, 'Till from a rock with headlong force Some broken piece blocks up the way, And forceth all her streams astray. Then thou that with enlighten'd rays Wouldst see the truth, and in her ways Keep without error; neither fear The future, nor too much give ear To present joys; and give no scope To grief, nor much to flatt'ring hope. For when these rebels reign, the mind Is both a pris'ner, and stark blind.

LIB. II. METRUM I.

Fortune--when with rash hands she quite turmoils The state of things, and in tempestuous foils Comes whirling like Euripus--beats quite down With headlong force the highest monarch's crown, And in his place, unto the throne doth fetch The despis'd looks of some mechanic wretch: So jests at tears and miseries, is proud, And laughs to hear her vassals groan aloud. These are her sports, thus she her wheel doth drive, And plagues man with her blind prerogative; Nor is't a favour of inferior strain, If once kick'd down, she lets him rise again.

METRUM II.

If with an open, bounteous hand --Wholly left at man's command-- Fortune should in one rich flow As many heaps on him bestow Of massy gold, as there be sands Toss'd by the waves and winds rude bands, Or bright stars in a winter night Decking their silent orbs with light; Yet would his lust know no restraints, Nor cease to weep in sad complaints. Though Heaven should his vows regard, And in a prodigal reward Return him all he could implore, Adding new honours to his store, Yet all were nothing. Goods in sight Are scorn'd, and lust in greedy flight Lays out for more; what measure then Can tame these wild desires of men? Since all we give both last and first Doth but inflame, and feed their thirst. For how can he be rich, who 'midst his store Sits sadly pining, and believes he's poor.

METRUM III.

When the sun from his rosy bed The dawning light begins to shed, The drowsy sky uncurtains round, And the--but now bright--stars all drown'd In one great light look dull and tame, And homage his victorious flame. Thus, when the warm Etesian wind The Earth's seal'd bosom doth unbind, Straight she her various store discloses, And purples every grove with roses; But if the South's tempestuous breath Breaks forth, those blushes pine to death. Oft in a quiet sky the deep With unmov'd waves seems fast asleep, And oft again the blust'ring North In angry heaps provokes them forth. If then this world, which holds all nations, Suffers itself such alterations, That not this mighty massy frame, Nor any part of it can claim One certain course, why should man prate, Or censure the designs of Fate? Why from frail honours, and goods lent Should he expect things permanent? Since 'tis enacted by Divine decree That nothing mortal shall eternal be.

METRUM IV.

Who wisely would for his retreat Build a secure and lasting seat, Where stov'd in silence he may sleep Beneath the wind, above the deep; Let him th' high hills leave on one hand, And on the other the false sand. The first to winds lies plain and even, From all the blust'ring points of heaven; The other, hollow and unsure, No weight of building will endure. Avoiding then the envied state Of buildings bravely situate, Remember thou thyself to lock Within some low neglected rock. There when fierce heaven in thunder chides, And winds and waves rage on all sides, Thou happy in the quiet sense Of thy poor cell, with small expense Shall lead a life serene and fair, And scorn the anger of the air.

METRUM V.

Happy that first white age! when we Lived by the Earth's mere charity. No soft luxurious diet then Had effeminated men, No other meat, nor wine had any Than the coarse mast, or simple honey, And by the parents' care laid up Cheap berries did the children sup. No pompous wear was in those days Of gummy silks, or scarlet baize, Their beds were on some flow'ry brink, And clear spring-water was their drink. The shady pine in the sun's heat Was their cool and known retreat, For then 'twas not cut down, but stood The youth and glory of the wood. The daring sailor with his slaves Then had not cut the swelling waves, Nor for desire of foreign store Seen any but his native shore. No stirring drum had scarr'd that age, Nor the shrill trumpet's active rage, No wounds by bitter hatred made With warm blood soil'd the shining blade; For how could hostile madness arm An age of love, to public harm? When common justice none withstood, Nor sought rewards for spilling blood. O that at length our age would raise Into the temper of those days! But--worse than Aetna's fires!--debate And avarice inflame our State. Alas! who was it that first found Gold, hid of purpose under ground, That sought our pearls, and div'd to find Such precious perils for mankind!

METRUM VII.

He that thirsts for glory's prize, Thinking that the top of all, Let him view th' expansed skies, And the earth's contracted ball; 'Twill shame him then: the name he wan Fills not the short walk of one man.

2.

O why vainly strive you then To shake off the bands of Fate, Though Fame through the world of men Should in all tongues your names relate, And with proud titles swell that story: The dark grave scorns your brightest glory.

3.

There with nobles beggars sway, And kings with commons share one dust. What news of Brutus at this day, Or Fabricius the just? Some rude verse, cut in stone, or lead, Keeps up the names, but they are dead.

4.

So shall you one day--past reprieve-- Lie--perhaps--without a name. But if dead you think to live By this air of human fame, Know, when Time stops that posthume breath, You must endure a second death.

METRUM VIII.

That the world in constant force Varies her concordant course; That seeds jarring hot and cold Do the breed perpetual hold; That in his golden coach the sun Brings the rosy day still on; That the moon sways all those lights Which Hesper ushers to dark nights; That alternate tides be found The sea's ambitious waves to bound, Lest o'er the wide earth without end Their fluid empire should extend; All this frame of things that be, Love which rules heaven, land, and sea, Chains, keeps, orders as we see. This, if the reins he once cast by, All things that now by turns comply Would fall to discord, and this frame Which now by social faith they tame, And comely orders, in that fight And jar of things would perish quite. This in a holy league of peace Keeps king and people with increase; And in the sacred nuptial bands Ties up chaste hearts with willing hands; And this keeps firm without all doubt Friends by his bright instinct found out. O happy nation then were you, If love, which doth all things subdue, That rules the spacious heav'n, and brings Plenty and peace upon his wings, Might rule you too! and without guile Settle once more this floating isle!

CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. IV. ODE XXVIII.

Almighty Spirit! Thou that by Set turns and changes from Thy high And glorious throne dost here below Rule all, and all things dost foreknow! Can those blind plots we here discuss Please Thee, as Thy wise counsels us? When Thou Thy blessings here doth strow, And pour on earth, we flock and flow, With joyous strife and eager care, Struggling which shall have the best share In Thy rich gifts, just as we see Children about nuts disagree. Some that a crown have got and foil'd Break it; another sees it spoil'd Ere it is gotten. Thus the world Is all to piecemeals cut, and hurl'd By factious hands. It is a ball Which Fate and force divide 'twixt all The sons of men. But, O good God! While these for dust fight, and a clod, Grant that poor I may smile, and be At rest and perfect peace with Thee!

CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. II. ODE VII.

It would less vex distressed man If Fortune in the same pace ran To ruin him, as he did rise. But highest States fall in a trice; No great success held ever long; A restless fate afflicts the throng Of kings and commons, and less days Serve to destroy them than to raise. Good luck smiles once an age, but bad Makes kingdoms in a minute sad, And ev'ry hour of life we drive, Hath o'er us a prerogative. Then leave--by wild impatience driv'n, And rash resents--to rail at heav'n; Leave an unmanly, weak complaint That death and fate have no restraint. In the same hour that gave thee breath, Thou hadst ordain'd thy hour of death, But he lives most who here will buy, With a few tears, eternity.

CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. III. ODE XXII.

Let not thy youth and false delights Cheat thee of life; those heady flights But waste thy time, which posts away Like winds unseen, and swift as they. Beauty is but mere paint, whose dye With Time's breath will dissolve and fly; 'Tis wax, 'tis water, 'tis a glass, It melts, breaks, and away doth pass. 'Tis like a rose which in the dawn The air with gentle breath doth fawn And whisper to, but in the hours Of night is sullied with smart showers. Life spent is wish'd for but in vain, Nor can past years come back again. Happy the man, who in this vale Redeems his time, shutting out all Thoughts of the world, whose longing eyes Are ever pilgrims in the skies, That views his bright home, and desires To shine amongst those glorious fires!

CASIMIRUS, LYRIC[ORUM] LIB. III. ODE XXIII.

'Tis not rich furniture and gems, With cedar roofs and ancient stems, Nor yet a plenteous, lasting flood Of gold, that makes man truly good. Leave to inquire in what fair fields A river runs which much gold yields; Virtue alone is the rich prize Can purchase stars, and buy the skies. Let others build with adamant, Or pillars of carv'd marble plant, Which rude and rough sometimes did dwell Far under earth, and near to hell. But richer much--from death releas'd-- Shines in the fresh groves of the East The ph[oe]nix, or those fish that dwell With silver'd scales in Hiddekel. Let others with rare, various pearls Their garments dress, and in forc'd curls Bind up their locks, look big and high, And shine in robes of scarlet dye. But in my thoughts more glorious far Those native stars and speckles are Which birds wear, or the spots which we In leopards dispersed see. The harmless sheep with her warm fleece Clothes man, but who his dark heart sees Shall find a wolf or fox within, That kills the castor for his skin. Virtue alone, and nought else can A diff'rence make 'twixt beasts and man; And on her wings above the spheres To the true light his spirit bears.

CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. IV. ODE XV.

Nothing on earth, nothing at all Can be exempted from the thrall Of peevish weariness! The sun, Which our forefathers judg'd to run Clear and unspotted, in our days Is tax'd with sullen eclips'd rays. Whatever in the glorious sky Man sees, his rash audacious eye Dares censure it, and in mere spite At distance will condemn the light. The wholesome mornings, whose beams clear Those hills our fathers walk'd on here, We fancy not; nor the moon's light Which through their windows shin'd at night We change the air each year, and scorn Those seats in which we first were born. Some nice, affected wand'rers love Belgia's mild winters, others remove, For want of health and honesty, To summer it in Italy; But to no end; the disease still Sticks to his lord, and kindly will To Venice in a barge repair, Or coach it to Vienna's air; And then--too late with home content-- They leave this wilful banishment. But he, whose constancy makes sure His mind and mansion, lives secure From such vain tasks, can dine and sup Where his old parents bred him up. Content--no doubt!--most times doth dwell In country shades, or to some cell Confines itself; and can alone Make simple straw a royal throne.

CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. IV. ODE XIII.

If weeping eyes could wash away Those evils they mourn for night and day, Then gladly I to cure my fears With my best jewels would buy tears. But as dew feeds the growing corn, So crosses that are grown forlorn Increase with grief, tears make tears' way, And cares kept up keep cares in pay. That wretch whom Fortune finds to fear, And melting still into a tear, She strikes more boldly, but a face Silent and dry doth her amaze. Then leave thy tears, and tedious tale Of what thou dost misfortunes call. What thou by weeping think'st to ease, Doth by that passion but increase; Hard things to soft will never yield, 'Tis the dry eye that wins the field; A noble patience quells the spite Of Fortune, and disarms her quite.

THE PRAISE OF A RELIGIOUS LIFE BY MATHIAS CASIMIRUS. [EPODON ODE III.] IN ANSWER TO THAT ODE OF HORACE, BEATUS ILLE QUI PROCUL NEGOTIIS, &c.

Flaccus, not so! that worldly he Whom in the country's shade we see Ploughing his own fields, seldom can Be justly styl'd the blessed man. That title only fits a saint, Whose free thoughts, far above restraint And weighty cares, can gladly part With house and lands, and leave the smart, Litigious troubles and loud strife Of this world for a better life. He fears no cold nor heat to blast His corn, for his accounts are cast; He sues no man, nor stands in awe Of the devouring courts of law; But all his time he spends in tears For the sins of his youthful years; Or having tasted those rich joys Of a conscience without noise, Sits in some fair shade, and doth give To his wild thoughts rules how to live. He in the evening, when on high The stars shine in the silent sky, Beholds th' eternal flames with mirth, And globes of light more large than Earth; Then weeps for joy, and through his tears Looks on the fire-enamell'd spheres, Where with his Saviour he would be Lifted above mortality. Meanwhile the golden stars do set, And the slow pilgrim leave all wet With his own tears, which flow so fast They make his sleeps light, and soon past. By this, the sun o'er night deceas'd Breaks in fresh blushes from the East, When, mindful of his former falls, With strong cries to his God he calls, And with such deep-drawn sighs doth move That He turns anger into love. In the calm Spring, when the Earth bears, And feeds on April's breath and tears, His eyes, accustom'd to the skies, Find here fresh objects, and like spies Or busy bees, search the soft flow'rs, Contemplate the green fields and bow'rs, Where he in veils and shades doth see The back parts of the Deity. Then sadly sighing says, "O! how These flow'rs with hasty, stretch'd heads grow And strive for heav'n, but rooted here Lament the distance with a tear! The honeysuckles clad in white, The rose in red, point to the light; And the lilies, hollow and bleak, Look as if they would something speak; They sigh at night to each soft gale, And at the day-spring weep it all. Shall I then only--wretched I!-- Oppress'd with earth, on earth still lie?" Thus speaks he to the neighbour trees, And many sad soliloquies To springs and fountains doth impart, Seeking God with a longing heart. But if to ease his busy breast He thinks of home, and taking rest, A rural cot and common fare Are all his cordials against care. There at the door of his low cell, Under some shade, or near some well Where the cool poplar grows, his plate Of common earth without more state Expect their lord. Salt in a shell, Green cheese, thin beer, draughts that will tell No tales, a hospitable cup, With some fresh berries, do make up His healthful feast; nor doth he wish For the fat carp, or a rare dish Of Lucrine oysters; the swift quist Or pigeon sometimes--if he list-- With the slow goose that loves the stream, Fresh, various salads, and the bean By curious palates never sought, And, to close with, some cheap unbought Dish for digestion, are the most And choicest dainties he can boast. Thus feasted, to the flow'ry groves Or pleasant rivers he removes, Where near some fair oak, hung with mast, He shuns the South's infectious blast. On shady banks sometimes he lies, Sometimes the open current tries, Where with his line and feather'd fly He sports, and takes the scaly fry. Meanwhile each hollow wood and hill Doth ring with lowings long and shrill, And shady lakes with rivers deep Echo the bleating of the sheep; The blackbird with the pleasant thrush And nightingale in ev'ry bush Choice music give, and shepherds play Unto their flock some loving lay! The thirsty reapers, in thick throngs, Return home from the field with songs, And the carts, laden with ripe corn, Come groaning to the well-stor'd barn. Nor pass we by, as the least good, A peaceful, loving neighbourhood, Whose honest wit, and chaste discourse Make none--by hearing it--the worse, But innocent and merry, may Help--without sin--to spend the day. Could now the tyrant usurer, Who plots to be a purchaser Of his poor neighbour's seat, but taste These true delights, O! with what haste And hatred of his ways, would he Renounce his Jewish cruelty, And those curs'd sums, which poor men borrow On use to-day, remit to-morrow!

AD FLUVIUM ISCAM.

Isca parens florum, placido qui spumeus ore Lambis lapillos aureos; Qui maestos hyacinthos, et picti [Greek: anthea] tophi Mulces susurris humidis; Dumque novas pergunt menses consumere lunas C[oe]lumque mortales terit, Accumulas cum sole dies, aevumque per omne Fidelis induras latex; O quis inaccessos et quali murmure lucos Mutumque solaris nemus! Per te discerpti credo Thracis ire querelas Plectrumque divini senis.

VENERABILI VIRO PRAECEPTORI SUO OLIM ET SEMPER COLENDISSIMO MAGISTRO MATHAEO HERBERT.

Quod vixi, Mathaee, dedit pater, haec tamen olim Vita fluat, nec erit fas meminisse datam. Ultra curasti solers, perituraque mecum Nomina post cineres das resonare meos. Divide discipulum: brevis haec et lubrica nostri Pars vertat patri, posthuma vita tibi.

PRAESTANTISSIMO VIRO THOMAE POELLO IN SUUM DE ELEMENTIS OPTICAE LIBELLUM.[56]

Vivaces oculorum ignes et lumina dia Fixit in angusto maximus orbe Deus; Ille explorantes radios dedit, et vaga lustra In quibus intuitus lexque, modusque latent. Hos tacitos jactus, lususque, volubilis orbis Pingis in exiguo, magne[57] Poelle, libro, Excursusque situsque ut Lynceus opticus, edis, Quotque modis fallunt, quotque adhibenda fides. Aemula Naturae manus! et mens conscia c[oe]li. Ilia videre dedit, vestra videre docet.

FOOTNOTES:

[56] The version in Elementa Opticae has Eximio viro, et amicorum longe optimo, T. P. in hunc suum de Elementis Opticae libellum.

[57] El. Opt. has docte.

AD ECHUM.

O quae frondosae per am[oe]na cubilia silvae Nympha volas, lucoque loquax spatiaris in alto, Annosi numen nemoris, saltusque verendi Effatum, cui sola placent postrema relatus! Te per Narcissi morientis verba, precesque Per pueri lassatam animam, et conamina vitae Ultima, palantisque precor suspiria linguae. Da quo secretae haec incaedua devia silvae, Anfractusque loci dubios, et lustra repandam. Sic tibi perpetua--meritoque--haec regna juventa Luxurient, dabiturque tuis, sine fine, viretis Intactas lunae lachrymas, et lambere rorem Virgineum, c[oe]lique animas haurire tepentis. Nec cedant aevo stellis, sed lucida semper Et satiata sacro aeterni medicamine veris Ostendant longe vegetos, ut sidera, vultus! Sic spiret muscata comas, et cinnama passim! Diffundat levis umbra, in funere qualia spargit Ph[oe]nicis rogus aut Pancheae nubila flammae!

THALIA REDIVIVA.

1678.

TO THE MOST HONOURABLE AND TRULY NOBLE HENRY, LORD MARQUIS AND EARL OF WORCESTER, &c.

My Lord,

Though dedications are now become a kind of tyranny over the peace and repose of great men; yet I have confidence I shall so manage the present address as to entertain your lordship without much disturbance; and because my purposes are governed by deep respect and veneration, I hope to find your Lordship more facile and accessible. And I am already absolved from a great part of that fulsome and designing guilt, being sufficiently removed from the causes of it: for I consider, my Lord, that you are already so well known to the world in your several characters and advantages of honour--it was yours by traduction, and the adjunct of your nativity; you were swaddled and rocked in't, bred up and grew in't, to your now wonderful height and eminence--that for me under pretence of the inscription, to give you the heraldry of your family, or to carry your person through the famed topics of mind, body, or estate, were all one as to persuade the world that fire and light were very bright bodies, or that the luminaries themselves had glory. In point of protection I beg to fall in with the common wont, and to be satisfied by the reasonableness of the thing, and abundant worthy precedents; and although I should have secret prophecy and assurance that the ensuing verse would live eternally, yet would I, as I now do, humbly crave it might be fortified with your patronage; for so the sextile aspects and influences are watched for, and applied to the actions of life, thereby to make the scheme and good auguries of the birth pass into Fate, and a success infallible.

My Lord, by a happy obliging intercession, and your own consequent indulgence, I have now recourse to your Lordship, hoping I shall not much displease by putting these twin poets into your hands. The minion and vertical planet of the Roman lustre and bravery, was never better pleased than when he had a whole constellation about him: not his finishing five several wars to the promoting of his own interest, nor particularly the prodigious success at Actium where he held in chase the wealth, beauty and prowess of the East; not the triumphs and absolute dominions which followed: all this gave him not half that serene pride and satisfaction of spirit as when he retired himself to umpire the different excellencies of his insipid friends, and to distribute laurels among his poetic heroes. If now upon the authority of this and several such examples, I had the ability and opportunity of drawing the value and strange worth of a poet, and withal of applying some of the lineaments to the following pieces, I should then do myself a real service, and atone in a great measure for the present insolence. But best of all will it serve my defence and interest, to appeal to your Lordship's own conceptions and image of genuine verse; with which so just, so regular original, if these copies shall hold proportion and resemblance, then am I advanced very far in your Lordship's pardon: the rest will entirely be supplied me by your Lordship's goodness, and my own awful zeal of being, my Lord,

Your Lordship's most obedient, most humbly devoted servant,

J. W.

TO THE READER.

The Nation of Poets above all Writers has ever challenged perpetuity of name, or as they please by their charter of liberty to call it, Immortality. Nor has the World much disputed their claim, either easily resigning a patrimony in itself not very substantial; or, it may be, out of despair to control the authority of inspiration and oracle. Howsoever the price as now quarrelled for among the poets themselves is no such rich bargain: it is only a vanishing interest in the lees and dregs of Time, in the rear of those Fathers and Worthies in the art, who if they know anything of the heats and fury of their successors, must extremely pity them.

I am to assure, that the Author has no portion of that airy happiness to lose, by any injury or unkindness which may be done to his Verse: his reputation is better built in the sentiment of several judicious persons, who know him very well able to give himself a lasting monument, by undertaking any argument of note in the whole circle of learning.

But even these his Diversions have been valuable with the matchless Orinda; and since they deserved her esteem and commendations, who so thinks them not worth the publishing, will put himself in the opposite scale, where his own arrogance will blow him up.

I. W.

TO MR. HENRY VAUGHAN THE SILURIST: UPON THESE AND HIS FORMER POEMS.[58]

Had I ador'd the multitude, and thence Got an antipathy to wit and sense, And hugg'd that fate, in hope the world would grant 'Twas good affection to be ignorant;[59] Yet the least ray of thy bright fancy seen, I had converted, or excuseless been. For each birth of thy Muse to after-times Shall expiate for all this Age's crimes. First shines thy Amoret, twice crown'd by thee, Once by thy love, next by thy poetry; Where thou the best of unions dost dispense, Truth cloth'd in wit, and Love in innocence; So that the muddy lover may learn here, No fountains can be sweet that are not clear. There Juvenal, by thee reviv'd, declares How flat man's joys are, and how mean his cares; And wisely doth upbraid[60] the world, that they Should such a value for their ruin pay. But when thy sacred Muse diverts her quil The landscape to design of Sion's hill,[61] As nothing else was worthy her, or thee, So we admire almost t' idolatry. What savage breast would not be rapt to find Such jewels in such cabinets enshrin'd? Thou fill'd with joys--too great to see or count-- Descend'st from thence, like Moses from the Mount, And with a candid, yet unquestion'd awe Restor'st the Golden Age, when Verse was Law. Instructing us, thou so secur'st[62] thy fame, That nothing can disturb it but my name: Nay, I have hopes that standing so near thine 'Twill lose its dross, and by degrees refine. Live! till the disabused world consent All truths of use, of strength or ornament, Are with such harmony by thee display'd As the whole world was first by number made, And from the charming rigour thy Muse brings Learn, there's no pleasure but in serious things!

Orinda.

FOOTNOTES:

[58] 1664-1667 have To Mr. Henry Vaughan, Silurist, on his Poems.

[59] So 1664-1667. Thalia Rediviva has the ignorant.

[60] 1664 has generally upbraids; 1667, generously upbraids

[61] 1664-1667 have Leon's hill.

[62] 1664 has thou who securest.

UPON THE INGENIOUS POEMS OF HIS LEARNED FRIEND, MR. HENRY VAUGHAN, THE SILURIST.

Fairly design'd! to charm our civil rage With verse, and plant bays in an iron age! But hath steel'd Mars so ductible a soul, That love and poesy may it control? Yes! brave Tyrtaeus, as we read of old, The Grecian armies as he pleas'd could mould; They march'd to his high numbers, and did fight With that instinct and rage, which he did write. When he fell lower, they would straight retreat, Grow soft and calm, and temper their bold heat. Such magic is in Virtue! See here a young Tyrtaeus too, whose sweet persuasive song Can lead our spirits any way, and move To all adventures, either war or love. Then veil the bright Etesia, that choice she, Lest Mars--Timander's friend--his rival be. So fair a nymph, dress'd by a Muse so neat, Might warm the North, and thaw the frozen Gete.

Tho. Powell, D.D.

TO THE INGENIOUS AUTHOR OF THALIA REDIVIVA.

ODE I.

Where reverend bards of old have sate And sung the pleasant interludes of Fate, Thou takest the hereditary shade Which Nature's homely art had made, And thence thou giv'st thy Muse her swing, and she Advances to the galaxy; There with the sparkling Cowley she above Does hand in hand in graceful measures move. We grovelling mortals gaze below, And long in vain to know Her wondrous paths, her wondrous flight: In vain, alas! we grope,[63] In vain we use our earthly telescope, We're blinded by an intermedial night. Thine eagle-Muse can only face The fiery coursers in their race, While with unequal paces we do try To bear her train aloft, and keep her company.

II.

The loud harmonious Mantuan Once charm'd the world; and here's the Uscan swan In his declining years does chime, And challenges the last remains of Time. Ages run on, and soon give o'er, They have their graves as well as we; Time swallows all that's past and more, Yet time is swallow'd in eternity: This is the only profits poets see. There thy triumphant Muse shall ride in state And lead in chains devouring Fate; Claudian's bright Ph[oe]nix she shall bring Thee an immortal offering; Nor shall my humble tributary Muse Her homage and attendance too refuse; She thrusts herself among the crowd, And joining in th' applause she strives to clap aloud

III.

Tell me no more that Nature is severe, Thou great philosopher! Lo! she has laid her vast exchequer here. Tell me no more that she has sent So much already, she is spent; Here is a vast America behind Which none but the great Silurist could find. Nature her last edition was the best, As big, as rich as all the rest: So will we here admit Another world of wit. No rude or savage fancy here shall stay The travelling reader in his way, But every coast is clear: go where he will, Virtue's the road Thalia leads him still. Long may she live, and wreath thy sacred head For this her happy resurrection from the dead.

N. W., Jes. Coll., Oxon.

FOOTNOTES:

[63] The original has flight In raine; alas! we grope.

TO MY WORTHY FRIEND, MR. HENRY VAUGHAN THE SILURIST.

See what thou wert! by what Platonic round Art thou in thy first youth and glories found? Or from thy Muse does this retrieve accrue? Does she which once inspir'd thee, now renew, Bringing thee back those golden years which Time Smooth'd to thy lays, and polish'd with thy rhyme? Nor is't to thee alone she does convey Such happy change, but bountiful as day, On whatsoever reader she does shine, She makes him like thee, and for ever thine.

And first thy manual op'ning gives to see Eclipse and suff'rings burnish majesty, Where thou so artfully the draught hast made That we best read the lustre in the shade, And find our sov'reign greater in that shroud: So lightning dazzles from its night and cloud, So the First Light Himself has for His throne Blackness, and darkness his pavilion.

Who can refuse thee company, or stay, By thy next charming summons forc'd away, If that be force which we can so resent, That only in its joys 'tis violent: Upward thy Eagle bears us ere aware, Till above storms and all tempestuous air We radiant worlds with their bright people meet, Leaving this little all beneath our feet. But now the pleasure is too great to tell, Nor have we other bus'ness than to dwell, As on the hallow'd Mount th' Apostles meant To build and fix their glorious banishment. Yet we must know and find thy skilful vein Shall gently bear us to our homes again; By which descent thy former flight's impli'd To be thy ecstacy and not thy pride. And here how well does the wise Muse demean Herself, and fit her song to ev'ry scene! Riot of courts, the bloody wreaths of war, Cheats of the mart, and clamours of the bar, Nay, life itself thou dost so well express, Its hollow joys, and real emptiness, That Dorian minstrel never did excite, Or raise for dying so much appetite.

Nor does thy other softer magic move Us less thy fam'd Etesia to love; Where such a character thou giv'st, that shame Nor envy dare approach the vestal dame: So at bright prime ideas none repine, They safely in th' eternal poet shine.

Gladly th' Assyrian ph[oe]nix now resumes From thee this last reprisal of his plumes; He seems another more miraculous thing, Brighter of crest, and stronger of his wing, Proof against Fate in spicy urns to come, Immortal past all risk of martyrdom.

Nor be concern'd, nor fancy thou art rude T' adventure from thy Cambrian solitude: Best from those lofty cliffs thy Muse does spring Upwards, and boldly spreads her cherub wing.

So when the sage of Memphis would converse With boding skies, and th' azure universe, He climbs his starry pyramid, and thence Freely sucks clean prophetic influence, And all serene, and rapt and gay he pries Through the ethereal volume's mysteries, Loth to come down, or ever to know more The Nile's luxurious, but dull foggy shore.

I. W., A.M. Oxon.

CHOICE POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.

TO HIS LEARNED FRIEND AND LOYAL FELLOW-PRISONER, THOMAS POWEL OF CANT[REFF], DOCTOR OF DIVINITY.

If sever'd friends by sympathy can join, And absent kings be honour'd in their coin; May they do both, who are so curb'd? but we Whom no such abstracts torture, that can see And pay each other a full self-return, May laugh, though all such metaphysics burn. 'Tis a kind soul in magnets, that atones Such two hard things as iron are and stones, And in their dumb compliance we learn more Of love, than ever books could speak before. For though attraction hath got all the name, As if that power but from one side came, Which both unites; yet, where there is no sense There is no passion, nor intelligence: And so by consequence we cannot state A commerce, unless both we animate. For senseless things, though ne'er so called upon, Are deaf, and feel no invitation, But such as at the last day shall be shed By the great Lord of life into the dead. 'Tis then no heresy to end the strife With such rare doctrine as gives iron life. For were it otherwise--which cannot be, And do thou judge my bold philosophy-- Then it would follow that if I were dead, Thy love, as now in life, would in that bed Of earth and darkness warm me, and dispense Effectual informing influence. Since then 'tis clear, that friendship is nought else But a joint, kind propension, and excess In none, but such whose equal, easy hearts Comply and meet both in their whole and parts, And when they cannot meet, do not forget To mingle souls, but secretly reflect And some third place their centre make, where they Silently mix, and make an unseen stay: Let me not say--though poets may be bold-- Thou art more hard than steel, than stones more cold, But as the marigold in feasts of dew And early sunbeams, though but thin and few, Unfolds itself, then from the Earth's cold breast Heaves gently, and salutes the hopeful East: So from thy quiet cell, the retir'd throne Of thy fair thoughts, which silently bemoan Our sad distractions, come! and richly dress'd With reverend mirth and manners, check the rest Of loose, loath'd men! Why should I longer be Rack'd 'twixt two evils? I see and cannot see.

THE KING DISGUISED.

Written about the same time that Mr. John Cleveland wrote his.

A king and no king! Is he gone from us, And stoln alive into his coffin thus? This was to ravish death, and so prevent The rebels' treason and their punishment. He would not have them damn'd, and therefore he Himself deposed his own majesty. Wolves did pursue him, and to fly the ill He wanders--royal saint!--in sheepskin still. Poor, obscure shelter, if that shelter be Obscure, which harbours so much majesty. Hence, profane eyes! the mystery's so deep, Like Esdras books, the vulgar must not see't. Thou flying roll, written with tears and woe, Not for thy royal self, but for thy foe! Thy grief is prophecy, and doth portend, Like sad Ezekiel's sighs, the rebel's end. Thy robes forc'd off, like Samuel's when rent, Do figure out another's punishment. Nor grieve thou hast put off thyself awhile, To serve as prophet to this sinful isle; These are our days of Purim, which oppress The Church, and force thee to the wilderness. But all these clouds cannot thy light confine, The sun in storms and after them, will shine. Thy day of life cannot be yet complete, 'Tis early, sure, thy shadow is so great. But I am vex'd, that we at all can guess This change, and trust great Charles to such a dress. When he was first obscur'd with this coarse thing, He grac'd plebeians, but profan'd the king: Like some fair church, which zeal to charcoals burn'd, Or his own court now to an alehouse turn'd. But full as well may we blame night, and chide His wisdom, Who doth light with darkness hide, Or deny curtains to thy royal bed, As take this sacred cov'ring from thy head. Secrets of State are points we must not know; This vizard is thy privy-council now, Thou royal riddle, and in everything The true white prince, our hieroglyphic king! Ride safely in His shade, Who gives thee light, And can with blindness thy pursuers smite. O! may they wander all from thee as far As they from peace are, and thyself from war! And wheresoe'er thou dost design to be With thy--now spotted--spotless majesty, Be sure to look no sanctuary there, Nor hope for safety in a temple, where Buyers and sellers trade: O! strengthen not With too much trust the treason of a Scot!

THE EAGLE.

Tis madness sure; and I am in the fit, To dare an eagle with my unfledg'd wit. For what did ever Rome or Athens sing In all their lines, as lofty as his wing? He that an eagle's powers would rehearse Should with his plumes first feather all his verse. I know not, when into thee I would pry, Which to admire, thy wing first, or thine eye; Or whether Nature at thy birth design'd More of her fire for thee, or of her wind. When thou in the clear heights and upmost air Dost face the sun and his dispersed hair, Ev'n from that distance thou the sea dost spy And sporting in its deep, wide lap, the fry. Not the least minnow there but thou canst see: Whole seas are narrow spectacles to thee. Nor is this element of water here Below of all thy miracles the sphere. If poets ought may add unto thy store, Thou hast in heav'n of wonders many more. For when just Jove to earth his thunder bends, And from that bright, eternal fortress sends His louder volleys, straight this bird doth fly To Aetna, where his magazine doth lie, And in his active talons brings him more Of ammunition, and recruits his store. Nor is't a low or easy lift. He soars 'Bove wind and fire; gets to the moon, and pores With scorn upon her duller face; for she Gives him but shadows and obscurity. Here much displeas'd, that anything like night Should meet him in his proud and lofty flight, That such dull tinctures should advance so far, And rival in the glories of a star, Resolv'd he is a nobler course to try, And measures out his voyage with his eye. Then with such fury he begins his flight, As if his wings contended with his sight. Leaving the moon, whose humble light doth trade With spots, and deals most in the dark and shade, To the day's royal planet he doth pass With daring eyes, and makes the sun his glass. Here doth he plume and dress himself, the beams Rushing upon him like so many streams; While with direct looks he doth entertain The thronging flames, and shoots them back again. And thus from star to star he doth repair, And wantons in that pure and peaceful air. Sometimes he frights the starry swan, and now Orion's fearful hare, and then the crow. Then with the orb itself he moves, to see Which is more swift, th' intelligence or he. Thus with his wings his body he hath brought Where man can travel only in a thought. I will not seek, rare bird, what spirit 'tis That mounts thee thus; I'll be content with this, To think that Nature made thee to express Our soul's bold heights in a material dress.

TO MR. M. L. UPON HIS REDUCTION OF THE PSALMS INTO METHOD.

Sir,

You have oblig'd the patriarch, and 'tis known He is your debtor now, though for his own. What he wrote is a medley: we can see Confusion trespass on his piety. Misfortunes did not only strike at him, They charged further, and oppress'd his pen; For he wrote as his crosses came, and went By no safe rule, but by his punishment. His quill mov'd by the rod; his wits and he Did know no method, but their misery. You brought his Psalms now into tune. Nay all His measures thus are more than musical; Your method and his airs are justly sweet, And--what's church music right--like anthems meet. You did so much in this, that I believe He gave the matter, you the form did give. And yet I wish you were not understood, For now 'tis a misfortune to be good! Why then you'll say, all I would have, is this: None must be good, because the time's amiss. For since wise Nature did ordain the night, I would not have the sun to give us light. Whereas this doth not take the use away, But urgeth the necessity of day. Proceed to make your pious work as free, Stop not your seasonable charity. Good works despis'd or censur'd by bad times Should be sent out to aggravate their crimes. They should first share and then reject our store, Abuse our good, to make their guilt the more. 'Tis war strikes at our sins, but it must be A persecution wounds our piety.

TO THE PIOUS MEMORY OF C[HARLES] W[ALBEOFFE] ESQUIRE, WHO FINISHED HIS COURSE HERE, AND MADE HIS ENTRANCE INTO IMMORTALITY UPON THE 13 OF SEPTEMBER, IN THE YEAR OF REDEMPTION, 1653.

Now that the public sorrow doth subside, And those slight tears which custom springs are dried; While all the rich and outside mourners pass Home from thy dust, to empty their own glass; I--who the throng affect not, nor their state-- Steal to thy grave undress'd, to meditate On our sad loss, accompanied by none, An obscure mourner that would weep alone. So, when the world's great luminary sets, Some scarce known star into the zenith gets, Twinkles and curls, a weak but willing spark, As glow-worms here do glitter in the dark. Yet, since the dimmest flame that kindles there An humble love unto the light doth bear, And true devotion from an hermit's cell Will Heav'n's kind King as soon reach and as well, As that which from rich shrines and altars flies, Led by ascending incense to the skies: 'Tis no malicious rudeness, if the might Of love makes dark things wait upon the bright, And from my sad retirements calls me forth, The just recorder of thy death and worth. Long didst thou live--if length be measured by The tedious reign of our calamity-- And counter to all storms and changes still Kept'st the same temper, and the selfsame will. Though trials came as duly as the day, And in such mists, that none could see his way, Yet thee I found still virtuous, and saw The sun give clouds, and Charles give both the law. When private interest did all hearts bend, And wild dissents the public peace did rend, Thou, neither won, nor worn, wert still thyself, Not aw'd by force, nor basely brib'd with pelf. What the insuperable stream of times Did dash thee with, those suff'rings were, not crimes. So the bright sun eclipses bears; and we, Because then passive, blame him not. Should he For enforc'd shades, and the moon's ruder veil Much nearer us than him, be judg'd to fail? Who traduce thee, so err. As poisons by Correction are made antidotes, so thy Just soul did turn ev'n hurtful things to good, Us'd bad laws so they drew not tears, nor blood. Heav'n was thy aim, and thy great, rare design Was not to lord it here, but there to shine. Earth nothing had, could tempt thee. All that e'er Thou pray'd'st for here was peace, and glory there. For though thy course in Time's long progress fell On a sad age, when war and open'd hell Licens'd all arts and sects, and made it free To thrive by fraud, and blood, and blasphemy: Yet thou thy just inheritance didst by No sacrilege, nor pillage multiply. No rapine swell'd thy state, no bribes, nor fees, Our new oppressors' best annuities. Such clean pure hands hadst thou! and for thy heart, Man's secret region, and his noblest part; Since I was privy to't, and had the key Of that fair room, where thy bright spirit lay, I must affirm it did as much surpass Most I have known, as the clear sky doth glass. Constant and kind, and plain, and meek, and mild It was, and with no new conceits defil'd. Busy, but sacred thoughts--like bees--did still Within it stir, and strive unto that hill Where redeem'd spirits, evermore alive, After their work is done, ascend and hive. No outward tumults reach'd this inward place: 'Twas holy ground, where peace, and love, and grace Kept house, where the immortal restless life, In a most dutiful and pious strife, Like a fix'd watch, mov'd all in order still; The will serv'd God, and ev'ry sense the will! In this safe state Death met thee, Death, which is But a kind usher of the good to bliss, Therefore to weep because thy course is run, Or droop like flow'rs, which lately lost the sun, I cannot yield, since Faith will not permit A tenure got by conquest to the pit. For the great Victor fought for us, and He Counts ev'ry dust that is laid up of thee. Besides, Death now grows decrepit, and hath Spent the most part both of its time and wrath. That thick, black night, which mankind fear'd, is torn By troops of stars, and the bright day's forlorn. The next glad news--most glad unto the just!-- Will be the trumpet's summons from the dust. Then I'll not grieve; nay, more, I'll not allow My soul should think thee absent from me now. Some bid their dead "Good night!" but I will say "Good morrow to dear Charles!" for it is day.

IN ZODIACUM MARCELLI PALINGENII.

It is perform'd! and thy great name doth run Through ev'ry sign, an everlasting sun, Not planet-like, but fixed; and we can see Thy genius stand still in his apogee. For how canst thou an aux eternal miss, Where ev'ry house thy exaltation is? Here's no ecliptic threatens thee with night, Although the wiser few take in thy light. They are not at that glorious pitch, to be In a conjunction with divinity. Could we partake some oblique ray of thine, Salute thee in a sextile, or a trine, It were enough; but thou art flown so high, The telescope is turn'd a common eye. Had the grave Chaldee liv'd thy book to see, He had known no astrology but thee; Nay, more--for I believe't--thou shouldst have been Tutor to all his planets, and to him. Thus, whosoever reads thee, his charm'd sense Proves captive to thy zodiac's influence. Were it not foul to err so, I should look Here for the Rabbins' universal book: And say, their fancies did but dream of thee, When first they doted on that mystery. Each line's a via lactea, where we may See thy fair steps, and tread that happy way Thy genius led thee in. Still I will be Lodg'd in some sign, some face, and some degree Of thy bright zodiac; thus I'll teach my sense To move by that, and thee th' intelligence.

TO LYSIMACHUS, THE AUTHOR BEING WITH HIM IN LONDON.

Saw not, Lysimachus, last day, when we Took the pure air in its simplicity, And our own too, how the trimm'd gallants went Cringing, and pass'd each step some compliment? What strange, fantastic diagrams they drew With legs and arms; the like we never knew In Euclid, Archimede, nor all of those Whose learned lines are neither verse nor prose? What store of lace was there? how did the gold Run in rich traces, but withal made bold To measure the proud things, and so deride The fops with that, which was part of their pride? How did they point at us, and boldly call, As if we had been vassals to them all, Their poor men-mules, sent thither by hard fate To yoke ourselves for their sedans, and state? Of all ambitions, this was not the least, Whose drift translated man into a beast. What blind discourse the heroes did afford! This lady was their friend, and such a lord. How much of blood was in it! one could tell He came from Bevis and his Arundel; Morglay was yet with him, and he could do More feats with it than his old grandsire too. Wonders my friend at this? what is't to thee, Who canst produce a nobler pedigree, And in mere truth affirm thy soul of kin To some bright star, or to a cherubin? When these in their profuse moods spend the night, With the same sins they drive away the light. Thy learned thrift puts her to use, while she Reveals her fiery volume unto thee; And looking on the separated skies, And their clear lamps, with careful thoughts and eyes, Thou break'st through Nature's upmost rooms and bars To heav'n, and there conversest with the stars. Well fare such harmless, happy nights, that be Obscur'd with nothing but their privacy, And missing but the false world's glories do Miss all those vices which attend them too! Fret not to hear their ill-got, ill-giv'n praise; Thy darkest nights outshine their brightest days.

ON SIR THOMAS BODLEY'S LIBRARY, THE AUTHOR BEING THEN IN OXFORD.

Boast not, proud Golgotha, that thou canst show The ruins of mankind, and let us know How frail a thing is flesh! though we see there But empty skulls, the Rabbins still live here. They are not dead, but full of blood again; I mean the sense, and ev'ry line a vein. Triumph not o'er their dust; whoever looks In here, shall find their brains all in their books. Nor is't old Palestine alone survives; Athens lives here, more than in Plutarch's Lives. The stones, which sometimes danc'd unto the strain Of Orpheus, here do lodge his Muse again. And you, the Roman spirits, learning has Made your lives longer than your empire was. Caesar had perish'd from the world of men Had not his sword been rescu'd by his pen. Rare Seneca, how lasting is thy breath! Though Nero did, thou couldst not bleed to death. How dull the expert tyrant was, to look For that in thee which lived in thy book! Afflictions turn our blood to ink, and we Commence, when writing, our eternity. Lucilius here I can behold, and see His counsels and his life proceed from thee. But what care I to whom thy Letters be? I change the name, and thou dost write to me; And in this age, as sad almost as thine, Thy stately Consolations are mine. Poor earth! what though thy viler dust enrolls The frail enclosures of these mighty souls? Their graves are all upon record; not one But is as bright and open as the sun. And though some part of them obscurely fell, And perish'd in an unknown, private cell, Yet in their books they found a glorious way To live unto the Resurrection-day! Most noble Bodley! we are bound to thee For no small part of our eternity. Thy treasure was not spent on horse and hound, Nor that new mode which doth old states confound. Thy legacies another way did go: Nor were they left to those would spend them so. Thy safe, discreet expense on us did flow; Walsam is in the midst of Oxford now. Th' hast made us all thine heirs; whatever we Hereafter write, 'tis thy posterity. This is thy monument! here thou shalt stand Till the times fail in their last grain of sand. And wheresoe'er thy silent relics keep, This tomb will never let thine honour sleep, Still we shall think upon thee; all our fame Meets here to speak one letter of thy name. Thou canst not die! here thou art more than safe, Where every book is thy large epitaph.

THE IMPORTUNATE FORTUNE, WRITTEN TO DR. POWEL, OF CANTRE[FF].

For shame desist, why shouldst thou seek my fall? It cannot make thee more monarchical. Leave off; thy empire is already built; To ruin me were to enlarge thy guilt, Not thy prerogative. I am not he Must be the measure to thy victory. The Fates hatch more for thee; 'twere a disgrace If in thy annals I should make a clause. The future ages will disclose such men Shall be the glory, and the end of them. Nor do I flatter. So long as there be Descents in Nature, or posterity, There must be fortunes; whether they be good, As swimming in thy tide and plenteous flood, Or stuck fast in the shallow ebb, when we Miss to deserve thy gorgeous charity. Thus, Fortune, the great world thy period is; Nature and you are parallels in this. But thou wilt urge me still. Away, be gone, I am resolv'd, I will not be undone. I scorn thy trash, and thee: nay, more, I do Despise myself, because thy subject too. Name me heir to thy malice, and I'll be; Thy hate's the best inheritance for me. I care not for your wondrous hat and purse, Make me a Fortunatus with thy curse. How careful of myself then should I be, Were I neglected by the world and thee? Why dost thou tempt me with thy dirty ore, And with thy riches make my soul so poor? My fancy's pris'ner to thy gold and thee, Thy favours rob me of my liberty. I'll to my speculations. Is't best To be confin'd to some dark, narrow chest And idolize thy stamps, when I may be Lord of all Nature, and not slave to thee? The world's my palace. I'll contemplate there, And make my progress into ev'ry sphere. The chambers of the air are mine; those three Well-furnish'd stories my possession be. I hold them all in capite, and stand Propp'd by my fancy there. I scorn your land, It lies so far below me. Here I see How all the sacred stars do circle me. Thou to the great giv'st rich food, and I do Want no content; I feed on manna too. They have their tapers; I gaze without fear On flying lamps and flaming comets here. Their wanton flesh in silks and purple shrouds, And fancy wraps me in a robe of clouds. There some delicious beauty they may woo, And I have Nature for my mistress too. But these are mean; the archetype I can see, And humbly touch the hem of majesty. The power of my soul is such, I can Expire, and so analyze all that's man. First my dull clay I give unto the Earth, Our common mother, which gives all their birth. My growing faculties I send as soon, Whence first I took them, to the humid moon. All subtleties and every cunning art To witty Mercury I do impart. Those fond affections which made me a slave To handsome faces, Venus, thou shalt have. And saucy pride--if there was aught in me-- Sol, I return it to thy royalty. My daring rashness and presumptions be To Mars himself an equal legacy. My ill-plac'd avarice--sure 'tis but small-- Jove, to thy flames I do bequeath it all. And my false magic, which I did believe, And mystic lies, to Saturn I do give. My dark imaginations rest you there, This is your grave and superstitious sphere. Get up, my disentangled soul, thy fire Is now refin'd, and nothing left to tire Or clog thy wings. Now my auspicious flight Hath brought me to the empyrean light. I am a sep'rate essence, and can see The emanations of the Deity, And how they pass the seraphims, and run Through ev'ry throne and domination. So rushing through the guard the sacred streams Flow to the neighbour stars, and in their beams --A glorious cataract!--descend to earth, And give impressions unto ev'ry birth. With angels now and spirits I do dwell, And here it is my nature to do well. Thus, though my body you confined see, My boundless thoughts have their ubiquity. And shall I then forsake the stars and signs, To dote upon thy dark and cursed mines? Unhappy, sad exchange! what, must I buy Guiana with the loss of all the sky? Intelligences shall I leave, and be Familiar only with mortality? Must I know nought, but thy exchequer? shall My purse and fancy be symmetrical? Are there no objects left but one? must we In gaining that, lose our variety? Fortune, this is the reason I refuse Thy wealth; it puts my books all out of use. 'Tis poverty that makes me wise; my mind Is big with speculation, when I find My purse as Randolph's was, and I confess There is no blessing to an emptiness! The species of all things to me resort And dwell then in my breast, as in their port. Then leave to court me with thy hated store; Thou giv'st me that, to rob my soul of more.

TO I. MORGAN OF WHITEHALL, ESQ., UPON HIS SUDDEN JOURNEY AND SUCCEEDING MARRIAGE.

A Rhapsodis (part 3)

So from our cold, rude world, which all things tires, To his warm Indies the bright sun retires. Where, in those provinces of gold and spice, Perfumes his progress, pleasures fill his eyes, Which, so refresh'd, in their return convey Fire into rubies, into crystals, day; And prove, that light in kinder climates can Work more on senseless stones, than here on man. But you, like one ordain'd to shine, take in Both light and heat, can love and wisdom spin Into one thread, and with that firmly tie The same bright blessings on posterity: Which so entail'd, like jewels of the crown, Shall, with your name, descend still to your own. When I am dead, and malice or neglect The worst they can upon my dust reflect; --For poets yet have left no names, but such As men have envied or despis'd too much-- You above both--and what state more excels, Since a just fame like health, nor wants, nor swells?-- To after ages shall remain entire, And shine still spotless, like your planet's fire. No single lustre neither; the access Of your fair love will yours adorn and bless; Till, from that bright conjunction, men may view A constellation circling her and you. So two sweet rose-buds from their virgin-beds First peep and blush, then kiss and couple heads, Till yearly blessings so increase their store, Those two can number two-and-twenty more, And the fair bank--by Heav'n's free bounty crown'd-- With choice of sweets and beauties doth abound, Till Time, which families, like flowers, far spreads, Gives them for garlands to the best of heads. Then late posterity--if chance, or some Weak echo, almost quite expir'd and dumb, Shall tell them who the poet was, and how He liv'd and lov'd thee too, which thou dost know-- Straight to my grave will flowers and spices bring, With lights and hymns, and for an offering There vow this truth, that love--which in old times Was censur'd blind, and will contract worse crimes If hearts mend not--did for thy sake in me Find both his eyes, and all foretell and see.

FIDA; OR, THE COUNTRY BEAUTY. TO LYSIMACHUS.

Now I have seen her; and by Cupid The young Medusa made me stupid! A face, that hath no lovers slain, Wants forces, and is near disdain. For every fop will freely peep At majesty that is asleep. But she--fair tyrant!--hates to be Gaz'd on with such impunity. Whose prudent rigour bravely bears And scorns the trick of whining tears, Or sighs, those false alarms of grief, Which kill not, but afford relief. Nor is it thy hard fate to be Alone in this calamity, Since I who came but to be gone, Am plagu'd for merely looking on. Mark from her forehead to her foot What charming sweets are there to do't. A head adorn'd with all those glories That wit hath shadow'd in quaint stories, Or pencil with rich colours drew In imitation of the true. Her hair, laid out in curious sets And twists, doth show like silken nets, Where--since he play'd at hit or miss-- The god of Love her pris'ner is, And fluttering with his skittish wings Puts all her locks in curls and rings. Like twinkling stars her eyes invite All gazers to so sweet a light, But then two arched clouds of brown Stand o'er, and guard them with a frown. Beneath these rays of her bright eyes, Beauty's rich bed of blushes lies. Blushes which lightning-like come on, Yet stay not to be gaz'd upon; But leave the lilies of her skin As fair as ever, and run in, Like swift salutes--which dull paint scorn-- 'Twixt a white noon and crimson morn. What coral can her lips resemble? For hers are warm, swell, melt, and tremble: And if you dare contend for red, This is alive, the other dead. Her equal teeth--above, below-- All of a size and smoothness grow. Where under close restraint and awe --Which is the maiden tyrant law-- Like a cag'd, sullen linnet, dwells Her tongue, the key to potent spells. Her skin, like heav'n when calm and bright, Shows a rich azure under white, With touch more soft than heart supposes, And breath as sweet as new-blown roses. Betwixt this headland and the main, Which is a rich and flow'ry plain, Lies her fair neck, so fine and slender, That gently how you please 'twill bend her. This leads you to her heart, which ta'en, Pants under sheets of whitest lawn, And at the first seems much distress'd, But, nobly treated, lies at rest. Here, like two balls of new fall'n snow, Her breasts, Love's native pillows, grow; And out of each a rose-bud peeps, Which infant Beauty sucking sleeps. Say now, my Stoic, that mak'st sour faces At all the beauties and the graces, That criest, unclean! though known thyself To ev'ry coarse and dirty shelf: Couldst thou but see a piece like this, A piece so full of sweets and bliss, In shape so rare, in soul so rich, Wouldst thou not swear she is a witch?

FIDA FORSAKEN.

Fool that I was! to believe blood, While swoll'n with greatness, then most good; And the false thing, forgetful man, To trust more than our true god, Pan. Such swellings to a dropsy tend, And meanest things such great ones bend.

Then live deceived! and, Fida, by That life destroy fidelity. For living wrongs will make some wise, While Death chokes loudest injuries: And screens the faulty, making blinds To hide the most unworthy minds.

And yet do what thou can'st to hide, A bad tree's fruit will be describ'd. For that foul guilt which first took place In his dark heart, now damns his face; And makes those eyes, where life should dwell, Look like the pits of Death and Hell.

Blood, whose rich purple shows and seals Their faith in Moors, in him reveals A blackness at the heart, and is Turn'd ink to write his faithlessness. Only his lips with blood look red, As if asham'd of what they fed.

Then, since he wears in a dark skin The shadows of his hell within, Expose him no more to the light, But thine own epitaph thus write "Here burst, and dead and unregarded Lies Fida's heart! O well rewarded!"

TO THE EDITOR OF THE MATCHLESS ORINDA.

Long since great wits have left the stage Unto the drollers of the age, And noble numbers with good sense Are, like good works, grown an offence. While much of verse--worse than old story-- Speaks but Jack-Pudding or John-Dory. Such trash-admirers made us poor, And pies turn'd poets out of door; For the nice spirit of rich verse Which scorns absurd and low commerce, Although a flame from heav'n, if shed On rooks or daws warms no such head. Or else the poet, like bad priest, Is seldom good, but when oppress'd; And wit as well as piety Doth thrive best in adversity For since the thunder left our air Their laurels look not half so fair. However 'tis, 'twere worse than rude, Not to profess our gratitude And debts to thee, who at so low An ebb dost make us thus to flow; And when we did a famine fear, Hast bless'd us with a fruitful year. So while the world his absence mourns, The glorious sun at last returns, And with his kind and vital looks Warms the cold earth and frozen brooks, Puts drowsy Nature into play, And rids impediments away, Till flow'rs and fruits and spices through Her pregnant lap get up and grow. But if among those sweet things, we A miracle like that could see Which Nature brought but once to pass, A Muse, such as Orinda was, Ph[oe]bus himself won by these charms Would give her up into thy arms; And recondemn'd to kiss his tree, Yield the young goddess unto thee.

UPON SUDDEN NEWS OF THE MUCH LAMENTED DEATH OF JUDGE TREVERS.

Learning and Law, your day is done, And your work too; you may be gone Trever, that lov'd you, hence is fled: And Right, which long lay sick, is dead. Trever! whose rare and envied part Was both a wise and winning heart, Whose sweet civilities could move Tartars and Goths to noblest love. Bold vice and blindness now dare act, And--like the grey groat--pass, though crack'd; While those sage lips lie dumb and cold, Whose words are well-weigh'd and tried gold. O, how much to discreet desires Differs pure light from foolish fires! But nasty dregs outlast the wine, And after sunset glow-worms shine.

TO ETESIA (FOR TIMANDER); THE FIRST SIGHT.

What smiling star in that fair night Which gave you birth gave me this sight, And with a kind aspect tho' keen Made me the subject, you the queen? That sparkling planet is got now Into your eyes, and shines below, Where nearer force and more acute It doth dispense, without dispute; For I who yesterday did know Love's fire no more than doth cool snow, With one bright look am since undone, Yet must adore and seek my sun. Before I walk'd free as the wind And if but stay'd--like it--unkind; I could like daring eagles gaze And not be blinded by a face; For what I saw till I saw thee, Was only not deformity. Such shapes appear--compar'd with thine-- In arras, or a tavern-sign, And do but mind me to explore A fairer piece, that is in store. So some hang ivy to their wine, To signify there is a vine. Those princely flow'rs--by no storms vex'd-- Which smile one day, and droop the next, The gallant tulip and the rose, Emblems which some use to disclose Bodied ideas--their weak grace Is mere imposture to thy face. For Nature in all things, but thee, Did practise only sophistry; Or else she made them to express How she could vary in her dress: But thou wert form'd, that we might see Perfection, not variety. Have you observ'd how the day-star Sparkles and smiles and shines from far; Then to the gazer doth convey A silent but a piercing ray? So wounds my love, but that her eyes Are in effects the better skies. A brisk bright agent from them streams Arm'd with no arrows, but their beams, And with such stillness smites our hearts, No noise betrays him, nor his darts. He, working on my easy soul, Did soon persuade, and then control; And now he flies--and I conspire-- Through all my blood with wings of fire, And when I would--which will be never-- With cold despair allay the fever, The spiteful thing Etesia names, And that new-fuels all my flames.

THE CHARACTER, TO ETESIA.

Go catch the ph[oe]nix, and then bring A quill drawn for me from his wing. Give me a maiden beauty's blood, A pure, rich crimson, without mud, In whose sweet blushes that may live, Which a dull verse can never give. Now for an untouch'd, spotless white, For blackest things on paper write, Etesia, at thine own expense Give me the robes of innocence. Could we but see a spring to run Pure milk, as sometimes springs have done, And in the snow-white streams it sheds, Carnations wash their bloody heads, While ev'ry eddy that came down Did--as thou dost--both smile and frown. Such objects, and so fresh would be But dull resemblances of thee. Thou art the dark world's morning-star, Seen only, and seen but from far; Where, like astronomers, we gaze Upon the glories of thy face, But no acquaintance more can have, Though all our lives we watch and crave. Thou art a world thyself alone, Yea, three great worlds refin'd to one; Which shows all those, and in thine eyes The shining East and Paradise. Thy soul--a spark of the first fire-- Is like the sun, the world's desire; And with a nobler influence Works upon all, that claim to sense; But in summers hath no fever, And in frosts is cheerful ever. As flow'rs besides their curious dress Rich odours have, and sweetnesses, Which tacitly infuse desire, And ev'n oblige us to admire: Such, and so full of innocence Are all the charms, thou dost dispense; And like fair Nature without arts At once they seize, and please our hearts. O, thou art such, that I could be A lover to idolatry! I could, and should from heav'n stray, But that thy life shows mine the way, And leave a while the Deity To serve His image here in thee.

TO ETESIA LOOKING FROM HER CASEMENT AT THE FULL MOON.

See you that beauteous queen, which no age tames? Her train is azure, set with golden flames: My brighter fair, fix on the East your eyes, And view that bed of clouds, whence she doth rise. Above all others in that one short hour Which most concern'd me,[64] she had greatest pow'r. This made my fortunes humorous as wind, But fix'd affections to my constant mind. She fed me with the tears of stars, and thence I suck'd in sorrows with their influence. To some in smiles, and store of light she broke, To me in sad eclipses still she spoke. She bent me with the motion of her sphere, And made me feel what first I did but fear. But when I came to age, and had o'ergrown Her rules, and saw my freedom was my own, I did reply unto the laws of Fate, And made my reason my great advocate: I labour'd to inherit my just right; But then--O, hear Etesia!--lest I might Redeem myself, my unkind starry mother Took my poor heart, and gave it to another.

FOOTNOTES:

[64] The original has concerned in.

TO ETESIA PARTED FROM HIM, AND LOOKING BACK.

O, subtle Love! thy peace is war, It wounds and kills without a scar, It works unknown to any sense, Like the decrees of Providence, And with strange silence shoots me through, The fire of Love doth fell like snow. Hath she no quiver, but my heart? Must all her arrows hit that part? Beauties like heav'n their gifts should deal Not to destroy us, but to heal. Strange art of Love! that can make sound, And yet exasperates the wound: That look she lent to ease my heart, Hath pierc'd it, and improv'd the smart.

IN ETESIAM LACHRYMANTEM.

O Dulcis Iuctus, risuque potentior omni! Quem decorant lachrimis sidera tanta suis. Quam tacitae spirant aurae! vultusque nitentes Contristant veneres, collachrimantque suae! Ornat gutta genas, oculisque simillima gemma: Et tepido vivas irrigat imbre rosas. Dicite Chaldaei! quae me fortuna fatigat, [C?D?]um formosa dies et sine nube perit[65]?

FOOTNOTES:

[65] The original has peruit.

TO ETESIA GOING BEYOND SEA.

Go, if you must! but stay--and know And mind before you go, my vow. To ev'ry thing, but heav'n and you, With all my heart I bid adieu! Now to those happy shades I'll go Where first I saw my beauteous foe! I'll seek each silent path where we Did walk; and where you sat with me I'll sit again, and never rest Till I can find some flow'r you press'd. That near my dying heart I'll keep, And when it wants dew I will weep: Sadly I will repeat past joys And words, which you did sometimes voice I'll listen to the woods, and hear The echo answer for you there. But famish'd with long absence I, Like infants left, at last shall cry, And tears--as they do milk--will sup Until you come, and take me up.

ETESIA ABSENT.

Love, the world's life! what a sad death Thy absence is! to lose our breath At once and die, is but to live Enlarg'd, without the scant reprieve Of pulse and air; whose dull returns And narrow circles the soul mourns. But to be dead alive, and still To wish, but never have our will, To be possess'd, and yet to miss, To wed a true but absent bliss, Are ling'ring tortures, and their smart Dissects and racks and grinds the heart! As soul and body in that state Which unto us, seems separate, Cannot be said to live, until Reunion; which days fulfil And slow-pac'd seasons; so in vain Through hours and minutes--Time's long train-- I look for thee, and from thy sight, As from my soul, for life and light. For till thine eyes shine so on me, Mine are fast-clos'd and will not see.

TRANSLATIONS.

SOME ODES OF THE EXCELLENT AND KNOWING [ANICIUS MANLIUS] SEVERINUS [BOETHIUS], ENGLISHED.

[DE CONSOLATIONE] LIB. III. METRUM XII.

Happy is he, that with fix'd eyes The fountain of all goodness spies! Happy is he that can break through Those bonds which tie him here below! The Thracian poet long ago, Kind Orpheus, full of tears and woe, Did for his lov'd Eurydice In such sad numbers mourn, that he Made the trees run in to his moan, And streams stand still to hear him groan. The does came fearless in one throng With lions to his mournful song, And charmed by the harmonious sound, The hare stay'd by the quiet hound. But when Love height'n'd by despair And deep reflections on his fair Had swell'd his heart, and made it rise And run in tears out at his eyes, And those sweet airs, which did appease Wild beasts, could give their lord no ease; Then, vex'd that so much grief and love Mov'd not at all the gods above, With desperate thoughts and bold intent, Towards the shades below he went; For thither his fair love was fled, And he must have her from the dead. There in such lines, as did well suit With sad airs and a lover's lute, And in the richest language dress'd That could be thought on or express'd, Did he complain; whatever grief Or art or love--which is the chief, And all ennobles--could lay out, In well-tun'd woes he dealt about. And humbly bowing to the prince Of ghosts begg'd some intelligence Of his Eurydice, and where His beauteous saint resided there. Then to his lute's instructed groans He sigh'd out new melodious moans; And in a melting, charming strain Begg'd his dear love to life again. The music flowing through the shade And darkness did with ease invade The silent and attentive ghosts; And Cerberus, which guards those coasts With his loud barkings, overcome By the sweet notes, was now struck dumb. The Furies, us'd to rave and howl And prosecute each guilty soul, Had lost their rage, and in a deep Transport, did most profusely weep. Ixion's wheel stopp'd, and the curs'd Tantalus, almost kill'd with thirst, Though the streams now did make no haste, But wait'd for him, none would taste. That vulture, which fed still upon Tityus his liver, now was gone To feed on air, and would not stay, Though almost famish'd, with her prey. Won with these wonders, their fierce prince At last cried out, "We yield! and since Thy merits claim no less, take hence Thy consort for thy recompense: But Orpheus, to this law we bind Our grant: you must not look behind, Nor of your fair love have one sight, Till out of our dominions quite." Alas! what laws can lovers awe? Love is itself the greatest law! Or who can such hard bondage brook To be in love, and not to look? Poor Orpheus almost in the light Lost his dear love for one short sight; And by those eyes, which Love did guide, What he most lov'd unkindly died! This tale of Orpheus and his love Was meant for you, who ever move Upwards, and tend into that light, Which is not seen by mortal sight. For if, while you strive to ascend, You droop, and towards Earth once bend Your seduc'd eyes, down you will fall Ev'n while you look, and forfeit all.

LIB. III. METRUM II.

What fix'd affections, and lov'd laws --Which are the hid, magnetic cause-- Wise Nature governs with, and by What fast, inviolable tie The whole creation to her ends For ever provident she bends: All this I purpose to rehearse In the sweet airs of solemn verse. Although the Libyan lions should Be bound in chains of purest gold, And duly fed were taught to know Their keeper's voice, and fear his blow: Yet, if they chance to taste of blood, Their rage which slept, stirr'd by that food In furious roaring will awake, And fiercely for their freedom make. No chains nor bars their fury brooks, But with enrag'd and bloody looks They will break through, and dull'd with fear Their keeper all to pieces tear. The bird, which on the wood's tall boughs Sings sweetly, if you cage or house, And out of kindest care should think To give her honey with her drink, And get her store of pleasant meat, Ev'n such as she delights to eat: Yet, if from her close prison she The shady groves doth chance to see, Straightway she loathes her pleasant food, And with sad looks longs for the wood. The wood, the wood alone she loves! And towards it she looks and moves: And in sweet notes--though distant from-- Sings to her first and happy home! That plant, which of itself doth grow Upwards, if forc'd, will downwards bow; But give it freedom, and it will Get up, and grow erectly still. The sun, which by his prone descent Seems westward in the evening bent, Doth nightly by an unseen way Haste to the East, and bring up day. Thus all things long for their first state, And gladly to't return, though late. Nor is there here to anything A course allow'd, but in a ring: Which, where it first began, must end, And to that point directly tend.

LIB. IV. METRUM VI.

Who would unclouded see the laws Of the supreme, eternal Cause, Let him with careful thoughts and eyes Observe the high and spacious skies. There in one league of love the stars Keep their old peace, and show our wars. The sun, though flaming still and hot, The cold, pale moon annoyeth not. Arcturus with his sons--though they See other stars go a far way, And out of sight--yet still are found Near the North Pole, their noted bound. Bright Hesper--at set times--delights To usher in the dusky nights: And in the East again attends To warn us, when the day ascends. So alternate Love supplies Eternal courses still, and vies Mutual kindness; that no jars Nor discord can disturb the stars.

The same sweet concord here below Makes the fierce elements to flow And circle without quarrel still, Though temper'd diversely; thus will The hot assist the cold; the dry Is a friend to humidity: And by the law of kindness they The like relief to them repay. The fire, which active is and bright, Tends upward, and from thence gives light. The earth allows it all that space And makes choice of the lower place; For things of weight haste to the centre, A fall to them is no adventure.

From these kind turns and circulation Seasons proceed, and generation. This makes the Spring to yield us flow'rs, And melts the clouds to gentle show'rs. The Summer thus matures all seeds And ripens both the corn and weeds. This brings on Autumn, which recruits Our old, spent store, with new fresh fruits. And the cold Winter's blust'ring season Hath snow and storms for the same reason. This temper and wise mixture breed And bring forth ev'ry living seed. And when their strength and substance spend --For while they live, they drive and tend Still to a change--it takes them hence And shifts their dress! and to our sense Their course is over, as their birth: And hid from us they turn to earth.

But all this while the Prince of life Sits without loss, or change, or strife: Holding the reins, by which all move --And those His wisdom, power, love And justice are--and still what He The first life bids, that needs must be, And live on for a time; that done He calls it back, merely to shun The mischief, which His creature might Run into by a further flight. For if this dear and tender sense Of His preventing providence, Did not restrain and call things back, Both heav'n and earth would go to rack, And from their great Preserver part; As blood let out forsakes the heart And perisheth, but what returns With fresh and brighter spirits burns.

This is the cause why ev'ry living Creature affects an endless being. A grain of this bright love each thing Had giv'n at first by their great King; And still they creep--drawn on by this-- And look back towards their first bliss. For, otherwise, it is most sure, Nothing that liveth could endure: Unless its love turn'd retrograde Sought that First Life, which all things made.

LIB. IV. METRUM III.

If old tradition hath not fail'd, Ulysses, when from Troy he sail'd Was by a tempest forc'd to land Where beauteous Circe did command. Circe, the daughter of the sun, Which had with charms and herbs undone Many poor strangers, and could then Turn into beasts the bravest men. Such magic in her potions lay, That whosoever passed that way And drank, his shape was quickly lost. Some into swine she turn'd, but most To lions arm'd with teeth and claws; Others like wolves with open jaws Did howl; but some--more savage--took The tiger's dreadful shape and look. But wise Ulysses, by the aid Of Hermes, had to him convey'd A flow'r, whose virtue did suppress The force of charms, and their success: While his mates drank so deep, that they Were turn'd to swine, which fed all day On mast, and human food had left, Of shape and voice at once bereft; Only the mind--above all charms-- Unchang'd did mourn those monstrous harms. O, worthless herbs, and weaker arts, To change their limbs, but not their hearts! Man's life and vigour keep within, Lodg'd in the centre, not the skin. Those piercing charms and poisons, which His inward parts taint and bewitch, More fatal are, than such, which can Outwardly only spoil the man. Those change his shape and make it foul, But these deform and kill his soul.

LIB. III. METRUM VI.

All sorts of men, that live on Earth, Have one beginning and one birth. For all things there is one Father, Who lays out all, and all doth gather. He the warm sun with rays adorns, And fills with brightness the moon's horns. The azur'd heav'ns with stars He burnish'd, And the round world with creatures furnish'd. But men--made to inherit all-- His own sons He was pleas'd to call, And that they might be so indeed, He gave them souls of divine seed. A noble offspring surely then Without distinction are all men. O, why so vainly do some boast Their birth and blood and a great host Of ancestors, whose coats and crests Are some rav'nous birds or beasts! If extraction they look for, And God, the great Progenitor, No man, though of the meanest state, Is base, or can degenerate, Unless, to vice and lewdness bent, He leaves and taints his true descent.

THE OLD MAN OF VERONA OUT OF CLAUDIAN, [EPIGRAMMA II.]

Felix, qui propriis avum transegit in arvis, Una domus puerum, &c.

Most happy man! who in his own sweet fields Spent all his time; to whom one cottage yields In age and youth a lodging; who, grown old, Walks with his staff on the same soil and mould Where he did creep an infant, and can tell Many fair years spent in one quiet cell! No toils of fate made him from home far known, Nor foreign waters drank, driv'n from his own. No loss by sea, no wild land's wasteful war Vex'd him, not the brib'd coil of gowns at bar. Exempt from cares, in cities never seen, The fresh field-air he loves, and rural green. The year's set turns by fruits, not consuls, knows; Autumn by apples, May by blossom'd boughs. Within one hedge his sun doth set and rise, The world's wide day his short demesnes comprise; Where he observes some known, concrescent twig Now grown an oak, and old, like him, and big. Verona he doth for the Indies take, And as the Red Sea counts Benacus' Lake. Yet are his limbs and strength untir'd, and he, A lusty grandsire, three descents doth see. Travel and sail who will, search sea or shore; This man hath liv'd, and that hath wander'd more.

THE SPHERE OF ARCHIMEDES OUT OF CLAUDIAN, [EPIGRAMMA XVIII.]

Jupiter in parvo cum cerneret aethera vitro Risit, et ad superos, &c.

When Jove a heav'n of small glass did behold, He smil'd, and to the gods these words he told. "Comes then the power of man's art to this? In a frail orb my work new acted is, The poles' decrees, the fate of things, God's laws, Down by his art old Archimedes draws. Spirits inclos'd the sev'ral stars attend, And orderly the living work they bend. A feigned Zodiac measures out the year, Ev'ry new month a false moon doth appear. And now bold industry is proud, it can Wheel round its world, and rule the stars by man. Why at Salmoneus' thunder do I stand? Nature is rivall'd by a single hand."

THE PH[OE]NIX OUT OF CLAUDIAN, [IDYLL I.]

Oceani summo circumfluus aequore lucus Trans Indos, Eurumque viret, &c.

A grove there grows, round with the sea confin'd, Beyond the Indies and the Eastern wind, Which, as the sun breaks forth in his first beam, Salutes his steeds, and hears him whip his team; When with his dewy coach the Eastern bay Crackles, whence blusheth the approaching Day, And blasted with his burnish'd wheels the Night In a pale dress doth vanish from the light. This the bless'd Ph[oe]nix' empire is, here he, Alone exempted from mortality, Enjoys a land, where no diseases reign, And ne'er afflicted like our world with pain. A bird most equal to the gods, which vies For length of life and durance with the skies, And with renew'd limbs tires ev'ry age His appetite he never doth assuage With common food. Nor doth he use to drink When thirsty on some river's muddy brink. A purer, vital heat shot from the sun Doth nourish him, and airy sweets that come From Tethys lap he tasteth at his need; On such abstracted diet doth he feed. A secret light there streams from both his eyes, A fiery hue about his cheeks doth rise. His crest grows up into a glorious star Giv'n t' adorn his head, and shines so far, That piercing through the bosom of the night It rends the darkness with a gladsome light. His thighs like Tyrian scarlet, and his wings --More swift than winds are--have sky-colour'd rings Flow'ry and rich: and round about enroll'd Their utmost borders glister all with gold. He's not conceiv'd, nor springs he from the Earth, But is himself the parent, and the birth. None him begets; his fruitful death reprieves Old age, and by his funerals he lives. For when the tedious Summer's gone about A thousand times: so many Winters out, So many Springs: and May doth still restore Those leaves, which Autumn had blown off before; Then press'd with years his vigour doth decline, Foil'd with the number; as a stately pine Tir'd out with storms bends from the top and height Of Caucasus, and falls with its own weight, Whose part is torn with daily blasts, with rain Part is consum'd, and part with age again; So now his eyes grown dusky, fail to see Far off, and drops of colder rheums there be Fall'n slow and dreggy from them; such in sight The cloudy moon is, having spent her light. And now his wings, which used to contend With tempests, scarce from the low earth ascend. He knows his time is out! and doth provide New principles of life; herbs he brings dried From the hot hills, and with rich spices frames A pile, shall burn, and hatch him with its flames. On this the weakling sits; salutes the sun With pleasant noise, and prays and begs for some Of his own fire, that quickly may restore The youth and vigour, which he had before. Whom, soon as Ph[oe]bus spies, stopping his reins, He makes a stand and thus allays his pains. O thou that buriest old age in thy grave, And art by seeming funerals to have A new return of life, whose custom 'tis To rise by ruin, and by death to miss Ev'n death itself, a new beginning take, And that thy wither'd body now forsake! Better thyself by this thy change! This said He shakes his locks, and from his golden head Shoots one bright beam, which smites with vital fire The willing bird; to burn is his desire, That he may live again: he's proud in death, And goes in haste to gain a better breath. The spicy heap fir'd with celestial rays Doth burn the aged Ph[oe]nix, when straight stays The chariot of th' amazed moon; the pole Resists the wheeling swift orbs, and the whole Fabric of Nature at a stand remains, Till the old bird a new young being gains. All stop and charge the faithful flames, that they Suffer not Nature's glory to decay. By this time, life which in the ashes lurks Hath fram'd the heart, and taught new blood new works; The whole heap stirs, and ev'ry part assumes Due vigour; th' embers too are turn'd to plumes; The parent in the issue now revives, But young and brisk; the bounds of both these lives, With very little space between the same, Were parted only by the middle flame. To Nilus straight he goes to consecrate His parent's ghost; his mind is to translate His dust to Egypt. Now he hastes away Into a distant land, and doth convey The ashes in a turf. Birds do attend His journey without number, and defend His pious flight, like to a guard; the sky Is clouded with the army, as they fly. Nor is there one of all those thousands dares Affront his leader: they with solemn cares Attend the progress of their youthful king; Not the rude hawk, nor th' eagle that doth bring Arms up to Jove, fight now, lest they displease; The miracle enacts a common peace. So doth the Parthian lead from Tigris' side His barbarous troops, full of a lavish pride In pearls and habit; he adorns his head With royal tires: his steed with gold is led; His robes, for which the scarlet fish is sought, With rare Assyrian needle-work are wrought; And proudly reigning o'er his rascal bands, He raves and triumphs in his large commands. A city of Egypt, famous in all lands For rites, adores the sun; his temple stands There on a hundred pillars by account, Digg'd from the quarries of the Theban mount. Here, as the custom did require--they say-- His happy parent's dust down he doth lay; Then to the image of his lord he bends And to the flames his burden straight commends. Unto the altars thus he destinates His own remains; the light doth gild the gates; Perfumes divine the censers up do send: While th' Indian odour doth itself extend To the Pelusian fens, and filleth all The men it meets with the sweet storm. A gale, To which compar'd nectar itself is vile, Fills the sev'n channels of the misty Nile. O happy bird! sole heir to thy own dust! Death, to whose force all other creatures must Submit, saves thee. Thy ashes make thee rise; 'Tis not thy nature, but thy age that dies. Thou hast seen all! and to the times that run Thou art as great a witness as the sun. Thou saw'st the deluge, when the sea outvied The land, and drown'd the mountains with the tide. What year the straggling Phaeton did fire The world, thou know'st. And no plagues can conspire Against thy life; alone thou dost arise Above mortality; the destinies Spin not thy days out with their fatal clue; They have no law, to which thy life is due.

PIOUS THOUGHTS AND EJACULATIONS.

TO HIS BOOKS.

Bright books! the perspectives to our weak sights, The clear projections of discerning lights, Burning and shining thoughts, man's posthume day, The track of fled souls, and their Milky Way, The dead alive and busy, the still voice Of enlarg'd spirits, kind Heav'n's white decoys! Who lives with you, lives like those knowing flow'rs, Which in commerce with light spend all their hours: Which shut to clouds, and shadows nicely shun, But with glad haste unveil to kiss the sun. Beneath you, all is dark, and a dead night, Which whoso lives in, wants both health and sight. By sucking you, the wise--like bees--do grow Healing and rich, though this they do most slow, Because most choicely; for as great a store Have we of books, as bees of herbs, or more: And the great task, to try, then know, the good. To discern weeds, and judge of wholesome food, Is a rare, scant performance: for man dies Oft ere 'tis done, while the bee feeds and flies. But you were all choice flow'rs, all set and drest By old sage florists, who well knew the best: And I amidst you all am turned a weed! Not wanting knowledge, but for want of heed. Then thank thyself, wild fool, that wouldst not be Content to know--what was too much for thee!

LOOKING BACK.

Fair shining mountains of my pilgrimage And flowery vales, whose flow'rs were stars, The days and nights of my first happy age; An age without distaste and wars! When I by thoughts ascend your sunny heads, And mind those sacred midnight lights By which I walk'd, when curtain'd rooms and beds Confin'd or seal'd up others' sights: O then, how bright, And quick a light Doth brush my heart and scatter night; Chasing that shade, Which my sins made, While I so spring, as if I could not fade! How brave a prospect is a bright back-side! Where flow'rs and palms refresh the eye! And days well spent like the glad East abide, Whose morning-glories cannot die!

THE SHOWER.

Waters above! eternal springs! The dew that silvers the Dove's wings! O welcome, welcome to the sad! Give dry dust drink; drink that makes glad! Many fair ev'nings, many flow'rs Sweeten'd with rich and gentle showers, Have I enjoy'd, and down have run Many a fine and shining sun; But never, till this happy hour, Was blest with such an evening-shower!

DISCIPLINE.

Fair Prince of Light! Light's living Well Who hast the keys of death and Hell! If the mole[66] man despise Thy day, Put chains of darkness in his way. Teach him how deep, how various are The counsels of Thy love and care. When acts of grace and a long peace, Breed but rebellion, and displease, Then give him his own way and will, Where lawless he may run, until His own choice hurts him, and the sting Of his foul sins full sorrows bring. If Heaven and angels, hopes and mirth, Please not the mole so much as earth: Give him his mine to dig, or dwell, And one sad scheme of hideous Hell.

FOOTNOTES:

[66] The original edition has mule.

THE ECLIPSE.

Whither, O whither didst thou fly When I did grieve Thine holy eye? When Thou didst mourn to see me lost, And all Thy care and counsels cross'd. O do not grieve, where'er Thou art! Thy grief is an undoing smart, Which doth not only pain, but break My heart, and makes me blush to speak. Thy anger I could kiss, and will; But O Thy grief, Thy grief, doth kill.

AFFLICTION.

O come, and welcome! come, refine! For Moors, if wash'd by Thee, will shine. Man blossoms at Thy touch; and he, When Thou draw'st blood is Thy rose-tree. Crosses make straight his crooked ways, And clouds but cool his dog-star days; Diseases too, when by Thee blest, Are both restoratives and rest. Flow'rs that in sunshines riot still, Die scorch'd and sapless; though storms kill, The fall is fair, e'en to desire, Where in their sweetness all expire. O come, pour on! what calms can be So fair as storms, that appease Thee?

RETIREMENT.

Fresh fields and woods! the Earth's fair face! God's footstool! and man's dwelling-place! I ask not why the first believer Did love to be a country liver? Who, to secure pious content, Did pitch by groves and wells his tent; Where he might view the boundless sky, And all those glorious lights on high, With flying meteors, mists, and show'rs, Subjected hills, trees, meads, and flow'rs, And ev'ry minute bless the King And wise Creator of each thing.

I ask not why he did remove To happy Mamre's holy grove, Leaving the cities of the plain To Lot and his successless train? All various lusts in cities still Are found; they are the thrones of ill, The dismal sinks, where blood is spill'd, Cages with much uncleanness fill'd: But rural shades are the sweet sense Of piety and innocence; They are the meek's calm region, where Angels descend and rule the sphere; Where Heaven lies leiguer, and the Dove Duly as dew comes from above. If Eden be on Earth at all, 'Tis that which we the country call.

THE REVIVAL.

Unfold! unfold! Take in His light, Who makes thy cares more short than night. The joys which with His day-star rise He deals to all but drowsy eyes; And, what the men of this world miss, Some drops and dews of future bliss.

Hark! how His winds have chang'd their note! And with warm whispers call thee out; The frosts are past, the storms are gone, And backward life at last comes on. The lofty groves in express joys Reply unto the turtle's voice; And here in dust and dirt, O here The lilies of His love appear!

THE DAY SPRING.

Early, while yet the dark was gay And gilt with stars, more trim than day, Heav'n's Lily, and the Earth's chaste Rose, The green immortal Branch arose; } And in a solitary place } S. Mark, Bow'd to His Father His blest face. } c. 1, v. 35- If this calm season pleased my Prince, Whose fulness no need could evince, Why should not I, poor silly sheep, His hours, as well as practice, keep? Not that His hand is tied to these, From whom Time holds his transient lease But mornings new creations are, When men, all night sav'd by His care, Are still reviv'd; and well He may Expect them grateful with the day. So for that first draught of His hand, } Which finish'd heav'n, and sea, and land, } Job, c. 38, The sons of God their thanks did bring, } v. 7- And all the morning stars did sing. } Besides, as His part heretofore The firstlings were of all that bore So now each day from all He saves Their soul's first thoughts and fruits He craves. This makes Him daily shed and show'r His graces at this early hour; Which both His care and kindness show, Cheering the good, quickening the slow. As holy friends mourn at delay, And think each minute an hour's stay, So His Divine and loving Dove With longing throes[67] doth heave and move, And soar about us while we sleep; Sometimes quite through that lock doth peep, And shine, but always without fail, Before the slow sun can unveil, In new compassions breaks, like light, And morning-looks, which scatter night. And wilt Thou let Thy creature be, When Thou hast watch'd, asleep to Thee? Why to unwelcome loath'd surprises Dost leave him, having left his vices? Since these, if suffer'd, may again Lead back the living to the slain. O, change this scourge; or, if as yet None less will my transgressions fit, Dissolve, dissolve! Death cannot do What I would not submit unto.

FOOTNOTES:

[67] The original has throws.

THE RECOVERY.

I.

Fair vessel of our daily light, whose proud And previous glories gild that blushing cloud; Whose lively fires in swift projections glance From hill to hill, and by refracted chance Burnish some neighbour-rock, or tree, and then Fly off in coy and winged flames again: If thou this day Hold on thy way, Know, I have got a greater light than thine; A light, whose shade and back-parts make thee shine. Then get thee down! then get thee down! I have a Sun now of my own.

II.

Those nicer livers, who without thy rays Stir not abroad, those may thy lustre praise; And wanting light--light, which no wants doth know-- To thee--weak shiner!--like blind Persians bow. But where that Sun, which tramples on thy head, From His own bright eternal eye doth shed One living ray, There thy dead day Is needless, and man to a light made free, Which shows that thou canst neither show nor see. Then get thee down! then get thee down! I have a Sun now of my own.

THE NATIVITY.

Written in the year 1656.

Peace? and to all the world? Sure One, And He the Prince of Peace, hath none! He travels to be born, and then Is born to travel more again. Poor Galilee! thou canst not be The place for His Nativity. His restless mother's call'd away, And not deliver'd till she pay.

A tax? 'tis so still! we can see The Church thrive in her misery, And, like her Head at Beth'lem, rise, When she, oppress'd with troubles, lies. Rise?--should all fall, we cannot be In more extremities than He. Great Type of passions! Come what will, Thy grief exceeds all copies still. Thou cam'st from Heav'n to Earth, that we Might go from Earth to Heav'n with Thee: And though Thou found'st no welcome here, Thou didst provide us mansions there. A stable was Thy Court, and when Men turn'd to beasts, beasts would be men: They were Thy courtiers; others none; And their poor manger was Thy throne. No swaddling silks Thy limbs did fold, Though Thou couldst turn Thy rays to gold. No rockers waited on Thy birth, No cradles stirr'd, nor songs of mirth; But her chaste lap and sacred breast, Which lodg'd Thee first, did give Thee rest.

But stay: what light is that doth stream And drop here in a gilded beam? It is Thy star runs page, and brings Thy tributary Eastern kings. Lord! grant some light to us, that we May with them find the way to Thee! Behold what mists eclipse the day! How dark it is! Shed down one ray, To guide us out of this dark night, And say once more, "Let there be light!"

THE TRUE CHRISTMAS.

So, stick up ivy and the bays, And then restore the heathen ways. Green will remind you of the spring, Though this great day denies the thing; And mortifies the earth, and all But your wild revels, and loose hall. Could you wear flow'rs, and roses strow Blushing upon your breasts' warm snow, That very dress your lightness will Rebuke, and wither at the ill. The brightness of this day we owe Not unto music, masque, nor show, Nor gallant furniture, nor plate, But to the manger's mean estate. His life while here, as well as birth, Was but a check to pomp and mirth; And all man's greatness you may see Condemned by His humility.

Then leave your open house and noise, To welcome Him with holy joys, And the poor shepherds' watchfulness, Whom light and hymns from Heav'n did bless. What you abound with, cast abroad To those that want, and ease your load. Who empties thus, will bring more in; But riot is both loss and sin. Dress finely what comes not in sight, And then you keep your Christmas right.

THE REQUEST.

O thou who didst deny to me This world's ador'd felicity, And ev'ry big imperious lust, Which fools admire in sinful dust, With those fine subtle twists, that tie Their bundles of foul gallantry-- Keep still my weak eyes from the shine Of those gay things which are not Thine! And shut my ears against the noise Of wicked, though applauded, joys! For Thou in any land hast store Of shades and coverts for Thy poor; Where from the busy dust and heat, As well as storms, they may retreat. A rock or bush are downy beds, When Thou art there, crowning their heads With secret blessings, or a tire Made of the Comforter's live fire. And when Thy goodness in the dress Of anger will not seem to bless, Yet dost Thou give them that rich rain, Which, as it drops, clears all again. O what kind visits daily pass 'Twixt Thy great self and such poor grass: With what sweet looks doth Thy love shine On those low violets of Thine, While the tall tulip is accurst, And crowns imperial die with thirst! O give me still those secret meals, Those rare repasts which Thy love deals! Give me that joy, which none can grieve, And which in all griefs doth relieve! This is the portion Thy child begs; Not that of rust, and rags, and dregs.

JORDANIS.

Quid celebras auratam undam, et combusta pyropis Flumina, vel medio quae serit aethra salo? Aeternum refluis si pernoctaret in undis Ph[oe]bus, et incertam sidera suda Tethyn Si colerent, tantae gemmae! nil caerula librem: Sorderet rubro in littore dives Eos. Pactoli mea lympha macras ditabit arenas, Atque universum gutta minuta Tagum. O caram caput! O cincinnos unda beatos Libata! O Domini balnea sancta mei! Quod fortunatum voluit spectare canalem, Hoc erat in laudes area parva tuas. Jordanis in medio perfusus flumine lavit, Divinoque tuas ore beavit aquas. Ah! Solyma infelix rivis obsessa prophanis! Amisit genium porta Bethesda suum. Hic Orientis aquae currunt, et apostata Parphar, Atque Abana immundo turbidus amne fluit, Ethnica te totam cum f[oe]davere fluenta, Mansit Christicola Jordanis unus aqua.

SERVILII FATUM, SIVE VINDICTA DIVINA.

Et sic in cithara, sic in dulcedine vitae Et facti et luctus regnat amarities. Quam subito in fastum extensos atque esseda[68] vultus Ultrici oppressit vilis arena sinu! Si violae, spiransque crocus: si lilium [Greek: aeinon] Non nisi justorum nascitur e cinere: Spinarum, tribulique atque infelicis avenae Quantus in hoc tumulo et qualis acervus erit? Dii superi! damnosa piis sub sidera longum Mansuris stabilem conciliate fidem! Sic olim in c[oe]lum post nimbos clarius ibunt, Supremo occidui tot velut astra die. Quippe ruunt horae, qualisque in corpore vixit, Talis it in tenebras bis moriturus homo.

FOOTNOTES:

[68] The original edition misprints essera.

DE SALMONE

Ad virum optimum, et sibi familiarius notum: D. Thomam Poellum Cantrevensem: S. S. Theologiae Doctorem.

Accipe praerapido salmonem in gurgite captum, Ex imo in summas cum penetrasset aquas, Mentitae culicis quem forma elusit inanis: Picta coloratis plumea musca notis. Dum captat, capitur; vorat inscius, ipse vorandus; Fitque cibi raptor grata rapina mali. Alma quies! miserae merces ditissima vitae, Quam tuto in tacitis hic latuisset aquis! Qui dum spumosi fremitus et murmura rivi Quaeritat, hamato sit cita praeda cibo, Quam grave magnarum specimen dant ludicra rerum? Gurges est mundus: salmo, homo: pluma, dolus.

THE WORLD.

Can any tell me what it is? Can you That wind your thoughts into a clue To guide out others, while yourselves stay in, And hug the sin? I, who so long have in it liv'd, That, if I might, In truth I would not be repriev'd, Have neither sight Nor sense that knows These ebbs and flows: But since of all all may be said, And likeliness doth but upbraid And mock the truth, which still is lost In fine conceits, like streams in a sharp frost; I will not strive, nor the rule break, Which doth give losers leave to speak. Then false and foul world, and unknown Ev'n to thy own, Here I renounce thee, and resign Whatever thou canst say is thine.

Thou art not Truth! for he that tries Shall find thee all deceit and lies, Thou art not Friendship! for in thee 'Tis but the bait of policy; Which like a viper lodg'd in flow'rs, Its venom through that sweetness pours; And when not so, then always 'tis A fading paint, the short-liv'd bliss Of air and humour; out and in, Like colours in a dolphin's skin; But must not live beyond one day, Or convenience; then away. Thou art not Riches! for that trash, Which one age hoards, the next doth wash And so severely sweep away, That few remember where it lay. So rapid streams the wealthy land About them have at their command; And shifting channels here restore, There break down, what they bank'd before. Thou art not Honour! for those gay Feathers will wear and drop away; And princes to some upstart line Gives new ones, that are full as fine. Thou art not Pleasure! for thy rose Upon a thorn doth still repose; Which, if not cropp'd, will quickly shed, But soon as cropp'd, grows dull and dead. Thou art the sand, which fills one glass, And then doth to another pass; And could I put thee to a stay, Thou art but dust! Then go thy way, And leave me clean and bright, though poor; Who stops thee doth but daub his floor; And, swallow-like, when he hath done, To unknown dwellings must be gone! Welcome, pure thoughts, and peaceful hours, Enrich'd with sunshine and with show'rs; Welcome fair hopes, and holy cares, The not to be repented shares Of time and business; the sure road Unto my last and lov'd abode! O supreme Bliss! The Circle, Centre, and Abyss Of blessings, never let me miss Nor leave that path which leads to Thee, Who art alone all things to me! I hear, I see, all the long day The noise and pomp of the broad way. I note their coarse and proud approaches, Their silks, perfumes, and glittering coaches. But in the narrow way to Thee I observe only poverty, And despis'd things; and all along The ragged, mean, and humble throng Are still on foot; and as they go They sigh, and say, their Lord went so. Give me my staff then, as it stood When green and growing in the wood; --Those stones, which for the altar serv'd, Might not be smooth'd, nor finely carv'd-- With this poor stick I'll pass the ford, As Jacob did; and Thy dear word, As Thou hast dress'd it, not as wit And deprav'd tastes have poison'd it, Shall in the passage be my meat, And none else will Thy servant eat. Thus, thus, and in no other sort, Will I set forth, though laugh'd at for't; And leaving the wise world their way, Go through, though judg'd to go astray.

THE BEE.

From fruitful beds and flow'ry borders, Parcell'd to wasteful ranks and orders, Where State grasps more than plain Truth needs, And wholesome herbs are starv'd by weeds, To the wild woods I will be gone, And the coarse meals of great Saint John.

When truth and piety are miss'd Both in the rulers and the priest; When pity is not cold, but dead, And the rich eat the poor like bread; While factious heads with open coil And force, first make, then share, the spoil; To Horeb then Elias goes, And in the desert grows the rose. Hail crystal fountains and fresh shades, Where no proud look invades, No busy worldling hunts away The sad retirer all the day! Hail, happy, harmless solitude! Our sanctuary from the rude And scornful world; the calm recess Of faith, and hope, and holiness! Here something still like Eden looks; Honey in woods, juleps in brooks, And flow'rs, whose rich, unrifled sweets With a chaste kiss the cool dew greets, When the toils of the day are done, And the tir'd world sets with the sun. Here flying winds and flowing wells Are the wise, watchful hermit's bells; Their busy murmurs all the night To praise or prayer do invite, And with an awful sound arrest, And piously employ his breast.

When in the East the dawn doth blush, Here cool, fresh spirits the air brush; Herbs straight get up, flow'rs peep and spread, Trees whisper praise, and bow the head: Birds, from the shades of night releas'd, Look round about, then quit the nest, And with united gladness sing The glory of the morning's King. The hermit hears, and with meek voice Offers his own up, and their joys: Then prays that all the world may be Bless'd with as sweet an unity.

If sudden storms the day invade, They flock about him to the shade: Where wisely they expect the end, Giving the tempest time to spend; And hard by shelters on some bough Hilarion's servant, the sage crow.

O purer years of light and grace! The diff'rence is great as the space 'Twixt you and us, who blindly run After false fires, and leave the sun. Is not fair Nature of herself Much richer than dull paint or pelf? And are not streams at the spring-head More sweet than in carv'd stone or lead? But fancy and some artist's tools Frame a religion for fools.

The truth, which once was plainly taught, With thorns and briars now is fraught. Some part is with bold fables spotted, Some by strange comments wildly blotted; And Discord--old Corruption's crest-- With blood and blame hath stain'd the rest. So snow, which in its first descents A whiteness, like pure Heav'n, presents, When touch'd by man is quickly soil'd, And after, trodden down and spoil'd.

O lead me, where I may be free In truth and spirit to serve Thee! Where undisturb'd I may converse With Thy great Self; and there rehearse Thy gifts with thanks; and from Thy store, Who art all blessings, beg much more. Give me the wisdom of the bee, And her unwearied industry! That from the wild gourds of these days, I may extract health, and Thy praise, Who canst turn darkness into light, And in my weakness show Thy might.

Suffer me not in any want To seek refreshment from a plant Thou didst not set; since all must be Pluck'd up, whose growth is not from Thee. 'Tis not the garden, and the bow'rs, Nor sense and forms, that give to flow'rs Their wholesomeness, but Thy good will, Which truth and pureness purchase still.

Then since corrupt man hath driv'n hence Thy kind and saving influence, And balm is no more to be had In all the coasts of Gilead; Go with me to the shade and cell, Where Thy best servants once did dwell. There let me know Thy will, and see Exil'd Religion own'd by Thee; For Thou canst turn dark grots to halls, And make hills blossom like the vales; Decking their untill'd heads with flow'rs, And fresh delights for all sad hours; Till from them, like a laden bee, I may fly home, and hive with Thee

TO CHRISTIAN RELIGION.

Farewell, thou true and tried reflection Of the still poor, and meek election: Farewell, soul's joy, the quick'ning health Of spirits, and their secret wealth! Farewell, my morning-star, the bright And dawning looks of the True Light! O blessed shiner, tell me whither Thou wilt be gone, when night comes hither! A seer that observ'd thee in Thy course, and watch'd the growth of sin, Hath giv'n his judgment, and foretold, That westward hence thy course will hold; And when the day with us is done, There fix, and shine a glorious sun. O hated shades and darkness! when You have got here the sway again, And like unwholesome fogs withstood The light, and blasted all that's good, Who shall the happy shepherds be, To watch the next nativity Of truth and brightness, and make way For the returning, rising day? O what year will bring back our bliss? Or who shall live, when God doth this? Thou Rock of Ages! and the Rest Of all, that for Thee are oppress'd! Send down the Spirit of Thy truth, That Spirit, which the tender youth, And first growths of Thy Spouse did spread Through all the world, from one small head! Then if to blood we must resist, Let Thy mild Dove, and our High-Priest, Help us, when man proves false or frowns, To bear the Cross, and save our crowns. O honour those that honour Thee! Make babes to still the enemy! And teach an infant of few days To perfect by his death Thy praise! Let none defile what Thou didst wed, Nor tear the garland from her head! But chaste and cheerful let her die, And precious in the Bridegroom's eye So to Thy glory and her praise, These last shall be her brightest days.

Revel[ation] chap. last, vers. 17. "The Spirit and the Bride say, Come."

DAPHNIS.

An Elegiac Eclogue. The Interlocutors, Damon, Menalcas.

Damon.

What clouds, Menalcas, do oppress thy brow, Flow'rs in a sunshine never look so low? Is Nisa still cold flint? or have thy lambs Met with the fox by straying from their dams?

Menalcas.

Ah, Damon, no! my lambs are safe; and she Is kind, and much more white than they can be. But what doth life when most serene afford Without a worm which gnaws her fairest gourd? Our days of gladness are but short reliefs, Giv'n to reserve us for enduring griefs: So smiling calms close tempests breed, which break Like spoilers out, and kill our flocks when weak. I heard last May--and May is still high Spring-- The pleasant Philomel her vespers sing. The green wood glitter'd with the golden sun. And all the west like silver shin'd; not one Black cloud; no rags, nor spots did stain The welkin's beauty; nothing frown'd like rain. But ere night came, that scene of fine sights turn'd To fierce dark show'rs; the air with lightnings burn'd; The wood's sweet syren, rudely thus oppress'd, Gave to the storm her weak and weary breast. I saw her next day on her last cold bed: And Daphnis so, just so is Daphnis, dead!

Damon.

So violets, so doth the primrose, fall, At once the Spring's pride, and its funeral. Such easy sweets get off still in their prime, And stay not here to wear the soil of time; While coarser flow'rs, which none would miss, if past, To scorching Summers and cold Autumns last.

Menalcas.

Souls need not time. The early forward things Are always fledg'd, and gladly use their wings. Or else great parts, when injur'd, quit the crowd, To shine above still, not behind, the cloud. And is't not just to leave those to the night That madly hate and persecute the light? Who, doubly dark, all negroes do exceed, And inwardly are true black Moors indeed?

Damon.

The punishment still manifests the sin, As outward signs show the disease within. While worth oppress'd mounts to a nobler height, And palm-like bravely overtops the weight. So where swift Isca from our lofty hills With loud farewells descends, and foaming fills A wider channel, like some great port-vein With large rich streams to fill the humble plain: I saw an oak, whose stately height and shade, Projected far, a goodly shelter made; And from the top with thick diffused boughs In distant rounds grew like a wood-nymph's house. Here many garlands won at roundel-lays Old shepherds hung up in those happy days With knots and girdles, the dear spoils and dress Of such bright maids as did true lovers bless. And many times had old Amphion made His beauteous flock acquainted with this shade: His flock, whose fleeces were as smooth and white As those the welkin shows in moonshine night. Here, when the careless world did sleep, have I In dark records and numbers nobly high, The visions of our black, but brightest bard From old Amphion's mouth full often heard; With all those plagues poor shepherds since have known, And riddles more, which future time must own: While on his pipe young Hylas play'd, and made Music as solemn as the song and shade. But the curs'd owner from the trembling top To the firm brink did all those branches lop; And in one hour what many years had bred, The pride and beauty of the plain, lay dead. The undone swains in sad songs mourn'd their loss, While storms and cold winds did improve the cross; But nature, which--like virtue--scorns to yield, Brought new recruits and succours to the field; For by next spring the check'd sap wak'd from sleep, And upwards still to feel the sun did creep; Till at those wounds, the hated hewer made, There sprang a thicker and a fresher shade.

Menalcas.

So thrives afflicted Truth, and so the light When put out gains a value from the night. How glad are we, when but one twinkling star Peeps betwixt clouds more black than is our tar: And Providence was kind, that order'd this To the brave suff'rer should be solid bliss: Nor is it so till this short life be done, But goes hence with him, and is still his sun.

Damon.

Come, shepherds, then, and with your greenest bays Refresh his dust, who lov'd your learned lays. Bring here the florid glories of the spring, And, as you strew them, pious anthems sing, Which to your children and the years to come May speak of Daphnis, and be never dumb. While prostrate I drop on his quiet urn My tears, not gifts; and like the poor that mourn With green but humble turfs, write o'er his hearse For false, foul prose-men this fair truth in verse.

"Here Daphnis sleeps, and while the great watch goes Of loud and restless Time, takes his repose. Fame is but noise; all Learning but a thought; Which one admires, another sets at nought, Nature mocks both, and Wit still keeps ado: But Death brings knowledge and assurance too."

Menalcas.

Cast in your garlands! strew on all the flow'rs, Which May with smiles or April feeds with show'rs, Let this day's rites as steadfast as the sun Keep pace with Time and through all ages run; The public character and famous test Of our long sorrows and his lasting rest. And when we make procession on the plains, Or yearly keep the holiday of swains, Let Daphnis still be the recorded name, And solemn honour of our feasts and fame. For though the Isis and the prouder Thames Can show his relics lodg'd hard by their streams: And must for ever to the honour'd name Of noble Murrey chiefly owe that fame: Yet here his stars first saw him, and when Fate Beckon'd him hence, it knew no other date. Nor will these vocal woods and valleys fail, Nor Isca's louder streams, this to bewail; But while swains hope, and seasons change, will glide With moving murmurs because Daphnis died.

Damon.

A fatal sadness, such as still foregoes, Then runs along with public plagues and woes, Lies heavy on us; and the very light, Turn'd mourner too, hath the dull looks of night. Our vales, like those of death, a darkness show More sad than cypress or the gloomy yew; And on our hills, where health with height complied, Thick drowsy mists hang round, and there reside. Not one short parcel of the tedious year In its old dress and beauty doth appear. Flow'rs hate the spring, and with a sullen bend Thrust down their heads, which to the root still tend. And though the sun, like a cold lover, peeps A little at them, still the day's-eye sleeps. But when the Crab and Lion with acute And active fires their sluggish heat recruit, Our grass straight russets, and each scorching day Drinks up our brooks as fast as dew in May; Till the sad herdsman with his cattle faints, And empty channels ring with loud complaints.

Menalcas.

Heaven's just displeasure, and our unjust ways, Change Nature's course; bring plagues, dearth, and decays. This turns our lands to dust, the skies to brass, Makes old kind blessings into curses pass: And when we learn unknown and foreign crimes, Brings in the vengeance due unto those climes. The dregs and puddle of all ages now, Like rivers near their fall, on us do flow. Ah, happy Daphnis! who while yet the streams Ran clear and warm, though but with setting beams, Got through, and saw by that declining light, His toil's and journey's end before the night.

Damon.

A night, where darkness lays her chains and bars, And feral fires appear instead of stars. But he, along with the last looks of day, Went hence, and setting--sunlike--pass'd away. What future storms our present sins do hatch Some in the dark discern, and others watch; Though foresight makes no hurricane prove mild, Fury that's long fermenting is most wild. But see, while thus our sorrows we discourse, Ph[oe]bus hath finish'd his diurnal course; The shades prevail: each bush seems bigger grown; Darkness--like State--makes small things swell and frown: The hills and woods with pipes and sonnets round, And bleating sheep our swains drive home, resound.

Menalcas.

What voice from yonder lawn tends hither? Hark! 'Tis Thyrsis calls! I hear Lycanthe bark! His flocks left out so late, and weary grown, Are to the thickets gone, and there laid down.

Damon.

Menalcas, haste to look them out! poor sheep, When day is done, go willingly to sleep: And could bad man his time spend as they do, He might go sleep, or die, as willing too.

Menalcas.

Farewell! kind Damon! now the shepherd's star With beauteous looks smiles on us, though from far. All creatures that were favourites of day Are with the sun retir'd and gone away. While feral birds send forth unpleasant notes, And night--the nurse of thoughts--sad thoughts promotes: But joy will yet come with the morning light, Though sadly now we bid good night!

Damon.

Good night!

FRAGMENTS AND TRANSLATIONS.

From Eucharistica Oxoniensia in Caroli Regis nostri e Scotia Reditum Gratulatoria (1641).

[TO CHARLES THE FIRST.]

As kings do rule like th' heavens, who dispense To parts remote and near their influence; So doth our Charles move also; while he posts From south to north, and back to southern coasts; Like to the starry orb, which in its round Moves to those very points; but while 'tis bound For north, there is--some guess--a trembling fit And shivering in the part that's opposite. What were our fears and pantings, what dire fame Heard we of Irish tumults, sword, and flame! Which now we think but blessings, as being sent Only as matter, whereupon 'twas meant, The British thus united might express, The strength of joined Powers to suppress, Or conquer foes. This is Great Britain's bliss; The island in itself a just world is. Here no commotion shall we find or fear, But of the Court's removal, no sad tear Or cloudy brow, but when you leave us. Then Discord is loyalty professed, when Nations do strive, which shall the happier be T' enjoy your bounteous rays of majesty Which yet you throw in undivided dart, For things divine allow no share or part. The same kind virtue doth at once disclose The beauty of their thistle and our rose. Thus you do mingle souls and firmly knit What were but join'd before; you Scotsmen fit Closely with us, and reuniter prove; You fetch'd the crown before, and now their love.

H. Vaughan, Ies. Col.

From Of the Benefit we may get by our Enemies: translated from Plutarch (1651).

1. [HOMER. ILIAD, I. 255-6.]

Sure Priam will to mirth incline, And all that are of Priam's line.

2. [AESCHYLUS. SEPTEM CONTRA THEBES, 600-1.]

Feeding on fruits which in the heavens do grow, Whence all divine and holy counsels flow.

3. [EURIPIDES. ORESTES, 251-2.]

Excel then if thou canst, be not withstood, But strive and overcome the evil with good.

4. [EURIPIDES. FRAGM. MLXXI.]

You minister to others' wounds a cure, But leave your own all rotten and impure.

5. [EURIPIDES. CRESPHONTES, FRAGM. CCCCLV.]

Chance, taking from me things of highest price, At a dear rate hath taught me to be wise.

6. [INCERTI.]

[He] Knaves' tongues and calumnies no more doth prize Than the vain buzzing of so many flies.

7. [PINDAR. FRAGM. C.]

His deep, dark heart--bent to supplant-- Is iron, or else adamant.

8. [SOLON. FRAGM. XV.]

What though they boast their riches unto us? Those cannot say that they are virtuous.

From Of the Diseases of the Mind and the Body: translated from Plutarch (1651).

1. [HOMER. ILIAD, XVII. 446-7.]

That man for misery excell'd All creatures which the wide world held.

2. [EURIPIDES. BACCHAE, 1170-4.]

A tender kid--see, where 'tis put-- I on the hills did slay, Now dress'd and into quarters cut, A pleasant, dainty prey.

From Of the Diseases of the Mind and the Body: translated from Maximus Tyrius (1651).

1. [ARIPHRON.]

O health, the chief of gifts divine! I would I might with thee and thine Live all those days appointed mine!

From The Mount of Olives (1652).

1. [DEATH.]

Draw near, fond man, and dress thee by this glass, Mark how thy bravery and big looks must pass Into corruption, rottenness and dust; The frail supporters which betray'd thy trust. O weigh in time thy last and loathsome state! To purchase heav'n for tears is no hard rate. Our glory, greatness, wisdom, all we have, If mis-employ'd, but add hell to the grave: Only a fair redemption of evil times Finds life in death, and buries all our crimes.

2. [HADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL.]

My soul, my pleasant soul, and witty, The guest and consort of my body. Into what place now all alone Naked and sad wilt thou be gone? No mirth, no wit, as heretofore, Nor jests wilt thou afford me more.

3. [PAULINUS. CARM. APP. I. 35-40.]

What is't to me that spacious rivers run Whole ages, and their streams are never done? Those still remain: but all my fathers died, And I myself but for few days abide.

4. [ANEURIN. ENGLYNION Y MISOEDD, III. 1-4.]

In March birds couple, a new birth Of herbs and flow'rs breaks through the earth; But in the grave none stirs his head, Long is the impris'ment of the dead.

5. [INCERTI.]

So our decays God comforts by The stars' concurrent state on high.

6. [JUVENAL. SATIRE XIII. 86-8.]

There are that do believe all things succeed By chance or fortune: and that nought's decreed By a divine, wise Will; but blindly call Old Time and Nature rulers over all.

7. [INCERTI.]

From the first hour the heavens were made Unto the last, when all shall fade, Count--if thou canst--the drops of dew, The stars of heav'n and streams that flow, The falling snow, the dropping show'rs, And in the month of May, the flow'rs, Their scents and colours, and what store Of grapes and apples Autumn bore, How many grains the Summer bears, What leaves the wind in Winter tears; Count all the creatures in the world, The motes which in the air are hurl'd, The hairs of beasts and mankind, and The shore's innumerable sand, The blades of grass, and to these last Add all the years which now are past, With those whose course is yet to come, And all their minutes in one sum. When all is done, the damned's state Outruns them still, and knows no date.

8. [VIRGIL. GEORGICS, IV. 12-138.]

I saw beneath Tarentum's stately towers An old Cilician spend his peaceful hours. Some few bad acres in a waste, wild field, Which neither grass, nor corn, nor vines would yield, He did possess. There--amongst thorns and weeds-- Cheap herbs and coleworts, with the common seeds Of chesboule or tame poppies, he did sow, And vervain with white lilies caused to grow. Content he was, as are successful kings, And late at night come home--for long work brings The night still home--with unbought messes laid On his low table he his hunger stay'd. Roses he gather'd in the youthful Spring, And apples in the Autumn home did bring: And when the sad, cold Winter burst with frost The stones, and the still streams in ice were lost, He would soft leaves of bear's-foot crop, and chide The slow west winds and ling'ring Summer-tide!

9. [VIRGIL. AENEID, III. 515.]

And rising at midnight the stars espied, All posting westward in a silent glide.

10. [VIRGIL. GEORGICS, II. 58.]

The trees we set grow slowly, and their shade Stays for our sons, while we--the planters--fade. From Man in Glory: translated from Anselm (1652).

1. [ANSELM.]

Here holy Anselm lives in ev'ry page, And sits archbishop still, to vex the age. Had he foreseen--and who knows but he did?-- This fatal wrack, which deep in time lay hid, 'Tis but just to believe, that little hand Which clouded him, but now benights our land, Had never--like Elias--driv'n him hence, A sad retirer for a slight offence. For were he now, like the returning year, Restor'd, to view these desolations here, He would do penance for his old complaint, And--weeping--say, that Rufus was a saint.

From the Epistle-Dedicatory to Flores Solitudinis (1654).

1. [BISSELLIUS.]

The whole wench--how complete soe'er--was but A specious bait; a soft, sly, tempting slut; A pleasing witch; a living death; a fair, Thriving disease; a fresh, infectious air; A precious plague; a fury sweetly drawn; Wild fire laid up and finely dress'd in lawn.

2. [AUGURELLIUS.]

Peter, when thou this pleasant world dost see, Believe, thou seest mere dreams and vanity, Not real things, but false, and through the air Each-where an empty, slipp'ry scene, though fair. The chirping birds, the fresh woods' shady boughs, The leaves' shrill whispers, when the west wind blows, The swift, fierce greyhounds coursing on the plains, The flying hare, distress'd 'twixt fear and pains, The bloomy maid decking with flow'rs her head, The gladsome, easy youth by light love led; And whatsoe'er here with admiring eyes Thou seem'st to see, 'tis but a frail disguise Worn by eternal things, a passive dress Put on by beings that are passiveless.

From a Discourse Of Temperance and Patience: translated from Nierembergius (1654).

1. [INCERTI.]

The naked man too gets the field, And often makes the armed foe to yield.

2. [LUCRETIUS, IV. 1012-1020.]

[Some] struggle and groan as if by panthers torn, Or lions' teeth, which makes them loudly mourn; Some others seem unto themselves to die; Some climb steep solitudes and mountains high, From whence they seem to fall inanely down, Panting with fear, till wak'd, and scarce their own They feel about them if in bed they lie, Deceiv'd with dreams, and Night's imagery.

In vain with earnest strugglings they contend To ease themselves: for when they stir and bend Their greatest force to do it, even then most Of all they faint, and in their hopes are cross'd. Nor tongue, nor hand, nor foot will serve their turn, But without speech and strength within, they mourn.

3. [INCERTI.]

Thou the nepenthe easing grief Art, and the mind's healing relief.

4. [INCERTI.]

Base man! and couldst thou think Cato alone Wants courage to be dry? and but him, none? Look'd I so soft? breath'd I such base desires, Not proof against this Lybic sun's weak fires? That shame and plague on thee more justly lie! To drink alone, when all our troops are dry.

* * * * *

For with brave rage he flung it on the sand, And the spilt draught suffic'd each thirsty band

5. [INCERTI.]

[Death keeps off] And will not bear the cry Of distress'd man, nor shut his weeping eye

6. [MAXIMUS.]

It lives when kill'd, and brancheth when 'tis lopp'd.

7. [MAXIMUS.]

Like some fair oak, that when her boughs Are cut by rude hands, thicker grows; And from those wounds the iron made Resumes a rich and fresher shade.

8. [GREGORY NAZIANZEN.]

Patience digesteth misery.

9. [MARIUS VICTOR.]

----They fain would--if they might-- Descend to hide themselves in Hell. So light Of foot is Vengeance; and so near to sin, That soon as done, the actors do begin To fear and suffer by themselves: Death moves Before their eyes; sad dens and dusky groves They haunt, and hope--vain hope which Fear doth guide!-- That those dark shades their inward guilt can hide.

10. [INCERTI.]

But night and day doth his own life molest, And bears his judge and witness in his breast.

11. [THEODOTUS.]

Virtue's fair cares some people measure For poisonous works that hinder pleasure.

12. [INCERTI.]

Man should with virtue arm'd and hearten'd be, And innocently watch his enemy: For fearless freedom, which none can control, Is gotten by a pure and upright soul.

13. [INCERTI.]

Whose guilty soul, with terrors fraught, doth frame New torments still, and still doth blow that flame Which still burns him, nor sees what end can be Of his dire plagues, and fruitful penalty; But fears them living, and fears more to die; Which makes his life a constant tragedy.

14. [INCERTI.]

And for life's sake to lose the crown of life.

15. [INCERTI.]

Nature even for herself doth lay a snare, And handsome faces their own traitors are.

16. [MENANDER.]

True life in this is shown, To live for all men's good, not for our own.

17. [INCERTI.]

As Egypt's drought by Nilus is redress'd, So thy wise tongue doth comfort the oppress'd.

18. [INCERTI.]

[Like] to speedy posts, bear hence the lamp of life.

19. [DIONYSIUS LYRINENSIS.]

All worldly things, even while they grow, decay; As smoke doth, by ascending, waste away.

20. [INCERTI.]

To live a stranger unto life.

From a Discourse of Life and Death: translated from Nierembergius (1654).

1. [INCERTI.]

Whose hissings fright all Nature's monstrous ills; His eye darts death, more swift than poison kills. All monsters by instinct to him give place, They fly for life, for death lives in his face; And he alone by Nature's hid commands Reigns paramount, and prince of all the sands.

2. [INCERTI.]

The plenteous evils of frail life fill the old: Their wasted limbs the loose skin in dry folds Doth hang about: their joints are numb'd, and through Their veins, not blood, but rheums and waters flow. Their trembling bodies with a staff they stay, Nor do they breathe, but sadly sigh all day. Thoughts tire their hearts, to them their very mind Is a disease; their eyes no sleep can find.

3. [MIMNERMUS.]

Against the virtuous man we all make head, And hate him while he lives, but praise him dead.

4. [INCERTI.]

Long life, oppress'd with many woes, Meets more, the further still it goes.

5. [JUVENAL. SATIRE X. 278-286.]

What greater good had deck'd great Pompey's crown Than death, if in his honours fully blown, And mature glories he had died? those piles Of huge success, loud fame, and lofty styles Built in his active youth, long lazy life Saw quite demolish'd by ambitious strife. He lived to wear the weak and melting snow Of luckless age, where garlands seldom grow, But by repining Fate torn from the head Which wore them once, are on another shed.

6. [MENANDER. FRAGM. CXXVIII.]

Whom God doth take care for, and love, He dies young here, to live above.

7. [INCERTI.]

Sickness and death, you are but sluggish things, And cannot reach a heart that hath got wings.

From Primitive Holiness, set forth in the Life of Blessed Paulinus (1654).

1. [AUSONIUS. EPIST. XXIV. 115-16.]

Let me not weep to see thy ravish'd house All sad and silent, without lord or spouse, And all those vast dominions once thine own Torn 'twixt a hundred slaves to me unknown.

2. [AUSONIUS. EPIST. XXIII. 30-1; XXV. 5-9, 14, 17.]

How could that paper sent, That luckless paper, merit thy contempt? Ev'n foe to foe--though furiously--replies, And the defied his enemy defies. Amidst the swords and wounds, there's a salute, Rocks answer man, and though hard are not mute. Nature made nothing dumb, nothing unkind: The trees and leaves speak trembling to the wind. If thou dost fear discoveries, and the blot Of my love, Tanaquil shall know it not.

3. [PAULINUS. CARM. XI. 1-5; X. 189-92.]

Obdurate still and tongue-tied, you accuse --Though yours is ever vocal--my dull muse; You blame my lazy, lurking life, and add I scorn your love, a calumny most sad; Then tell me, that I fear my wife, and dart Harsh, cutting words against my dearest heart. Leave, learned father, leave this bitter course, My studies are not turn'd unto the worse; I am not mad, nor idle, nor deny Your great deserts, and my debt, nor have I A wife like Tanaquil, as wildly you Object, but a Lucretia, chaste and true.

4. [PAULINUS. CARM. XXXI. 581-2, 585-90, 601-2, 607-12.]

This pledge of your joint love, to heaven now fled, With honey-combs and milk of life is fed. Or with the Bethlem babes--whom Herod's rage Kill'd in their tender, happy, holy age-- Doth walk the groves of Paradise, and make Garlands, which those young martyrs from him take. With these his eyes on the mild Lamb are fix'd, A virgin-child with virgin-infants mix'd. Such is my Celsus too, who soon as given, Was taken back--on the eighth day--to heaven To whom at Alcala I sadly gave Amongst the martyrs' tombs a little grave. He now with yours--gone both the blessed way-- Amongst the trees of life doth smile and play; And this one drop of our mix'd blood may be A light for my Therasia, and for me.

5. [AUSONIUS. EPIST. XXV. 50, 56-7, 60-2.]

Sweet Paulinus, and is thy nature turn'd? Have I so long in vain thy absence mourn'd? Wilt thou, my glory, and great Rome's delight, The Senate's prop, their oracle, and light, In Bilbilis and Calagurris dwell, Changing thy ivory-chair for a dark cell? Wilt bury there thy purple, and contemn All the great honours of thy noble stem?

6. [PAULINUS. CARM. X. 110-331.]

Shall I believe you can make me return, Who pour your fruitless prayers when you mourn, Not to your Maker? Who can hear you cry, But to the fabled nymphs of Castaly? You never shall by such false gods bring me Either to Rome, or to your company. As for those former things you once did know, And which you still call mine, I freely now Confess, I am not he, whom you knew then; I have died since, and have been born again. Nor dare I think my sage instructor can Believe it error, for redeemed man To serve his great Redeemer. I grieve not But glory so to err. Let the wise knot Of worldlings call me fool; I slight their noise, And hear my God approving of my choice. Man is but glass, a building of no trust, A moving shade, and, without Christ, mere dust. His choice in life concerns the chooser much: For when he dies, his good or ill--just such As here it was--goes with him hence, and stays Still by him, his strict judge in the last days. These serious thoughts take up my soul, and I, While yet 'tis daylight, fix my busy eye Upon His sacred rules, life's precious sum Who in the twilight of the world shall come To judge the lofty looks, and show mankind The diff'rence 'twixt the ill and well inclin'd. This second coming of the world's great King Makes my heart tremble, and doth timely bring A saving care into my watchful soul, Lest in that day all vitiated and foul I should be found--that day, Time's utmost line, When all shall perish but what is divine; When the great trumpet's mighty blast shall shake The earth's foundations, till the hard rocks quake And melt like piles of snow; when lightnings move Like hail, and the white thrones are set above: That day, when sent in glory by the Father, The Prince of Life His blest elect shall gather; Millions of angels round about Him flying, While all the kindreds of the Earth are crying; And He enthron'd upon the clouds shall give His last just sentence, who must die, who live. This is the fear, this is the saving care That makes me leave false honours, and that share Which fell to me of this frail world, lest by A frequent use of present pleasures I Should quite forget the future, and let in Foul atheism, or some presumptuous sin. Now by their loss I have secur'd my life, And bought my peace ev'n with the cause of strife. I live to Him Who gave me life and breath, And without fear expect the hour of death. If you like this, bid joy to my rich state, If not, leave me to Christ at any rate.

A Rhapsodis (part 4)

7. [PAULINUS.]

And is the bargain thought too dear, To give for heaven our frail subsistence here? To change our mortal with immortal homes, And purchase the bright stars with darksome stones? Behold! my God--a rate great as His breath!-- On the sad cross bought me with bitter death, Did put on flesh, and suffer'd for our good, For ours--vile slaves!--the loss of His dear blood.

8. [EPITAPH ON MARCELLINA.]

Life, Marcellina, leaving thy fair frame, Thou didst contemn those tombs of costly fame, Built by thy Roman ancestors, and liest At Milan, where great Ambrose sleeps in Christ. Hope, the dead's life, and faith, which never faints, Made thee rest here, that thou mayst rise with saints.

9. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 3.]

You that to wash your flesh and souls draw near, Ponder these two examples set you here: Great Martin shows the holy life, and white, Paulinus to repentance doth invite; Martin's pure, harmless life, took heaven by force, Paulinus took it by tears and remorse; Martin leads through victorious palms and flow'rs, Paulinus leads you through the pools and show'rs; You that are sinners, on Paulinus look, You that are saints, great Martin is your book; The first example bright and holy is, The last, though sad and weeping, leads to bliss

10. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 5.]

Here the great well-spring of wash'd souls with beams Of living light quickens the lively streams; The Dove descends, and stirs them with her wings, So weds these waters to the upper springs. They straight conceive; a new birth doth proceed From the bright streams by an immortal seed. O the rare love of God! sinners wash'd here Come forth pure saints, all justified and clear. So blest in death and life, man dies to sins, And lives to God: sin dies, and life begins To be reviv'd: old Adam falls away And the new lives, born for eternal sway.

11. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 12.]

Through pleasant green fields enter you the way To bliss; and well through shades and blossoms may The walks lead here, from whence directly lies The good man's path to sacred Paradise.

12. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 14.]

The painful cross with flowers and palms is crown'd, Which prove, it springs; though all in blood 'tis drown'd; The doves above it show with one consent, Heaven opens only to the innocent.

13. [PAULINUS. CARM. XXVII. 387-92.]

You see what splendour through the spacious aisle, As if the Church were glorified, doth smile. The ivory-wrought beams seem to the sight Engraven, while the carv'd roof looks curl'd and bright. On brass hoops to the upmost vaults we tie The hovering lamps, which nod and tremble by The yielding cords; fresh oil doth still repair The waving flames, vex'd with the fleeting air.

14. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. XXXII. 17.]

The pains of Saints and Saints' rewards are twins, The sad cross, and the crown which the cross wins. Here Christ, the Prince both of the cross and crown, Amongst fresh groves and lilies fully blown Stands, a white Lamb bearing the purple cross: White shows His pureness, red His blood's dear loss. To ease His sorrows the chaste turtle sings, And fans Him, sweating blood, with her bright wings; While from a shining cloud the Father eyes His Son's sad conflict with His enemies, And on His blessed head lets gently down Eternal glory made into a crown. About Him stand two flocks of diff'ring notes, One of white sheep, and one of speckled goats; The first possess His right hand, and the last Stand on His left; the spotted goats are cast All into thick, deep shades, while from His right The white sheep pass into a whiter light.

15. [PAULINUS.]

Those sacred days by tedious Time delay'd, While the slow years' bright line about is laid, I patiently expect, though much distrest By busy longing and a love-sick breast. I wish they may outshine all other days; Or, when they come, so recompense delays As to outlast the summer hours' bright length; Or that fam'd day, when stopp'd by divine strength The sun did tire the world with his long light, Doubling men's labours, and adjourning night. As the bright sky with stars, the field with flow'rs, The years with diff'ring seasons, months and hours, God hath distinguished and mark'd, so He With sacred feasts did ease and beautify The working days: because that mixture may Make men--loth to be holy ev'ry day-- After long labours, with a freer will, Adore their Maker, and keep mindful still Of holiness, by keeping holy days: For otherwise they would dislike the ways Of piety as too severe. To cast Old customs quite off, and from sin to fast Is a great work. To run which way we will, On plains is easy, not so up a hill. Hence 'tis our good God--Who would all men bring Under the covert of His saving wing-- Appointed at set times His solemn feasts, That by mean services men might at least Take hold of Christ as by the hem, and steal Help from His lowest skirts, their souls to heal. For the first step to heaven is to live well All our life long, and each day to excel In holiness; but since that tares are found In the best corn, and thistles will confound And prick my heart with vain cares, I will strive To weed them out on feast-days, and so thrive By handfuls, 'till I may full life obtain, And not be swallow'd of eternal pain.

16. [PAULINUS (?). CARM. APP. I.]

Come, my true consort in my joys and care! Let this uncertain and still wasting share Of our frail life be giv'n to God. You see How the swift days drive hence incessantly, And the frail, drooping world--though still thought gay[69]-- In secret, slow consumption wears away. All that we have pass from us, and once past Return no more; like clouds, they seem to last, And so delude loose, greedy minds. But where Are now those trim deceits? to what dark sphere Are all those false fires sunk, which once so shin'd, They captivated souls, and rul'd mankind? He that with fifty ploughs his lands did sow, Will scarce be trusted for two oxen now; His rich, loud coach, known to each crowded street, Is sold, and he quite tir'd walks on his feet. Merchants that--like the sun--their voyage made From East to West, and by wholesale did trade, Are now turn'd sculler-men, or sadly sweat In a poor fisher's boat, with line and net. Kingdoms and cities to a period tend; Earth nothing hath, but what must have an end; Mankind by plagues, distempers, dearth and war, Tortures and prisons, die both near and far; Fury and hate rage in each living breast, Princes with princes, States with States contest; An universal discord mads each land, Peace is quite lost, the last times are at hand. But were these days from the Last Day secure, So that the world might for more years endure, Yet we--like hirelings--should our term expect, And on our day of death each day reflect. For what--Therasia--doth it us avail That spacious streams shall flow and never fail, That aged forests hie to tire the winds, And flow'rs each Spring return and keep their kinds! Those still remain: but all our fathers died, And we ourselves but for few days abide. This short time then was not giv'n us in vain, To whom Time dies, in which we dying gain, But that in time eternal life should be Our care, and endless rest our industry. And yet this task, which the rebellious deem Too harsh, who God's mild laws for chains esteem, Suits with the meek and harmless heart so right That 'tis all ease, all comfort and delight. "To love our God with all our strength and will; To covet nothing; to devise no ill Against our neighbours; to procure or do Nothing to others, which we would not to Our very selves; not to revenge our wrong; To be content with little, not to long For wealth and greatness; to despise or jeer No man, and if we be despised, to bear; To feed the hungry; to hold fast our crown; To take from others naught; to give our own," --These are His precepts: and--alas!--in these What is so hard, but faith can do with ease? He that the holy prophets doth believe, And on God's words relies, words that still live And cannot die; that in his heart hath writ His Saviour's death and triumph, and doth yet With constant care, admitting no neglect, His second, dreadful coming still expect: To such a liver earthy things are dead, With Heav'n alone, and hopes of Heav'n, he's fed, He is no vassal unto worldly trash, Nor that black knowledge which pretends to wash, But doth defile: a knowledge, by which men With studied care lose Paradise again. Commands and titles, the vain world's device, With gold--the forward seed of sin and vice-- He never minds: his aim is far more high, And stoops to nothing lower than the sky. Nor grief, nor pleasures breed him any pain, He nothing fears to lose, would nothing gain, Whatever hath not God, he doth detest, He lives to Christ, is dead to all the rest. This Holy One sent hither from above A virgin brought forth, shadow'd by the Dove; His skin with stripes, with wicked hands His face And with foul spittle soil'd and beaten was; A crown of thorns His blessed head did wound. Nails pierc'd His hands and feet, and He fast bound Stuck to the painful Cross, where hang'd till dead, With a cold spear His heart's dear blood was shed. All this for man, for bad, ungrateful man, The true God suffer'd! not that suff'rings can Add to His glory aught, Who can receive Access from nothing, Whom none can bereave Of His all-fulness: but the blest design Of His sad death was to save me from mine: He dying bore my sins, and the third day His early rising rais'd me from the clay. To such great mercies what shall I prefer, Or who from loving God shall me deter? Burn me alive, with curious, skilful pain, Cut up and search each warm and breathing vein; When all is done, death brings a quick release, And the poor mangled body sleeps in peace. Hale me to prisons, shut me up in brass, My still free soul from thence to God shall pass. Banish or bind me, I can be nowhere A stranger, nor alone; my God is there. I fear not famine; how can he be said To starve who feeds upon the Living Bread? And yet this courage springs not from my store, Christ gave it me, Who can give much, much more I of myself can nothing dare or do, He bids me fight, and makes me conquer too. If--like great Abr'ham--I should have command To leave my father's house and native land, I would with joy to unknown regions run, Bearing the banner of His blessed Son. On worldly goods I will have no design, But use my own, as if mine were not mine; Wealth I'll not wonder at, nor greatness seek, But choose--though laugh'd at--to be poor and meek. In woe and wealth I'll keep the same staid mind, Grief shall not break me, nor joys make me blind: My dearest Jesus I'll still praise, and He Shall with songs of deliv'rance compass me. Then come, my faithful consort! join with me In this good fight, and my true helper be; Cheer me when sad, advise me when I stray, Let us be each the other's guide and stay; Be your lord's guardian: give joint aid and due, Help him when fall'n, rise, when he helpeth you, That so we may not only one flesh be, But in one spirit and one will agree.

FOOTNOTES:

[69] The original has gry.

From Hermetical Physic: translated from Henry Nollius (1655).

1. [HORACE. EPIST. I. 1, 14-5.]

Where'er my fancy calls, there I go still, Not sworn a slave to any master's will.

2. [INCERTI.]

There's need, betwixt his clothes, his bed and board, Of all that Earth and Sea and Air afford.

3. [INCERTI.]

With restless cares they waste the night and day, To compass great estates, and get the sway.

4. [JUVENAL. SATIRE XV. 160-164.]

Whenever did, I pray, One lion take another's life away? Or in what forest did a wild boar by The tusks of his own fellow wounded die? Tigers with tigers never have debate; And bears among themselves abstain from hate

5. [JUVENAL. SATIRE XV. 169-171.]

[Some] esteem it no point of revenge to kill, Unless they may drink up the blood they spill: Who do believe that hands, and hearts, and heads, Are but a kind of meat, etc.

6. [INCERTI.]

The strongest body and the best Cannot subsist without due rest.

From Thomas Powell's Cerbyd Fechydwiaeth (1657).

1. [THE LORD'S PRAYER.]

Y Pader, pan trier, Duw-tri a'i dododd O'i dadol ddaioni, Yn faen-gwaddan i bob gweddi, Ac athrawieth a wnaeth i ni.

Ol[or] Vaughan.

From Thomas Powell's Humane Industry (1661).

1. [CAMPION. EPIGR. I. 151.]

Time's-Teller wrought into a little round, Which count'st the days and nights with watchful sound; How--when once fix'd--with busy wheels dost thou The twice twelve useful hours drive on and show; And where I go, go'st with me without strife, The monitor and ease of fleeting life.

2. [GROTIUS. LIB. EPIGR. II.]

The untired strength of never-ceasing motion, A restless rest, a toilless operation, Heaven then had given it, when wise Nature did To frail and solid things one place forbid; And parting both, made the moon's orb their bound, Damning to various change this lower ground. But now what Nature hath those laws transgress'd, Giving to Earth a work that ne'er will rest? Though 'tis most strange, yet--great King--'tis not new: This work was seen and found before, in you. In you, whose mind--though still calm--never sleeps, But through your realms one constant motion keeps: As your mind--then--was Heaven's type first, so this But the taught anti-type of your mind is.

3. [JUVENAL. SATIRE III.]

How oft have we beheld wild beasts appear From broken gulfs of earth, upon some part Of sand that did not sink! How often there And thence, did golden boughs o'er-saffron'd start! Nor only saw we monsters of the wood, But I have seen sea-calves whom bears withstood; And such a kind of beast as might be named A horse, but in most foul proportion framed.

4. [MARTIAL. EPIGR. I. 105.]

That the fierce pard doth at a beck Yield to the yoke his spotted neck, And the untoward tiger bear The whip with a submissive fear; That stags do foam with golden bits. And the rough Libyc bear submits Unto the ring; that a wild boar Like that which Calydon of yore Brought forth, doth mildly put his head In purple muzzles to be led; That the vast, strong-limb'd buffles draw The British chariots with taught awe, And the elephant with courtship falls To any dance the negro calls: Would not you think such sports as those Were shows which the gods did expose? But these are nothing, when we see That hares by lions hunted be, etc.

NOTES TO VOL. II.

POEMS WITH THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL ENGLISHED.

Most of the poems in this volume of 1646 appear to belong to Vaughan's sojourn as a law-student in London: that, however, on the Priory Grove must have been written after he had retired to Wales on the outbreak of the Civil War.

P. 5. To my Ingenious Friend, R. W.

It is probable that this is the R. W. of the Elegy in Olor Iscanus (p. 79). On the attempts to identify him, see the note to that poem. The Poems of 1646 must have been published while his fate was still unknown.

Pints i' th' Moon or Star. These are names of rooms, rather than of inns. Cf. Shakespeare, 1 Henry IV., ii. 4, 30, "Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint of bastard in the Half-moon."

P. 6. Randolph.

The works of Randolph here referred to are his comedy The Jealous Lovers, his pastoral Amyntas; or, The Impossible Dowry, and the following verses On the Death of a Nightingale:--

"Go, solitary wood, and henceforth be Acquainted with no other harmony Than the pie's chattering, or the shrieking note Of boding owls, and fatal raven's throat. Thy sweetest chanter's dead, that warbled forth Lays that might tempests calm, and still the north, And call down angels from their glorious sphere, To hear her songs, and learn new anthems there. That soul is fled, and to Elysium gone, Thou a poor desert left; go then and run. Beg there to want a grove, and if she please To sing again beneath thy shadowy trees, The souls of happy lovers crowned with blisses Shall flock about thee, and keep time with kisses."

P. 8. Les Amours.

Lines 22-24 are misprinted in the original; they there run:--

"O'er all the tomb a sudden spring: If crimson flowers, whose drooping heads Shall curtain o'er their mournful heads:"

P. 10. To Amoret.

The Amoret of these Poems may or may not be the Etesia of Thalia Rediviva; and she may or may not have been the poet's first wife. Cf. Introduction (vol. i, p. xxxiii).

To her white bosom. Cf. Hamlet, ii. 2, 113, where Hamlet addresses a letter to Ophelia, "in her excellent white bosom, these."

P. 12. Song.

The MS. variant readings to this and to two of the following poems are written in pencil on a copy of the Poems in the British Museum, having the press-mark 12304, a 24. There is no indication of their author, or of the source from which they are taken.

P. 13. To Amoret.

The vast ring. Cf. Silex Scintillans (vol. i., pp. 150, 284).

P. 18. A Rhapsodis.

The Globe Tavern. This appears to have been near, or even a part of, the famous theatre. There exists a forged letter of George Peele's, in which it is mentioned as a resort of Shakespeare's, but there is no authentic allusion to it by name earlier than an entry in the registers of St. Saviour's, Southwark, for 1637. An "alehouse" is, however, alluded to in a ballad on the burning of the old Globe in 1613. (Rendle and Norman, Inns of Old Southwark, p. 326.)

Tower-Wharf to Cymbeline and Lud; that is, from the extreme east to the extreme west of the City. Statues of the mythical kings of Britain were set up in 1260 in niches on Ludgate. They were renewed when the gate was rebuilt in 1586. It stood near the Church of St. Martin's, Ludgate.

That made his horse a senator; i.e. Caligula. Cf. Suetonius Vit. Caligulae, 55: "Incitato equo, cuius causa pridie circenses, ne inquietaretur, viciniae silentium per milites indicere solebat, praeter equile marmoreum et praesepe eburneum praeterque purpurea tegumenta ac monilia e gemmis, domum etiam et familiam et suppellectilem dedit, quo lautius nomine eius invitati acciperentur; consulatum quoque traditur destinasse."

he that ... crossed Rubicon, i.e. Julius Caesar.

P. 21. To Amoret.

The third stanza is closely modelled on Donne; cf. Introduction (vol. i., p. xxi). The curious reader may detect many other traces of Donne's manner of writing in these Poems of 1646.

P. 23. To Amoret Weeping.

Eat orphans ... patent it. The ambition of a courtier under the Stuarts was to get the guardianship of a royal ward, or the grant of a monopoly in some article of necessity. Dr. Grosart quotes from Tustin's Observations; or, Conscience Emblem (1646): "By me, John Tustin, who hath been plundered and spoiled by the patentees for white and grey soap, eighteen several times, to his utter undoing."

P. 26. Upon the Priory Grove, his usual Retirement.

Mr. Beeching, in the Introduction (vol. i., p. xxiii), states following Dr. Grosart, that the Priory Grove was "the home of a famous poetess of the day, Katherine Phillips, better known as 'the Matchless Orinda.'" Vaughan was certainly a friend of Mrs. Phillips (cf. pp. 100, 164, 211, with notes), whose husband, Colonel James Phillips, lived at the Priory, Cardigan; but she was not married until 1647.

Miss Morgan points out that there is still a wood on the outskirts of Brecon which is known as the Priory Grove. It is near the church and remains of a Benedictine Priory on the Honddu.

P. 28. Juvenal's Tenth Satire Translated.

This translation has a separate title-page; cf. the Bibliography (vol. ii., p. lvii).

OLOR ISCANUS.

This volume, published in 1651, contains, besides the poems here reprinted, some prose translations from Plutarch and other writers. The separate title-pages of these are given in the Bibliography (vol. ii., p. lviii): the incidental scraps of verse in them appear on pp. 291-293 of the present volume. The edition of 1651 has, besides the printed title-page, an engraved title-page by the well-known engraver, who may or may not have been a kinsman of the poet, Robert Vaughan. It represents a swan on a river shaded by trees. The Olor Iscanus was reissued with a fresh title-page in 1679.

P. 52. Ad Posteros.

On the account of Vaughan's life here given, see the Biographical note (vol. ii., p. xxx).

Herbertus. Matthew Herbert, Rector of Llangattock. Cf. the poem to him on p. 158, with its note.

Castae fidaeque ... parentis, i.e., perhaps, his mother the Church.

Nec manus atra fuit. Dr. Grosart omitted the fuit, together with the final s of the preceding line. In this he is naively followed by Mr. J. R. Tutin, in his selection of Vaughan's Secular Poems.

P. 53. To the ... Lord Kildare Digby.

Lord Kildare Digby was the eldest son of Robert, first Baron Digby, in the peerage of Ireland. He succeeded to the title in 1642. He was about 21 at the time of this dedication, and died in 1661 (Dr. Grosart)

The date of the dedication is 17th of December, 1647. A volume was therefore probably prepared for publication at that date, and afterwards, as we learn from the publisher's preface, "condemned to obscurity," and given surreptitiously to the world. At the same time, as Miss Morgan points out to me, some of the poems in Olor Iscanus must be of later date than 1647. The death of Charles I. is apparently alluded to in the lines Ad Posteros, and certainly in the "since Charles his reign" of the Invitation to Brecknock (p. 74). This event took place on January 30th, 1648/9. The Epitaph upon the Lady Elizabeth (p. 102), again, cannot be earlier than her death on September 8th, 1650.

P. 54. The Publisher to the Reader.

Augustus vindex. The lives of Vergil attributed to Donatus and others relate that the poet, in his will, directed that his unfinished Aeneid should be burnt. Augustus, however, interfered and ordered its publication.

P. 57. Commendatory Verses.

These are signed by T. Powell, Oxoniensis; I. Rowlandson, Oxoniensis; and Eugenius Philalethes, Oxoniensis. Thomas Powell, one of the Powells of Cantreff, in Breconshire, was born in 1608. He matriculated from Jesus College on January 25th, 1627/8, took his B.A. in 1629 and his M.A. in 1632, and became a Fellow of the College. He was Rector of Cantreff and Vicar of Brecknock, but was ejected by the Commissioners for the Propagation of the Gospel and went abroad. At the Restoration he returned to Cantreff and was made D.D. and Canon of St. David's. But for his death, on the 31st December, 1660, he would probably have become Bishop of Bristol. He was the author of several books of no great importance. He appears to have been a close friend of Vaughan, who addresses various poems to him, and contributed others to his books. See Olor Iscanus, pp. 97, 159; Thalia Rediviva, pp. 178, 200, 267; Fragments and Translations, pp. 323-326. Powell, in return, wrote commendatory poems to both the Olor Iscanus and the Thalia Rediviva.

I. Rowlandson. This may have been John Rowlandson, of Queen's College, Oxford, who matriculated the 17th October, 1634, aged 17, took his B.A. in 1636, and his M.A. in 1639. Either he or his father, James Rowlandson, also of Queen's College, was sequestered by the Westminster Assembly to the vicarage of Battle, Sussex, in 1644. He left it shortly after and "returned to his benefice from whence he was before thence driven by the forces raised against the parliament." (See Addl. MS. 15,669, f. 17). There was also another James Rowlandson, son of James Rowlandson, D.D., Canon of Windsor, who matriculated from Queen's College on the 9th November, 1632, aged 17, and took his B.A. in 1637.--G. G.

Eugenius Philalethes. The author's brother, Thomas Vaughan. See the Biographical Note (vol. ii., p. xxxiii).

P. 39. that lamentable nation, i.e. the Scotch.

P. 61. Olor Iscanus.

Ausonius. The famous schoolmaster, rhetorician and courtier of the early fourth century, was born at Bordeaux. One of his most famous poems is the Mosella (Idyll X), a description of the river and its fish.

Castara, Lucy, daughter of William Herbert, Lord Powys, and wife of the Worcestershire poet, William Habington, who celebrated her in his poems under that name. The Castara was published in 1634.

Sabrina, the tutelar nymph of the Severn. Cf. the invocation of her in Milton's "Comus."

May the evet and the toad. This passage is imitated from W. Browne's Britannia's Pastorals, Bk. I., Song 2, II., 277 sqq.:

"May never evet nor the toad Within thy banks make their abode! Taking thy journey from the sea, May'st thou ne'er happen in thy way On nitre or on brimstone mine, To spoil thy taste! this spring of thine Let it of nothing taste but earth, And salt conceived, in their birth Be ever fresh! Let no man dare To spoil thy fish, make lock or ware; But on thy margent still let dwell Those flowers which have the sweetest smell. And let the dust upon thy strand Become like Tagus' golden sand. Let as much good betide to thee, As thou hast favour show'd to me."

G. G.

flames that are ... canicular. Cf. A Dialogue between Sir Henry Wotton and Mr. Donne (Poems of John Donne, Muse's Library, Vol. I., p. 79):

"I'll never dig in quarry of a heart To have no part, Nor roast in fiery eyes, which always are Canicular."

P. 65. The Charnel-house.

Kelder, a caldron; cf. J. Cleveland, The King's Disguise:

"The sun wears midnight; day is beetle-brow'd, And lightning is in kelder of a cloud."

A second fiat's care. The allusion is to Genesis i. 3: "And God said, Let there be light (in the Vulgate, Fiat lux), and there was light"; cf. Donne, The Storm (Muses' Library, II. 4):

"Since all forms uniform deformity Doth cover; so that we, except God say Another Fiat, shall have no more day."

P. 70. To his Friend ----.

Miss Morgan thinks that the "friend" of this poem, whose name is shown by the first line to have been James, may perhaps be identified with the James Howell of the Epistolae Ho-Elianae. Howell had Vaughans amongst his cousins and correspondents, but these appear to have been of the Golden Grove family.

P. 73. To his retired Friend--an Invitation to Brecknock.

her foul, polluted walls. Miss Morgan quotes a statement from Grose's Antiquities to the effect that the walls of Brecknock were pulled down by the inhabitants during the Civil War in order to avoid having to support a garrison or stand a siege.

the Greek, i.e. Hercules when in love with Omphale.

Domitian-like: Cf. Suetonius, Vita Domitiani, 3: "Inter initia principatus cotidie secretum sibi horarum sumere solebat, nec quicquam amplius quam muscas captare ac stilo praeacuto configere."

Since Charles his reign. This poem must date from after the execution of Charles I., on January 30, 1648/9. It would appear therefore that Vaughan was living in Brecknock and not at Newton about the time that the Olor Iscanus was published.

P. 77. Monsieur Gombauld.

The writer referred to is John Ogier de Gombauld (1567-1666). His prose tale of Endymion was translated by Richard Hurst in 1637. Ismena and Diophania who was metamorphosed into a myrtle, are characters in the story. Periardes is a hill in Armenia whence the Euphrates takes its course.

P. 79. An Elegy on the Death of Mr. R. W., slain in the late unfortunate differences at Routon Heath, near Chester.

The battle of Routon, or Rowton, Heath took place on September 24, 1645. The Royalist forces, under Charles I. and Sir Marmaduke Langdale, advancing to raise the siege of Chester, were met and routed by the Parliamentarians under Poyntz. The contemporary pamphlets give a long list of the prisoners taken at Routon Heath, but name hardly any of those slain. It is therefore difficult to say who R. W., evidently a dear friend of Vaughan's, may have been. He appears to have been missing for a year before he was finally given up. From lines 25-27 we learn that he was a young man of only twenty. The most likely suggestion for his identification seems to me that of Mr. C. H. Firth, who points out to me that the name of one Roger Wood occurs in the list of Catholics who fell in the King's service as having been slain at Chester. Miss Southall (Songs of Siluria, 1890, p. 124) suggests that he may have been either Richard Williams, a nephew of Sir Henry Williams, of Gwernyfed, who died unmarried, or else a son of Richard Winter, of Llangoed. He might also, I think, have been one of Vaughan's wife's family, the Wises, and possibly also a Walbeoffe. A reference to the Walbeoffe pedigree in the note to p. 189 will show that there was a Robert Walbeoffe, brother of C. W. Miss Morgan thinks that he is a generation too old, and that the unnamed son of C. W., who, according to his tombstone, did not survive him, may have been a Robert, and the R. W. in question. On the question whether Vaughan was himself present at Routon Heath, see the Biographical Note (vol. ii., p. xxviii).

P. 83. Upon a Cloak lent him by Mr. J. Ridsley.

I do not know who Mr. Ridsley was. On the references to Vaughan's "juggling fate of soldiery" in this poem, see the Biographical Note (vol. ii., p. xxviii).

craggy Biston, and the fatal Dee. Chester stands, of course, on the Dee, which is "fatal" as the scene of disasters to the Royalist cause. Dr. Grosart explains Biston as "Bishton (or Bishopstone) in Monmouthshire," and adds, "'Craggie Biston' refers, no doubt, to certain caves there. The Poet's school-boy rambles from Llangattock doubtless included Bishton." I think that Biston is clearly Beeston Castle, one of the outlying defences of Chester, which played a considerable part in the siege. It surrendered on November 5, 1645, and the small garrison was permitted to march to Denbigh (J. R. Phillips, The Civil War in Wales and the Marshes, vol. i., p. 343).

Micro-cosmography, the world represented on a small scale in man. Vaughan means that he had as many lines on him as a map.

Speed's Old Britons. John Speed (1555-1629) published his History of Great Britain in 1614.

King Harry's Chapel at Westminster, with its tombs, was already one of the sights of London.

Brownist. The Brownists were the religious followers of Robert Browne (c. 1550-c. 1633); they were afterwards known as Independents or Congregationalists.

P. 86. Upon Mr. Fletcher's Plays.

The first folio edition of Beaumont and Fletcher's Comedies and Tragedies was published in 1647. Vaughan's lines are not, however, amongst the commendatory verses there given.

Field's or Swansted's overthrow. Nathaniel Field and Eliard Swanston, who appears to be meant by Swansted, were well-known actors. They were both members of the King's Company about 1633.

P. 90. Upon the Poems and Plays of the ever-memorable Mr. William Cartwright.

This was printed, together with verses by Tho. Vaughan and many other writers, in William Cartwright's Comedies, Tragi-comedies, with other Poems, 1651.

P. 94. An Elegy on the Death of Mr. R. Hall, slain at Pontefract, 1648.

Miss Southall thinks that the subject of this elegy may have been a son of Richard Hall, of High Meadow, in the Forest of Dean, co. Gloucester. These Halls were connected with the Winters, a Breconshire family. Mr. C. H. Firth ingeniously suggests to me that for R. Hall we should read R. Hall[ifax], and points out that a Robert Hallyfax was one of the garrison at the first siege of Pontefract in 1645. He may have been at the second siege also. (R. Holmes, Sieges of Pontefract, p. 20.)

P. 97. To my learned Friend, Mr. T. Powell, upon his Translation of Malvezzi's "Christian Politician."

The book referred to is The Pourtract of the Politicke Christian-Favourite. By Marquesse Virgilio Malvezzi, 1647. This is a translation of Il Ritratto del Privato Politico Christiano, published at Bologna in 1635. It does not contain Vaughan's verses, and no translator's name is given. The preface of another translation from Malvezzi, the Stoa Triumphans (1651), is, however, signed "T. P."

P. 99. To my worthy Friend, Master T. Lewes.

Some of the lines in this poem are borrowed from Horace's verses, Ad Thaliarcham (Book I., Ode 9):

"Vides, ut alta stet nive candida Soracte, nec iam sustineant onus Sylvae laborantes, geluque Flumina constiterint acuto?

* * * * *

Quid sit futurum eras, fuge quaerere; Quam sors dierum cunque debit; lucro Appone."

G. G.

Dr. Grosart thinks that T. Lewes was "probably of Maes-mawr, opposite Newton, on the south side of the Usk." Miss Southall identifies him with Thomas Lewis, incumbent in 1635 of Llanfigan, near Llansantffread. He was expelled from his living, but returned to it at the Restoration.

P. 100. To the most excellently accomplished Mrs. K. Philips.

Katherine Philips, by birth Katherine Fowler, became the wife in 1647 of Colonel James Philips, of the Priory, Cardigan. She was a wit and poetess, and well-known to a large circle of friends as "the matchless Orinda." Each member of her coterie had a similar fantastic pseudonym, and it is possible that this may account for the Etesia and Timander, the Fida and Lysimachus, of Vaughan's poems. The poems of Orinda were surreptitiously published in 1664, and in an authorised version in 1667. They include her poem on Vaughan, afterwards prefixed to Thalia Rediviva (cf. p. 169), but are not accompanied by the present verses nor by those to her editor in Thalia Rediviva (p. 211).

A Persian votary--i.e., a Parsee, or fire-worshipper.

P. 102. An Epitaph upon the Lady Elizabeth, Second Daughter to his late Majesty.

Elizabeth, second daughter of Charles I., was born in 1635. She suffered from ill-health and grief after her father's execution, and died at Carisbrooke on September 8, 1650. This poem, therefore, like others in the volume, must be of later date than the dedication.

P. 104. To Sir William Davenant, upon his Gondibert.

Davenant's Gondibert was first published in 1651. It does not contain Vaughan's verses.

thy aged sire. Is this an allusion to the story that Davenant was in reality the son of William Shakespeare?

Birtha, the heroine of Gondibert.

P. 119. Cupido [Cruci Affixus].

Another translation of Ausonius' poems was published by Thomas Stanley in 1649. There is nothing in the original corresponding to the last four lines of Vaughan's translation.

Ll. 89-94. The Latin is:

"Se quisque absolvere gestit, Transferat ut proprias aliena in crimina culpas."

Vaughan's simile is borrowed from Donne's Fourth Elegy (Muses' Library, I., 107):

"as a thief at bar is questioned there, By all the men that have been robb'd that year."

P. 125. Translations from Boethius.

These translations are from the De Consolatione Philosophiae, a medley of prose and verse. Vaughan has translated all the verse in the first two books except the Metrum 3 of Book I. and Metrum 6 of Book II. The headings of Metra 7 and 8 of Book II. are given in error in Olor Iscanus as Metra 6 and 7. Some further translations from Books III. and IV. will be found in Thalia Rediviva, pp. 224-235.

P. 144. Translations from Casimirus.

These translations are from the Polish poet Mathias Casimirus Sarbievius, or Sarbiewski (1595-1640). His Latin Lyrics and Epodes, modelled on Horace, were published in 1625-1631. Sarbiewski was a Jesuit, and a complete edition of his poems was published by the Jesuits in 1892.

P. 158. Venerabili viro, praeceptori suo olim et semper colendissimo Magistro Mathaeo Herbert.

Matthew Herbert was Rector of Llangattock, and apparently acted as tutor to the young Vaughans. He is mentioned in the lines Ad Posteros (p. 51). Thomas Vaughan also has two sets of Latin verses to him (Grosart, II., 349), and dedicated to him his Man-Mouse taken in a Trap (1650). On July 19, 1655, he petitioned for the discharge of the sequestration on his rectory, which had been sequestered for the delinquency of the Earl of Worcester (Cal. Proc. Ctee. for Compositions, p. 1713). He died in 1660.

P. 159. Praestantissimo viro Thomae Poello in suum de Elementis Opticae Libellum.

The Elementa Opticae appeared in 1649. It has no name on the title-page, but the preface is signed "T. P.," and dated 1649. It contains the present prefatory verses, together with some others, also in Latin, by Eugenius Philalethes (Thomas Vaughan).

THALIA REDIVIVA.

This volume, published in 1578, at a late date in Henry Vaughan's life, twenty-three years after the second part of Silex Scintillans, must have been written, at least in part, much earlier. The poem on The King Disguised, for instance, goes back to 1646. At the end of the volume, with a separate title-page (cf. Bibliography), come the Verse Remains of the poet's brother, Thomas Vaughan. This is the rarest of Vaughan's collections of poems. The copy once in Mr. Corser's collection, and now in the British Museum, was believed to be unique. It was used both by Lyte and Dr. Grosart. But Miss Morgan has come across two other copies, one in Mr. Locker-Lampson's library at Rowfant, the other in that of Mr. Joseph, at Brecon.

P. 163. The Epistle-Dedicatory.

Henry Somerset, third Marquis of Worcester, was created Duke of Beaufort in 1682. He was a distant kinsman of Vaughan's, whose great-great-grandfather, William Vaughan of Tretower, married Frances Somerset, granddaughter of Henry, Earl of Worcester. He was a firm adherent of the Stuarts, and refused to take the oath of allegiance to William III. (Dr. Grosart).

P. 164. Commendatory Verses.

These are signed by Orinda; Tho. Powell, D.D.; N. W., Ies. Coll., Oxon.; I. W., A.M. Oxon.

On Orinda, cf. the note to p. 100, and on Dr. Powell, that to P. 57.

Mr. Firth suggests that N. W., of Jesus, probably a young man, who imitates Cowley's Pindarics, and does not claim any personal acquaintance with Vaughan, may be N[athaniel] W[illiams], son of Thomas Williams, of Swansea, who matriculated in 1672, or N[icholas] W[adham], of Rhydodyn, Carmarthen, who matriculated in 1669.

I. W., also an Oxford man, is probably the writer of the prefaces to the Marquis of Worcester and to the Reader, which are signed respectively J. W. and I. W. Mr. Firth suggests that he may be J[ohn] W[illiams], son of Sir Henry Williams of Gwernevet, Brecon, who matriculated at Brasenose in 1642. I have thought that he might be Vaughan's cousin, the second John Walbeoffe (cf. p. 189, note), who is mentioned in Thomas Vaughan's diary (cf. Biographical Note, vol. ii., p. xxxviii), but there is no proof that Walbeoffe was an Oxford man. Perhaps he is the friend James to whom a poem in Olor Iscanus is addressed (p. 70).

P. 178. To his Learned Friend and loyal Fellow-prisoner, Thomas Powel of Cant[reff], Doctor of Divinity.

On Dr. Powell, cf. note to p. 57. Vaughan's reason for calling him a "fellow-prisoner" is discussed in the Biographical Note (vol. ii., p. xxxii).

P. 181. The King Disguised.

John Cleveland's poem, The King's Disguise, here referred to, was first published as a pamphlet on January 21, 1646. It appears in Cleveland's Works (1687). The disguising was on the occasion of Charles the First's flight, on April 27, 1646, from Oxford to the Scottish camp, of which Dr. Gardiner writes (History of the Civil War, Ch. xli): "At three in the morning of the 27th, Charles, disguised as a servant, with his beard and hair closely trimmed, passed over Magdalen Bridge in apparent attendance upon Ashburnham and Hudson."

P. 187. To Mr. M. L., upon his Reduction of the Psalms into Method.

Dr. Grosart identifies M. L. with Matthew Locke, of whom Roger North says, in his Memoirs of Music (4to, 1846, p. 96): "He set most of the Psalms to music in parts, for the use of some vertuoso ladyes in the city." Locke's setting of the Psalms exists only in MS. A copy was in the library of Dr. E. F. Rimbault, who thinks that the author assisted Playford in his Whole Book of Psalms (1677). In 1677 he died.

P. 189. To the pious Memory of C[harles] W[albeoffe] Esquire.

Charles Walbeoffe was a man of considerable importance in Brecknockshire. His name occurs several times in State papers of the period. A petition of his concerning a ward is dated October 12, 1640. (Cal. S. P. Dom., Car. I., 470, 113). He was High Sheriff in 1648 (Harl. MS. 2,289, f. 174), and a fragment of a warrant signed by him on April 17 of that year to Thomas Vaughan, treasurer of the county, for the monthly assessment, is in Harl. MS. 6,831, f. 13. As we might perhaps gather from Vaughan's poem, he does not seem to have taken an active part in the Civil War. He did not, like some other members of his family, sign the Declaration of Brecknock for the Parliament on November 23, 1645 (J. R. Phillips, Civil War in Wales and the Marches, ii. 284). And he seems to have joined the Royalist rising in Wales of 1648. Information was laid on February 10, 1649, that he "was Commissioner of Array and Association, raised men and money, subscribed warrants to raise men against the Parliament's generals, and sat as J.P. in the court at Brecon when the friends of Parliament were prosecuted" (Cal. Proc. Ctee. for Advance of Money, p. 1017). Afterwards he was reconciled, sat on the local Committee for Compositions, and again got into trouble with the authorities. On May 14, 1652, the Brecon Committee wrote to the Central Committee that, being one of the late Committee, he would not account for sums in his hands. He was fined L20. (Cal. Proc. Ctee. for Compositions, p. 578.)

Miss Morgan has copied the inscription on his tombstone in Llanhamlach Church.

[Arms of Walbeoffe.]

"Here lieth the body of Charles Walbeoffe, Esqre., who departed this life the 13th day of September, 1653, and was married to Mary, one of the daughters of Sir Thomas Aubrey of Llantryddid, in the county of Glamorgan, Knt., by whom he had issue two sonnes, of whom only Charles surviveth."

Charles Walbeoffe the younger died in 1668, and was succeeded by his cousin John. "This gentleman," says Jones (Hist. of Brecknock, ii., 482), "being of a gay and extravagant turn, left the estate, much encumbered, to his son Charles, and soon after his death it was foreclosed and afterwards sold."

This John Walbeoffe is mentioned in Thomas Vaughan's Diary (cf. vol. ii., p. xxxviii). He may be the writer of the preface to Thalia Rediviva (cf. p. 164, note).

It is possible that the R. W. of another of Vaughan's Elegies may also have been a Walbeoffe. Cf. p. 79, note.

Dr. Grosart was unable to identify the initials C. W. The Walbeoffes, or Walbieffes, of Llanhamlach, the next village to Llansantfread, were among the most important of the Advenae, or Norman settlers of Brecknockshire. They were related, as the following table shows, to the Vaughans of Tretower. The following extract from the genealogy of the Walbeoffes of Llanhamlach is compiled from Harl. MS. 2,289. f. 136_b_; Jones, History of Brecknockshire, ii., 484; Miss G. E. F. Morgan, in Brecon County Times for May 13, 1887.

William Vaughan of Tretower. | ----------------------- | | Charles. Margaret = John Walbeoffe. | | | +-------------+--------------------+---+ | | | | Thomas = Denise Williams. Charles = Mary, d. of Sir | Robert. | ob. 1653. | Thomas Aubrey | | | of Llantrithid. | | | | Henry. +----------------+ | | | | | +-------+---------+ | Son | | | | | (name unknown.) | Henry. Thomas. W[illiam?] | | | | Charles = Elizabeth, d. and | nat. 1646, matr. h. to Thomas Aubrey | 19, vii., 1661, ob. of Llantrithid. | s.p. 1668. | | +-----------------------+ | John = Catherine Watkins. | John = Susan, d. of Humphry | Howarth of Whitehouse, | Herefordshire. | +----------+------------+ | | Charles. John, Rector of Llanhamlach, nat. 1675, matr. 3, ii., 1696.

P. 193. In Zodiacum Marcelli Palingenii.

Marcellus Palingenius, or Petro Angelo Manzoli, wrote his didactic and satirical poem, the Zodiacus Vitae, about 1535. It was translated into English by Barnabee Googe in 1560-1565. The latest edition of the original is that by C. C. Weise (1832). As we may gather from Vaughan's lines, Manzoli was an earnest student of occult lore. Cf. Gustave Reynier, De Marcelli Palingenii Stellatae Poctae Zodiaco Vitae (1893).

P. 195. To Lysimachus.

Bevis ... Arundel ... Morglay. The allusion is to the Romance of Sir Bevis of Hampton (ed. E. Koelbing, E. E. T. S., 1885). Arundel was Sir Bevis' horse, and Morglay his sword.

P. 197. On Sir Thomas Bodley's Library.

If Vaughan was not himself an Oxford man (Biog. Note, vol. ii., p. xxvi), he may have been in Oxford with the King's troops at the end of August, 1645 (Biog. Note, vol. ii., p. xxxi).

Walsam, Walsingham, in Norfolk, famous for the rich shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham, to which many offerings were made.

P. 200. The Importunate Fortune.

I. 105. My purse, as Randolph's was. The allusion is to Randolph's A Parley with his Empty Purse, which begins:

"Purse, who'll not know you have a poet's been, When he shall look and find no gold herein?"

P. 204. To I. Morgan, of Whitehall, Esq.

Whitehall appears to be an Anglicised form of Wenallt, more properly Whitehill. John Morgan, or Morgans, of Wenallt, in Llandetty, was a kinsman of Vaughan's, as the following table (from Harl. MS., 2,289, f. 39) shows:

John Morgans. | Morgan Jones = Frances, d. of Charles | Vaughan of Tretower _________________________|_______________ | | John Morgans = Mary, d. to Thomas Anne = Aubrey of Llantrithid. 1. Charles Williams of Scethrog. 2. Hugh Powell, parson of Llansantffread.

P. 211. To the Editor of the Matchless Orinda.

cf. p. 100, note. These lines do not appear in either the 1664 or the 1667 edition of Orinda's poems.

P. 213. Upon Sudden News of the Much Lamented Death of Judge Trevers.

"This was probably Sir Thomas Trevor, youngest son of John Trevor, Esq., of Trevallyn, co. Denbigh, by Mary, daughter of Sir George Bruges, of London. He was born 6th July, 1586. He was made one of the Barons of the Exchequer 12th May, 1625; and was one of the six judges who refused to accept the new commission offered them by the ruling powers under the Commonwealth. He died 21st December, 1656, and is buried at Lemington-Hastang, in Warwickshire." (Dr. Grosart.)

P. 214. To Etesia (for Timander) The First Sight.

I do not think we need look for anything autobiographical in this and the following poems written to Etesia. They are written "for Timander," that is, either to serve the suit of a friend, or as copies of verses with no personal reference at all. The names Etesia and Timander smack of Orinda's poetic circle.

P. 224. Translations from Severinus.

Dr. Grosart hunted out an obscure Neapolitan, Marcus Aurelius Severino, and ascribed to him the originals of these translations. They are of course from the De Consolatione Philosophiae of Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius, and are a continuation of the pieces already printed in Olor Iscanus (pp. 125-143).

P. 245. Pious Thoughts and Ejaculations.

These are much in the vein of Silex Scintillans. They probably belong to various dates later than 1655, when the second part of that collection appeared. The Nativity (p. 259) is dated 1656, and The True Christmas (p. 261) was apparently written after the Restoration.

P. 261. The True Christmas.

Vaughan was no Puritan; cf. his lines on Christ's Nativity (vol. i., p. 107)--

"Alas, my God! Thy birth now here Must not be numbered in the year,"

but he was not much in sympathy with the ideals of the Restoration either; cf. the passage on "our unjust ways" in Daphnis (p. 284).

P. 267. De Salmone.

On Thomas Powell, cf. p. 57, note.

P. 272. The Bee.

Hilarion's servant, the sage crow. There seems to be some confusion between Hilarion, an obscure fourth-century Abbot, and Paul the Hermit, of whom it is related in his Life by S. Jerome that for sixty years he was daily provided with half a loaf of bread by a crow.

P. 278. Daphnis.

The subject of the Eclogue appears to be Vaughan's brother Thomas, who died 27th February, 1666. On him see the Biographical Note (vol. ii., p. xxxiii).

true black Moors; an allusion, perhaps, to Thomas Vaughan's controversy with Henry More.

Old Amphion; perhaps Matthew Herbert, on whom see note to p. 158.

The Isis and the prouder Thames. Thomas Vaughan was buried at Albury, near Oxford.

Noble Murray. Thomas Vaughan's patron, himself a poet and alchemist, Sir Robert Murray, Secretary of State for Scotland. His poems have been collected by the Hunterian Club.

FRAGMENTS AND TRANSLATIONS.

The larger number of the verses in this section are translated quotations scattered through Vaughan's prose-pamphlets. Dr. Grosart identified some of the originals; I have added a few others; but the larger number remain obscure and are hardly worth spending much labour upon. The title-pages of the pamphlets will be found in the Bibliography (vol. ii., p. lvii).

P. 289. From Eucharistica Oxoniensia.

I have already, in the Biographical Note (vol. ii., p. xxviii), given reasons for doubting whether this poem is by the Silurist. It was first printed as his by Dr. Grosart. Charles the First was in Scotland, trying to settle his differences with the Scots, during the closing months of 1641.

P. 291. Translations from Plutarch and Maximus Tyrius.

These, together with a translation of Guevara's De vitae rusticae laudibus, were appended to the Olor Iscanus. Vaughan did not translate directly from the Greek, but from a Latin version published in 1613-14 amongst some tracts by John Reynolds, Lecturer in Greek at, and afterwards President of Corpus Christi College, Oxford.

P. 294. From the Mount of Olives.

A volume of Devotions published by Vaughan in 1652. The preface, dated 1st October, 1651, is addressed to Sir Charles Egerton, Knight, and in it Vaughan speaks of "that near relation by which my dearest friend lays claim to your person." It is impossible to say who is the "dearest friend" referred to. The Flores Solitudinis (1654) is also dedicated to Sir Charles Egerton. He was probably of Staffordshire. Dr. Grosart (II. xxxiii) states that in Hanbury Church, co. Stafford, is a monument Caroli Egertoni Equitis Aurati, who died 1662. Perhaps therefore he was connected with Vaughan's wife's family, the Wises of Staffordshire.

P. 298. From Man in Glory.

This translation from a work attributed to St. Anselm and published as his in 1639 is appended to the Mount of Olives.

In the original lines 5, 6, are printed in error after lines 7, 8.

P. 299. From Flores Solitudinis.

In 1654 Vaughan published a volume containing (1) translations of two discourses by Eusebius Nierembergius, (2) a translation of Eucherius, De Contemptu Mundi, (3) an original life of S. Paulinus, Bishop of Nola. These were poems "collected in his sickness and retirement." The Epistle-dedicatory to Sir Charles Egerton is dated 1653, and that to the reader which precedes the translations from Nierembergius on 17th April, 1652.

Bissellius. John Bissel a Jesuit, (1601-1677), wrote Deliciae Aetatis, Argonauticon Americanorum, etc. (Grosart).

Augurellius. Johannes Aurelius Augurellius of Rimini (1454-1537), wrote Carmina, Chrysopoeia, Geronticon, etc. (Grosart).

P. 307. From Primitive Holiness.

This original life of S. Paulinus of Nola, by far the most striking of Vaughan's prose works, contains a number of poems, pieced together by Vaughan from lines in Paulinus' own poems and in those of Ausonius addressed to him. The edition used by Vaughan seems to have been that published by Rosweyd at Antwerp in 1622. I have traced the sources of the poems so far as I can in the edition published by W. de Hartel in the Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum (vols. xxix, xxx 1894).

P. 322. From Hermetical Physic.

A translation from the Naturae Sanctuarium! quod est Physica Hermetica (1619) of the alchemist Henry Nollius, published by Vaughan in 1655.

P. 323. From Cerbyd Fechydwiaeth.

This tract is bound up with the Brit. Mus. copy of [Thomas Powell's] Quadriga Salutis (1657), of which it appears to be a Welsh translation. The verses, to which nothing corresponds in the English version, are signed Ol[or] Vaughan (cf. Olor Iscanus). Professor Palgrave (Y Cymrodor, 1890-1) translates them as follows: "The Lord's Prayer, when looked into (we see), the Trinity of His Fatherly goodness has given it as a foundation-stone of all prayer, and has made it for our instruction in doctrine." He adds that this Englyn occurs with others written in an eighteenth-century hand on the fly-leaf of a MS. of Welsh poetry by Iago ab Duwi.

P. 324. From Humane Industry.

On Thomas Powell cf. p. 57, note. The first three of these translations are marked H. V. in the margin; of the fourth Powell says, "The translation of Mr. Hen. Vaughan, Silurist, whose excellent Poems are published." Many other translations are scattered through the book, but there is nothing to connect them with Vaughan.

LIST OF FIRST LINES.

Vol. page A grove there grows, round with the sea confin'd, ii. 239

A king and no king! Is he gone from us, ii. 181

A tender kid--see, where 'tis put-- ii. 293

A ward, and still in bonds, one day i. 19

A wit most worthy in tried gold to shine, i. 2

Accept, dread Lord, the poor oblation; i. 92

Accipe praerapido salmonem in gurgite captum, ii. 267

Against the virtuous man we all make head, ii. 305

Ah! He is fled! i. 40

Ah! what time wilt Thou come? when shall that cry i. 123

All sorts of men, who live on Earth, ii. 235

All worldly things, even while they grow, decay ii. 304

Almighty Spirit! Thou that by ii. 144

Amyntas go, thou art undone ii. 12

And do they so? have they a sense i. 87

And for life's sake to lose the crown of life. ii. 303

And is the bargain thought too dear ii. 311

And rising at midnight the stars espied ii. 297

And will not bear the cry ii. 301

As Egypt's drought by Nilus is redress'd ii. 304

As kings do rule like th' heavens, who dispense ii. 289

As Time one day by me did pass, i. 234

As travellers, when the twilight's come i. 146

Ask, lover, e'er thou diest; let one poor breath ii. 11

Awake, glad heart! get up and sing! i. 105

Base man! and couldst thou think Cato alone ii. 301

Be dumb, coarse measures, jar no more; to me i. 195

Be still, black parasites, i. 187

Bless me! what damps are here! how stiff an air! ii. 65

Blessed, unhappy city! dearly lov'd, i. 218

Blessings as rich and fragrant crown your heads ii. 92

Blest be the God of harmony and love! i. 76

Blest infant bud, whose blossom-life i. 120

Boast not, proud Golgotha, that thou canst show ii. 197

Bright and blest beam! whose strong projection, i. 121

Bright books! the perspectives to our weak sights: ii. 245

Bright Queen of Heaven! God's Virgin Spouse! i. 225

Bright shadows of true rest! some shoots of bliss; i. 114

But night and day doth his own life molest, ii. 302

Can any tell me what it is? Can you ii. 268

Chance taking from me things of highest price ii. 292

Come, come! what do I here? i. 61

Come, drop your branches, strew the way i. 216

Come, my heart! come, my head, i. 52

Come, my true consort in my joys and care! ii. 317

Come sapless blossom, creep not still on earth, i. 166

Curtain'd with clouds in a dark night ii. 132

Darkness, and stars i' th' mid-day! They invite ii. 18

Dear, beauteous saint! more white than day i. 227

Dear friend, sit down, and bear awhile this shade i. 193

Dear friend! whose holy, ever-living lines i. 91

Dearest! if you those fair eyes--wond'ring--stick ii. 115

Death and darkness, get you packing, i. 133

Diminuat ne sera dies praesentis honorem ii. 51

Draw near, fond man, and dress thee by this glass, ii. 294

Dust and clay, i. 180

Early, while yet the dark was gay ii. 255

Eternal God! Maker of all i. 285

Et sic in cithara, sic in dulcedine vitae ii. 266

Excel then if thou canst, be not withstood, ii. 291

Fair and young light! my guide to holy i. 236

Fair order'd lights--whose motion without noise i. 155

Fair Prince of Light! Light's living well! ii. 249

Fair, shining mountains of my pilgrimage ii. 247

Fair, solitary path! whose blessed shades i. 256

Fair vessel of our daily light, whose proud ii. 257

Fairly design'd! to charm our civil rage ii. 171

False life! a foil and no more, when i. 282

Fancy and I, last evening, walk'd, ii. 15

Farewell! I go to sleep; but when i. 73

Farewell thou true and tried reflection ii. 276

Farewell, you everlasting hills! I'm cast i. 43

Father of lights! what sunny seed, i. 189

Feeding on fruits which in the heavens do grow, ii. 291

Flaccus, not so: that worldly he ii. 152

Fool that I was! to believe blood ii. 209

For shame desist, why shouldst thou seek my fall? ii. 200

Fortune--when with rash hands she quite turmoils ii. 134

Fresh fields and woods! the Earth's fair face ii. 252

From fruitful beds and flow'ry borders, ii. 272

From the first hour the heavens were made ii. 296

Go catch the ph[oe]nix, and then bring ii. 217

Go, go, quaint follies, sugar'd sin, i. 113

Go, if you must! but stay--and know ii. 222

Had I adored the multitude and thence ii. 169

Hail, sacred shades! cool, leafy house! ii. 26

Happy is he, that with fix'd eyes ii. 224

Happy that first white age! when we ii. 138

Happy those early days, when I i. 59

Have I so long in vain thy absence mourn'd? ii. 309

He that thirsts for glory's prize, ii. 140

Here holy Anselm lives in ev'ry page, ii. 298

Here, take again thy sackcloth! and thank heav'n ii. 83

Here the great well-spring of wash'd souls, with beams ii. 313

His deep, dark heart--bent to supplant-- ii. 292

Hither thou com'st: the busy wind all night i. 207

How could that paper sent, ii. 307

How is man parcell'd out! how ev'ry hour i. 139

How kind is Heav'n to man! if here i. 107

How oft have we beheld wild beasts appear ii. 325

How rich, O Lord, how fresh Thy visits are! i. 105

How shrill are silent tears! when sin got head i. 124

I am confirm'd, and so much wing is given ii. 79

I call'd it once my sloth: in such an age ii. 58

I cannot reach it; and my striving eye i. 249

I did but see thee! and how vain it is ii. 90

I have consider'd it; and find i. 90

I have it now: i. 238

I knew it would be thus! and my just fears ii. 94

I knew thee not, nor durst attendance strive ii. 87

I saw beneath Tarentum's stately towers ii. 296

I saw Eternity the other night i. 150

I see the Temple in thy pillar rear'd; i. 261

I see the use: and know my blood i. 69

I've read thy soul's fair nightpiece, and have seen ii. 77

I walk'd the other day, to spend my hour, i. 171

I whose first year flourished with youthful verse, ii. 125

I wonder, James, through the whole history ii. 70

I write not here, as if thy last in store ii. 59

I wrote it down. But one that saw i. 264

If Amoret, that glorious eye, ii. 13

"If any have an ear," i. 242

If I were dead, and in my place ii. 16

If old tradition hath not fail'd, ii. 233

If sever'd friends by sympathy can join, ii. 178

If this world's friends might see but once i. 232

If weeping eyes could wash away ii. 151

If with an open, bounteous hand ii. 135

In all the parts of earth, from farthest West, ii. 28

In March birds couple, a new birth ii. 295

In those bless'd fields of everlasting air ii. 119

Isca parens florum, placido qui spumeus ore ii. 157

It is perform'd! and thy great name doth run ii. 193

It lives when kill'd, and brancheth when 'tis lopp'd ii. 301

It would less vex distressed man ii. 145

Jesus, my life! how shall I truly love Thee? i. 200

Joy of my life while left me here! i. 67

Knave's tongues and calumnies no more doth prize ii. 292

King of comforts! King of Life! i. 127

King of mercy, King of love, i. 174

Learning and Law, your day is done, ii. 213

Leave Amoret, melt not away so fast ii. 23

Let me not weep to see thy ravish'd house ii. 307

Let not thy youth and false delights ii. 146

Life, Marcellina, leaving thy fair frame, ii. 312

Like some fair oak, that when her boughs ii. 302

[Like] to speedy posts, bear hence the lamp of life ii. 304

Long life, oppress'd with many woes, ii. 306

Long since great wits have left the stage ii. 211

Lord, bind me up, and let me lie i. 161

Lord Jesus! with what sweetness and delights, i. 177

Lord, since Thou didst in this vile clay i. 116

Lord! what a busy restless thing i. 48

Lord, when Thou didst on Sinai pitch, i. 148

Lord, when Thou didst Thyself undress, i. 51

Lord, with what courage, and delight i. 80

Love, the world's life! What a sad death ii. 223

Man should with virtue arm'd and hearten'd be ii. 303

Mark, when the evening's cooler wings ii. 21

Most happy man! who in his own sweet fields ii. 236

My dear, Almighty Lord! why dost Thou weep? i. 220

My God and King! to Thee i. 259

My God, how gracious art Thou! I had slipt i. 89

My God! Thou that didst die for me, i. 13

My God, when I walk in those groves i. 30

My soul, my pleasant soul, and witty, ii. 294

My soul, there is a country i. 83

Nature even for herself doth lay a snare, ii. 303

Nimble sigh on thy warm wings, ii. 10

Nothing on earth, nothing at all ii. 149

Now I have seen her; and by Cupid ii. 206

Now that the public sorrow doth subside ii. 189

O book! Life's guide! how shall we part; i. 287

O come, and welcome! come, refine! ii. 251

O come away, i. 274

O day of life, of light, of love! i. 267

O do not go! Thou know'st I'll die! i. 214

O dulcis luctus, risuque potentior omni! ii. 221

O health, the chief of gifts divine! ii. 293

O holy, blessed, glorious Three, i. 201

O in what haste, with clouds and night ii. 126

O joys! infinite sweetness! with what flowers i. 71

O knit me, that am crumbled dust! the heap i. 46

O my chief good! i. 84

O quae frondosae per am[oe]na cubilia silvae ii. 160

O, subtle Love! thy peace is war; ii. 220

O tell me whence that joy doth spring i. 284

O the new world's new-quick'ning Sun! i. 289

O Thou great builder of this starry frame, ii. 129

O Thou that lovest a pure and whiten'd soul; i. 130

O Thou! the first-fruits of the dead, i. 78

O Thou who didst deny to me ii. 263

O Thy bright looks! Thy glance of love i. 197

O when my God, my Glory, brings i. 260

Obdurate still and tongue-tied, you accuse ii. 308

Oft have I seen, when that renewing breath i. 25

Patience digesteth misery ii. 302

Peace? and to all the world? Sure One, ii. 259

Peace, peace! I blush to hear thee; when thou art i. 108

Peace, peace! I know 'twas brave; i. 65

Peace, peace! it is not so. Thou dost miscall i. 137

Peter, when thou this pleasant world dost see, ii. 299

Praying! and to be married! It was rare, i. 37

Quid celebras auratam undam, et combusta pyropis ii. 265

Quite spent with thoughts, I left my cell, and lay i. 57

Quod vixi, Mathaee dedit pater, haec tamen olim ii. 158

Sacred and secret hand! i. 223

Sad, purple well! whose bubbling eye i. 254

Saw not, Lysimachus, last day, when we ii. 195

Say, witty fair one, from what sphere ii. 100

See what thou wert! by what Platonic round ii. 175

See you that beauteous queen, which no age tames? ii. 219

Sees not my friend, what a deep snow ii. 99

Shall I believe you can make me return, ii. 306

Shall I complain, or not? or shall I mask ii. 112

Sickness and death, you are but sluggish things, ii. 309

Silence and stealth of days! 'Tis now, i. 74

Since dying for me, Thou didst crave no more i. 278

Since I in storms us'd most to be, i. 283

Since in a land not barren still, i. 145

Since last we met, thou and thy horse--my dear-- ii. 73

Sion's true, glorious God! on Thee i. 269

So from our cold, rude world, which all things tires, ii. 204

So our decays God comforts by ii. 295

So, stick up ivy and the bays, ii. 261

Some esteem it no point of revenge to kill ii. 323

Some struggle and groan as if by panthers torn, ii. 300

Still young and fine! but what is still in view i. 230

Sure, it was so. Man in those early days i. 101

Sure Priam will to mirth incline, ii. 291

Sure, there's a tie of bodies! and as they i. 82

Sure thou didst flourish once! and many springs, i. 209

Sweet, harmless live[r]s!--on whose leisure i. 158

Sweet, sacred hill! on whose fair brow i. 49

Tentasti, fateor, sine vulnere saepius et me i. liv

Thanks, mighty Silver! I rejoice to see ii. 68

That man for misery excell'd ii. 293

That the fierce pard doth at a beck ii. 325

That the world in constant force ii. 142

The lucky World show'd me one day i. 226

The naked man too gets the field, ii. 300

The painful cross with flowers and palms is crown'd, ii. 314

The pains of Saints and Saints' rewards are twins, ii. 314

The plenteous evils of frail life fill the old: ii. 305

The strongest body and the best ii. 323

The trees we set grow slowly, and their shade ii. 297

The untired strength of never-ceasing motion, ii. 324

The whole wench--how complete soe'er--was but ii. 298

There are that do believe all things succeed ii. 295

There's need, betwixt his clothes, his bed and board ii. 322

They are all gone into the world of light! i. 182

--They fain would--if they might-- ii. 302

This is the day--blithe god of sack--which we, ii. 106

This pledge of your joint love, to heaven now fled, ii. 308

Those sacred days by tedious Time delay'd, ii. 315

Though since thy first sad entrance by i. 272

Thou that know'st for whom I mourn, i. 54

Thou the nepenthe easing grief ii. 301

Thou who didst place me in this busy street i. 244

Thou, who dost flow and flourish here below, i. 198

Thou, whose sad heart, and weeping head lies low i. 133

Through pleasant green fields enter you the way ii. 313

Through that pure virgin shrine, i. 251

Time's teller wrought into a little round, ii. 324

'Tis a sad Land, that in one day i. 23

'Tis dead night round about: Horror doth creep i. 41

'Tis madness sure; and I am in the fit, ii. 184

'Tis not rich furniture and gems, ii. 147

'Tis now clear day: I see a rose i. 33

'Tis true, I am undone: yet, ere I die, ii. 17

To live a stranger unto life ii. 304

True life in this is shown, ii. 304

'Twas so; I saw thy birth. That drowsy lake i. 45

Tyrant, farewell! this heart, the prize ii. 8

Unfold! Unfold! Take in His light, ii. 254

Up, O my soul! and bless the Lord! O God, i. 202

Up to those bright and gladsome hills, i. 136

Vain, sinful art! who first did fit i. 219

Vain wits and eyes i. 16

Virtue's fair cares some people measure ii. 303

Vivaces oculorum ignes et lumina dia ii. 159

Waters above! eternal springs! ii. 248

Weary of this same clay and straw, I laid i. 153

We thank you, worthy Sir, that now we see ii. 97

Weighing the steadfastness and state i. 169

Welcome, dear book, soul's joy and food! The feast i. 103

Welcome sweet and sacred feast! welcome life! i. 134

Welcome, white day! a thousand suns, i. 184

Well, we are rescued! and by thy rare pen ii. 104

What can the man do that succeeds the king? i. 247

What clouds, Menalcas, do oppress thy brow, ii. 278

What fix'd affections, and lov'd laws ii. 228

What happy, secret fountain, i. 241

What greater good hath decked great Pompey's crown ii. 306

What is't to me that spacious rivers run ii. 295

What planet rul'd your birth? what witty star? ii. 57

What smiling star in that fair night, ii. 214

What though they boast their riches unto us? ii. 292

Whatever 'tis, whose beauty here below i. 191

When Daphne's lover here first wore the bays, ii. 61

When first I saw True Beauty, and Thy joys i. 168

When first Thou didst even from the grave i. 110

When first thy eyes unveil, give thy soul leave i. 94

When Jove a heav'n of small glass did behold, ii. 238

When the Crab's fierce constellation ii. 131

When the fair year i. 212

When the sun from his rosy bed ii. 136

When through the North a fire shall rush i. 28

When to my eyes, i. 63

When we are dead, and now, no more ii. 5

When with these eyes, clos'd now by Thee, i. 271

Whenever did, I pray, ii. 322

Where reverend bards of old have sate ii. 172

Where'er my fancy calls, there I go still, ii. 322

Whither, O whither didst thou fly ii. 250

Who wisely would for his retreat ii. 137

Who would unclouded see the laws ii. 230

Who on you throne of azure sits, i. 142

Whom God doth take care for, and love, ii. 306

Whose calm soul in a settled state ii. 128

Whose guilty soul, with terrors fraught, doth frame, ii. 303

Whose hissings fright all Nature's monstrous ills, ii. 305

With restless cares they waste the night and day, ii. 322

With what deep murmurs, through Time's silent stealth, i. 280

Y Pader, pan trier, Duw-tri a'i dododd ii. 323

You have consum'd my language, and my pen, ii. 109

You have oblig'd the patriarch: and 'tis known ii. 187

You minister to others' wounds a cure, ii. 291

You see what splendour through the spacious aisle, ii. 314

You that to wash your flesh and souls draw near, ii. 312

Youth, beauty, virtue, innocence ii. 102

Woodfall & Kinder, Printers, 70-76, Long Acre., W.C.

# Project Gutenberg #38549

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Transcriber's note:

In two places there is text enclosed by equal signs. That text is in bold face. Elsewhere equal signs are used as equal signs.

The Fuller Worthies' Library.

THE COMPLETE WORKS OF RICHARD CRASHAW.

In Two Volumes.

VOL. I.

MEMORIAL-INTRODUCTION. STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. CARMEN DEO NOSTRO. THE DELIGHTS OF THE MUSES. AIRELLES.

London: Robson and Sons, Printers, Pancras Road, N.W.

The Fuller Worthies' Library.

THE COMPLETE WORKS OF RICHARD CRASHAW.

For the First Time Collected and Collated with the Original and Early Editions, and Much Enlarged with

I. Hitherto unprinted and inedited Poems from Archbishop Sancroft's MSS. &c. &c.

II. Translation of the whole of the Poemata et Epigrammata.

III. Memorial-Introduction, Essay on Life and Poetry, and Notes.

IV. In Quarto, reproduction in facsimile of the Author's own Illustrations of 1652, with others specially prepared.

Edited by the

REV. ALEXANDER B. GROSART,

St. George's, Blackburn, Lancashire.

In Two Volumes.

VOL. I.

Printed for Private Circulation. 1872.

156 copies printed.

TO THE VERY REVEREND

JOHN HENRY NEWMAN, D.D.

AS AN EXPRESSION OF GRATITUDE FOR FUNDAMENTAL INTELLECTUAL AND SPIRITUAL QUICKENING AND NURTURE FOUND IN AND SUSTAINED BY HIS WRITINGS EARLIER AND LATEST, THIS EDITION OF A POET HE LOVES AS ENGLISHMAN AND CATHOLIC IS DEDICATED BY ALEXANDER B. GROSART.

CONTENTS.

Those marked [*] are printed for the first time from MSS.; those marked [+] have additions for the first time given in their places.

PAGE

Dedication v

Preface xi

Memorial-Introduction xxvii

Note xl

The Preface to the Reader xlv

SACRED POETRY: I. Steps to the Temple, and Carmen Deo Nostro, 1-181.

+Sainte Mary Magdalene, or the Weeper 3

Sancta Maria Dolorvm, or the Mother of Sorrows: a patheticall Descant upon the deuout Plainsong of Stabat Mater Dolorosa 19

+The Teare 25

+The Office of the Holy Crosse 29

Vexilla Regis: the Hymn of the Holy Crosse 44

The Lord silences His Questioners 47

Our Blessed Lord in His Circumcision to His Father 48

On the Wounds of our crucified Lord 50

Vpon the bleeding Crucifix: a song 51

+To the Name above every name, the Name of Iesvs: a hymn 55

Psalme xxiii 65

Psalme cxxxvii 68

+In the Holy Nativity of ovr Lord God: a hymn svng as by the Shepheards 70

New Year's Day 76

+In the gloriovs Epiphanie of ovr Lord God: a hymn svng as by the three Kings 79

To the Qveen's Maiesty 91

Vpon Easter Day 94

Sospetto d'Herode 95

The Hymn of Sainte Thomas, in Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament 121

Lavda Sion Salvatorem: the Hymn for the Bl. Sacrament 124

+Prayer: an Ode which was prefixed to a little Prayer-book given to a young Gentle-woman 128

To the same Party: Covncel concerning her Choise 134

Description of a Religiovs Hovse and Condition of Life (out of Barclay) 137

On Mr. George Herbert's Booke intituled the Temple of Sacred Poems: sent to a Gentle-woman 139

+A Hymn to the Name and Honor of the admirable Sainte Teresa 141

+An Apologie for the foregoing Hymn, as hauing been writt when the Author was yet among the Protestants 150

+The Flaming Heart: vpon the Book and Picture of the seraphical Saint Teresa, as she is vsvally expressed with a Seraphim biside her 152

A Song of Divine Love 157

+In the gloriovs Assvmption of ovr Blessed Lady 158

+Upon five piovs and learned Discourses by Robert Shelford 162

Dies irae, dies illa: the Hymn of the Chvrch, in meditation of the Day of Ivdgment 166

Charitas Nimia, or the dear Bargain 170

S. Maria Maior: the Himn, O gloriosa Domina 173

Hope [by Cowley] 175

M. Crashaw's Answer for Hope 178

SACRED POETRY: II. Airelles, 183-194.

*Mary seeking Jesus when lost 185

*The Wounds of the Lord Jesus 187

*On ye Gunpowder-Treason 188

*Ditto 190

+Ditto 192

SECULAR POETRY: I. The Delights of the Muses, 195-276.

Musick's Duell 197

In the Praise of the Spring (out of Virgil) 207

With a Picture sent to a Friend 208

+In praise of Lessius's Rule of Health 209

The Beginning of Heliodorus 212

Cupid's Cryer (out of the Greeke) 214

Vpon Bishop Andrews' Picture before his Sermons 217

Vpon the Death of a Gentleman 218

Vpon the Death of Mr. Herrys 220

Vpon the Death of the most desired Mr. Herrys 222

Another 225

His Epitaph 228

+An Epitaph vpon a yovng Married Covple, dead and bvryed together 230

Death's Lectvre and the Fvneral of a yovng Gentleman 232

An Epitaph vpon Doctor Brooke 234

On a foule Morning, being then to take a Journey 235

To the Morning: Satisfaction for Sleepe 237

Love's Horoscope 240

A Song (out of the Italian) 243

Out of the Italian 245

Out of the Italian 246

Vpon the Frontispeece of Mr. Isaackson's Chronologie 246

On the same by Bishop Rainbow 248

An Epitaph vpon Mr. Ashton, a conformable Citizen 250

Out of Catullus 251

Wishes 252

+To the Queen: an Apologie for the length of the following Panegyrick 259

To the Queen, vpon her numerous Progenie: a Panegyrick 260

Vpon two greene Apricockes sent to Cowley by Sir Crashaw 269

Alexias: The Complaint of the forsaken Wife of Sainte Alexis: three Elegies 271

SECULAR POETRY: II. Airelles, 277-303.

*Upon the King's Coronation 279

*Ditto 280

*Vpon the Birth of the Princesse Elizabeth 282

*Vpon a Gnatt burnt in a Candle 284

*From Petronius 286

*From Horace 287

*Ex Euphormione. 289

*An Elegy vpon the Death of Mr. Stanninow, Fellow of Queen's Colledge 290

*Upon the Death of a Friend 292

*An Elegie on the Death of Dr. Porter 293

+Verse-Letter to the Countess of Denbigh 295

Ditto from Carmen Deo Nostro 301

ILLUSTRATIONS, in the illustrated Quarto only: Vol. I.

1. The Weeper: engraved by W.J. Linton, Esq., after the Author's own Design 4

2. Sancta Maria Dolorvm; or the Mother of Sorrows 19

3. The Office of the Holy Crosse 29

4. The Recommendation 43

5. To the Name above every name, the Name of Iesus 55

6. The Hymn of Sainte Thomas 55

7. The 'irresolute' Locked Heart 55

8. In the Holy Nativity of ovr Lord God 71

9. In the gloriovs Epiphanie of ovr Lord God. 79

10. Head of Satan: drawn and engraved by W.J. Linton, Esq. 95

11. Sainte Teresa 141

12. Dies irae, dies illa 166

13. Maria Maior, O gloriosa Domina 173

14. A second Illustration from the Bodleian copy 173

15. The Dead Nightingale: drawn by Mrs. Blackburn, engraved by W.J. Linton, Esq. 197

Nos. 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 11, 12, 13, 14 are reproduced in facsimile from the author's own designs of 1652, by Pouncey of Dorchester, expressly for our edition of Crashaw. Besides the above there are a number of head- and tail-pieces by W.J. Linton, Esq.

PREFACE.

I have at last the pleasure of seeing half-fulfilled a long-cherished wish and intention, by the issue of the present Volume, being Vol. I. of the first really worthy edition of the complete Poetry of RICHARD CRASHAW, while Vol. II. is so well advanced that it may be counted on for Midsummer (Deo favente).

This Volume contains the whole of the previously-published English Poems, with the exception of the Epigrams scattered among the others, which more fittingly find their place in Vol. II., along with the Latin and Greek originals, and our translation of all hitherto untranslated. Here also will be found important, and peculiarly interesting as characteristic, additions of unprinted and inedited poems by CRASHAW from Archbishop SANCROFT'S MSS., among the TANNER MSS. in the Bodleian. These I have named 'Airelles,' after the little Alpine flowers that are dug out beneath the mountain masses of snow and ice, with abiding touches of beauty and perfume, as though they had been sheltered within walls and glass. The formerly printed Poems have been collated and recollated anxiously with the original and other early and authoritative editions, the results of which are shown in Notes and Illustrations at the close of each poem. Many of the various readings are of rare interest, and collation has revealed successive additions and revisions altogether unrecorded by modern editors. In their places I have pointed out the flagrant carelessness of the last Editor, W.B. TURNBULL, Esq., in Smith's 'Library of Old Authors.'

A Rhapsodis (part 5)

As was meet, I have adhered to the first titles of 'Steps to the Temple' and 'The Delights of the Muses,' the former embracing the SACRED, and the latter the SECULAR Poems. The original Editor (whoever he was), not the Author, gave these titles. In the Preface to 'the learned Reader,' he says, 'we stile his sacred Poems, Steps to the Temple.' At one time I was disposed to assign the editorship of the volumes of 1646 and 1648 to SANCROFT; but inasmuch as both contained Bp. RAINBOW'S verses prefixed to ISAACSON'S 'Chronologie,' while the piece is not in the SANCROFT MS., it seems he could not have been the editor. His pathetic closing words reveal much love: 'I will conclude all that I have impartially writ of this learned young Gent. (now dead to us) as hee himselfe doth, with the last line of his poem upon Bishop Andrewes' picture before his Sermons, Verte paginas--Look on his following leaves, and see him breath.'

I would now give an account of previous editions of our Worthy, and our use of them. The earliest of his publications--excluding minor pieces in University Collections as recorded in our Essay--was a volume of Latin Epigrams published at Cambridge in 1634 in a small 8vo. The name of CRASHAW nowhere appears, but his initials R.C. are appended to the Dedication to his friend LANEY. The title-page was as follows: 'Epigrammatum Sacrorum Liber. Cantabrigiae, ex Academiae celeberrimae typographo, 1634.' Besides the Epigrams, this now rare volume contained certain of his 'Poemata' before the Epigrams. A second edition was published in 1670 with a few additional Epigrams, and those in Greek. A third edition appeared in 1674. Fuller details, with collation of each, are given in Vol. II. in their places.

Nothing more of any considerableness was published until 1646, two years after the Poet's ejection. Then appeared a small volume of Poems, chiefly English, arranged in two distinct classes, Sacred and Secular, the latter with a separate title-page. In the Note which follows this Preface, the title-pages of the volume will be found, along with those of the subsequent editions of 1648 and 1670. With reference to the volume of 1646, a mistake in the printing was thus pointed out: 'Reader, there was a sudden mistake ('tis too late to recover it): thou wilt quickly find it out, and I hope as soone passe it over; some of the humane Poems are misplaced amongst the Divine.' These 'humane' poems, that belonged not to the 'Steps' but the 'Delights of the Muses,' were fifteen in all. They were assigned their own places in the new edition of 1648. With two exceptions, we have adhered to the classification of the 1648 edition: the exceptions are, that we have placed 'Vexilla Regis' immediately after the 'Office of the Holy Crosse,' as belonging properly to that composition; and the 'Apologie' for the Hymn to TERESA after the first, not after the second Hymn, seeing the 'Apologie' is only for the first. The new edition bore on its title-page the announcement: 'The second Edition, wherein are added divers pieces not before extant.' Our contents of the present Volume (immediately following our Dedication) shows these additions, which were important and precious; viz. twenty-nine new English Poems and eighteen new Latin Poems.

The next edition was published in PARIS in 1652. In our Note (as supra) the title-page is given. This volume is an elegant one, and is adorned with twelve dainty engravings after the Author's own designs, though we possess a copy without the engravings, having blanks left. This exceedingly rare book contains most of the Sacred Poems and some of the more serious of the Secular Poems; but as the contents (as supra) show, there were large omissions, notably the Sospetto and Musick's Duel. It was edited by THOMAS CAR, who prefixes two poems of his own, as follows:

I. CRASHAWE, THE ANAGRAMME 'HE WAS CAR.'

Was CAR then Crashawe; or was Crashawe Car, 1 Since both within one name combined are? Yes, Car's Crashawe, he Car; 'tis loue alone Which melts two harts, of both composing one. So Crashaw's still the same: so much desired 5 By strongest witts; so honor'd, so admired; Car was but he that enter'd as a friend With whom he shar'd his thoughtes, and did commend (While yet he liu'd) this worke; they lou'd each other: Sweete Crashawe was his friend; he Crashawe's brother. 10 So Car hath title then; 'twas his intent That what his riches pen'd, poore Car should print; Nor feares he checke, praysing that happie one Who was belou'd by all; disprais'd by none: To witt, being pleas'd with all things, he pleas'd all, 15 Nor would he giue, nor take offence; befall What might, he would possesse himselfe, and liue As deade (deuoyde of interest) t' all might giue Desease t' his well-composed mynd; fore-stal'd With heauenly riches; which had wholy call'd 20 His thoughts from earth, to liue aboue in th' aire A very bird of paradice. No care Had he of earthly trashe. What might suffice To fitt his soule to heauenly exercise Sufficed him: and may we guesse his hart 25 By what his lipps brings forth, his onely part Is God and godly thoughtes. Leaues doubt to none But that to whom one God is all; all's one. What he might eate or weare he tooke no thought; His needfull foode he rather found then sought. 30 He seekes no downes, no sheetes, his bed's still made; If he can find a chaire or stoole, he's layd. When Day peepes in, he quitts his restlesse rest, And still, poore soule, before he's vp, he's dre'st. Thus dying did he liue, yet liued to dye 35 In th' Virgin's lappe, to whom he did applye His virgine thoughtes and words, and thence was styld By foes, the chaplaine of the virgine myld, While yet he liued without. His modestie Imparted this to some, and they to me. 40 Liue happie then, deare soule! inioy the rest Eternally by paynes thou purchacedst, While Car must liue in care, who was thy friend, Nor cares he how he liue, so in the end He may inioy his dearest Lord and thee; 45 And sitt and singe more skilfull songs eternally.[1]

II. AN EPIGRAMME

Vpon the Pictures in the following Poemes, which the Authour first made with his owne hand, admirably well, as may be seene in his Manuscript dedicated to the Right Honourable Lady the L. Denbigh.

'Twixt pen and pensill rose a holy strife 1 Which might draw Vertue better to the life: Best witts gaue votes to that, but painters swore They neuer saw peeces so sweete before As thes fruits of pure Nature; where no Art 5 Did lead the vntaught pensill, nor had part In th' worke ... The hand growne bold, with witt will needes contest: Doth it preuayle? ah no! say each is best. This to the eare speakes wonders; that will trye 10 To speake the same, yet lowder, to the eye. Both in their aymes are holy, both conspire To wound, to burne the hart with heauenly fire. This then's the doome, to doe both parties right: This to the eare speakes best; that, to the sight. 15

THOMAS CAR.[2]

It is clear from these lines in the former poem--

'Car was but he that enter'd as a friend With whom he shar'd his thoughtes, and did commend (While yet he liu'd) THIS WORKE___________________ ____________________________________________________ So Car hath title then; 'twas his intent That what his riches pen'd, poore Car should print'--

that the volume of 1652 carries the authority of CRASHAW with it as his own Selection from what he had written. So that I have had no hesitation in accepting its text of the Poems previously published (in 1646 and 1648): understanding that the Selection was regulated by his desire only to offer the COUNTESS OF DENBIGH those he himself most valued. There are inevitable misprints and a chaos of punctuation; but the text as a whole is a great advance on those preceding, as our Notes and Illustrations to the several poems prove. There are some very valuable additions throughout, entirely overlooked by modern Editors. Our text of all not in 1652 volume is based on that of 1648 collated with 1646.

The engravings celebrated in the Epigram of CAR--of whom more, and of the origin and purpose of the Volume, in our Essay--are as follows:

1. 'To the noblest and best of ladyes:' a heart with an emblematical lock. Beneath is printed 'Non Vi' ( = not by force), and the following lines:

'Tis not the work of force but skill To find the way into man's will. 'Tis loue alone can hearts vnlock: Who knowes the Word, he needs not knock.

2. 'To the name above every name.' 'Numisma Urbani 6.' A dove under the tiara, surrounded with a glory. The legend is, 'In unitate Deus est.'

3. 'The Holy Nativity.' The Holy Family at Bethlehem. Beneath are these lines in French and Latin:

Ton Createur te faict voir sa naissance Deignant souffrir pour toy des son enfance.

Quem vidistis, Pastores, &c. Natum vidimus, &c.

4. 'The Glorious Epiphanie.' The adoration of the Magi-kings.

5. 'The Office of the Holy Crosse.' Christ on the Cross. Beneath (from the Vulgate),

Tradidit semetipsum pro nobis oblationem et hostiam Deo in odorem suavitatis.--Ad Ephe. 5.

6. 'The Recommendation.' The ascended Saviour looking down toward the Earth. Above, this line,

Expostulatio Jesu Christi cum mundo ingrato.

Beneath, a Latin poem of thirteen lines, which appears in its place in our Vol. II.

7. 'Sancta Maria Dolorum.' The Virgin Mary under the Cross with the instruments of the Passion, holding the dead Saviour in her arms.

8. 'Hymn of St. Thomas.' A Remonstrance. 'Ecce panis Angelorum.'

9. 'Dies Irae.' The Last Judgment. 'Dies Irae, dies illa.'

10. 'O Gloriosa Domina.' The Virgin Mary and Child. Angels hold a crown over her head, surmounted by the Holy Dove. Beneath:

S. Maria Major. Dilectus meus mihi, et ego illi, Qui pascitur inter lilia. Cant.

11. 'The Weeper.' A female head, showing beneath, a bleeding and burning heart, surrounded by a glory. This couplet is below:

Lo, where a wounded heart, with bleeding eyes conspire: Is she a flaming fountaine, or a weeping fire?

12. 'Hymn to St. Teresa.' Portrait: scroll above, inscribed 'Misericors Domini in aeternum cantabo.' Beneath, 'La Vray Portraict de Ste. Terese, Fondatrice des Religieuses et Religieux reformez de l'ordre de N. Dame de mont Carmel: Decedee le 4e Octo. 1582. Canonisee le 12e Mars 1622.'

Besides these TWELVE, I discovered another in illustration of 'O Gloriosa Domina,' substituted for No. 10 in the very fine copy of the volume in the Douce Collection in the Bodleian. I have the satisfaction of furnishing admirable reproductions in fac-simile of Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, and 12, and by the kindness of the Bodleian Trustees, the unique illustration for No. 10. No. 11 by my friend W.J. LINTON, Esq. The whole of these belong exclusively to our illustrated quarto edition, and the impressions taken have been strictly limited thereto, and a very few for my own gift-use.

We have now done with genuine editions; but have yet to notice a wretched medley which bears the name of the '2d edition.' Its title-page is given in our Note (as before). This volume is fairly printed; but whatever was meant by '2d edition,' whether it was so styled from ignorance of the edition of 1648 or copying of its title, or because it was meant for a 2d edition of 1652, it is a deplorable compilation made out of 1646 and 1652. It first reprints 1646 and then 1652, omitting in the second part such poems of 1652 as were in 1646, but without taking the trouble of correcting any, so as to bring them into agreement with the better text. Not to mention well-nigh innumerable misprints and omissions, so blind is it, that it has twice printed two poems which in 1652 had their titles altered, not observing that it had already printed them under the old titles. These were the poems, On the Death of a Young Gentleman, and in Praise of Lessius. It contains only the eight Latin Poems of 1646, and no others. Of this edition TURNBULL says, 'In its text [it is] the most inaccurate of all'--and--What then? He reprints it! and leaves undetected its inaccuracies and omissions, and superadds as many more of his own--as our Notes and Illustrations demonstrate, albeit we have left many blunders unrecorded, contenting ourselves with seeing that our own is correct. And yet this Editor got in a rage with a correspondent (Professor M'Carthy) of Notes and Queries, who at the time corrected incidentally a misprinted letter--oblivious of (literally) hundreds infinitely worse.

PEREGRINE PHILLIPS in 1785 published a very well-printed volume of 'Selections' from CRASHAW; but, like TURNBULL, he blundered over the (so-called) '2d edition' of 1670, and seems never to have seen those of 1648 and 1652. Of other more recent editions I shall speak in our Essay, and, as already stated in our Memorial-Introduction, notice the University Collections and others, to which our Poet contributed. In its place, at close of the present Volume, see account of a hitherto unused edition of a Verse-Letter to COUNTESS OF DENBIGH.

Of the Poems now for the first time printed, the present Volume contains no fewer than fifteen or sixteen with important additions: Vol. II. will contain very many more, as well as our Translation of the hitherto untranslated Poems and Epigrams. The source of all these erewhile unprinted Poems is Vol. 465 among the TANNER MSS., which is known to be in the handwriting (mainly) of Archbishop SANCROFT. The Volume is a collection of contemporary Poetry, but as it now rests in the Bodleian is imperfect, as the Index shows. The following details will probably interest our readers. In the Index is first of all the following, 'Mr. Crashaw's Epigrams, sacra Latina;' but it is erased. Then underneath is written 'Mr. Crashaw's poems transcrib'd from his own copie, before they were printed; amongst wch are some not printed.' 'Latin, On ye Gospels v p 7. On other Subiects p 39, 95, 229. English Sacred Poems p 111. On other Subiects--39, 162, 164 v 167 v 196. 202 v 206. 223. v Suspetto di Herodi, translated from Car. Marino p 287 v.' Guided by this Index--for, though to some 'R. CR.' is prefixed, others printed in 1646 and 1648 are left without name or initials--page 7 to 22 contains Latin Poems and Epigrams still unpublished. On page 22 is a large letter C = Crashaw. The pagination then leaps to p. 39 and goes on to page 64, and consists of Latin Poems and one in Greek 'On other Subjects,' also wholly unpublished. Page 66 is blank, and a blank leaf follows. Then there is a Latin poem by WALLIS, and pp. 95-6 contain other Latin poems by CRASHAW, in part published. Pages 97-102 are blank, and the pagination again leaps to p. 111, where begin the English Sacred Poems, continuing to page 137, with 'Crashaw' written at end. These pages (111-137) contain mainly Poems and Epigrams before published. On page 130 is a short poem 'On Good Friday' by T. Randolph. On page 135 are two poems by Dr. Alabaster: then, on page 136, Crashaw's poem 'On the Assumption,' and on page 137, a short poem by Wotton. Pages 138-142 are blank, and once more the pagination passes to p. 159, where there is a poem by GILES FLETCHER (pp. 159-160)--printed by us in Appendix to Poems of Dr. GILES FLETCHER in our FULLER WORTHIES' MISCELLANIES. Pages 160-1 have poems by Corbett (erroneously inserted as HERRICK'S by Hazlitt in his edition of Herrick), and a Song by WOTTON. On page 162 'The Faire Ethiopian,' by CRASHAW: p. 163, 'Upon Mr. Cl.' [Cleveland?], who made a Song against the D.D.s--The complaint of a woman with child [both anonymous]. Then at page 164 'Upon a gnatt burnt in a candle,' by Crashaw (being entered in Index as supra), and never published. On pages 165-6, Love's Horoscope (published): p. 166, Ad Amicam. T.R. (not by CRASHAW, being entered in Index under Randolph): pp. 167-71, Fidicinis et Philomela Bellum Musicum, and Upon Herbert's Temple: pp. 172-3, Upon Isaacson's Frontispiece (the second piece): pp. 173-4, An invitation to faire weather (all published before). Then translations from the Latin Poets with 'R. CR.' above each, pp. 174-178--all unpublished: pp. 178-9, from Virgil (published). Next on pp. 180-87 are the following: 'On ye Gunpowder-Treason' (three separate pieces), and 'Upon the King's Coronation' (two pieces). These have never been printed until now in our present Vol., and they are unquestionably Crashaw's, inasmuch as (a) All entered thus 164 v. 167 are by him, and so these being entered under his name in Index as 167 v. 196 must belong to him; (b) 'Upon the King's Coronation' are renderings in part of his own Latin; (c) As shown in our Essay (where also their biographic value is shown) unusual words used by Crashaw occur in them. Pp. 187-90, 'Panegyrick upon the birth of the Duke of York' (published): pp. 190-2, 'Upon the birth of the Princesse Elizabeth' (never before printed). Pages 192-196, poems by Corbett, Wotton, and others. Pages 196-7, Translation from the Latin Ex Euphormione (not before published), and on Lessius (published). Then pp. 197-201, poems by various, in part anonymous: pp. 202-3, An Elegy on Staninough--not having his name or initials, but entered in Index under his name--(never before published): pp. 203-5, In obitum desider. Mri Chambers (published, but the heading new), and Upon the death of a friend (not before published): p. 205, 'On a cobler' (anonymous): p. 206, In obitum Dr Brooke: Epitaphium Conjug. (published): page 207, poem by CULVERWELL: p. 208, blank; and then the pagination passes to p. 223. Pages 223-229, poems on Herrys [or Harris] (all published, but with variations): pp. 229-30, Elegie on Dr. Porter (never before published, and entered in Index under Crashaw): from p. 231 to 238, various poems, but none by Crashaw; then the pagination leaps to p. 238, and goes on to p. 255, with various pieces, but again none by CRASHAW. On pp. 297-8 are eight of the published English Epigrams. All the other anonymous and avowed poems being entered in the Index separately from CRASHAW'S, and under either their titles or authors, makes us safe to exclude them from our Volumes. On the other hand, the Index-entries and 'R.C.' together, assure us that rich and virgin as is the treasure-trove of unprinted and unpublished Poems--English and Latin, especially the Latin--it is without a shadow of doubt RICHARD CRASHAW'S, and of supreme worth. I have also had the good fortune to discover a Harleian MS. from Lord Somers' Library (6917-18), which furnishes some valuable readings of some of the Poems, as recorded and used by us.

Throughout we have endeavoured with all fidelity to reproduce our Worthy in integrity of text and orthography--diminishing only (slightly) italics and capitals, and as usual giving capitals to all divine Names (nouns and pronouns) and personifications. In Notes and Illustrations all various readings are recorded, and such elucidations and filling-in of names and allusions as are likely to be helpful.

It is now my pleasant duty to return right hearty, because heartfelt, thanks to many friends and correspondents who have aided me in a somewhat arduous and difficult work and 'labour of love.' To the venerable and illustrious man whose name by express permission adorns my Dedication, I owe a debt of gratitude for a beautiful, a pathetic, a (to me) sacred Letter, that greatly animated me to go forward. By my admirable friends Revs. J.H. CLARK, M.A., of West Dereham, Norfolk, and THOMAS ASHE, M.A., Ipswich, my edition (as Vol. II. will evidence) is advantaged in various Translations for the first time of the Latin poems, valuable in themselves, and the more valued for the generous enthusiasm and modesty with which they were offered, not to say how considerably they have lightened my own work in the same field. To Dr. BRINSLEY NICHOLSON, who retains in the Army his fine literary culture and acumen; to W. ALDIS WRIGHT, Esq., M.A., Trinity College, Cambridge; the very Reverend Dr. F.C. HUSENBETH, Cossey, Norwich; the Earl and Countess of DENBIGH; Monsignor STONOR, Rome; to Correspondents at LORETTO, DOUAI, PARIS, &c.; and to Colonel CHESTER and Mr. W.T. BROOKE, London,--I wish to tender my warmest thanks for various services most pleasantly rendered; all to the enrichment of our edition.

The Illustrations (in the 4to) speak for themselves. I cannot sufficiently express my acknowledgments for the spontaneous and ever-increasing willinghood of my artist-poet friend W.J. LINTON, Esq., who from his temporary Transatlantic home has sent me the exquisite head- and tail-pieces in both volumes, besides cunningly interpreting the two original Illustrations drawn for me by Mrs. HUGH BLACKBURN of Glasgow, and the Poet's 'Weeper.' To Mrs. BLACKBURN her work is its own abundant reward; but none the less do I appreciate her great kindness to me.

Anything else needing to be said will be found in the Memorial-Introduction and Essay on the Life and Poetry, and Notes and Illustrations. I cannot better close our Preface than with the fine tribute of R. ARIS WILLMOTT, in his 'Dream of the Poets,' wherein he catches up the echo of COWLEY across two centuries:

Poet and Saint! thy sky was dark And sad thy lonely vigil here; But thy meek spirit, like the lark Still showered music on the ear, From its own heaven ever clear: No pining mourner thou! thy strain Could breathe a slumber upon Pain, Singing thy tears asleep: not long To stray by Siloa's brook was thine: Yet Time hath never dealt thee wrong, Nor brush'd the sweet bloom from thy line: Thou hast a home in every song, In every Christian heart, a shrine.

ALEXANDER B. GROSART.

15 St. Alban's Place, Blackburn, Lancashire,

4th February 1872.

MEMORIAL-INTRODUCTION.

In a Study of the Life and Poetry of our present Worthy, which will be found in our Volume II.--thus postponed in order that the completed Works may be before the student-reader along with it--I venture to hope new light will be shed on both, and his character as a Man and Poet--one of the richest of the minor Poets of England--vindicated and interpreted as never hitherto they have been. Some memories cannot bear the 'cruel light' of close scrutiny, some poetries when tested prove falsetto-noted. RICHARD CRASHAW grows on us the more insight we gain. If he were as well known as GEORGE HERBERT, he would be equally cherished, while his Poetry would be recognised as perfumed with all his devoutness and of a diviner 'stuff' and woven in a grander loom; in sooth, infinitely deeper and finer in almost every element of true singing as differenced from pious and gracious versifying. In this hurrying-scurrying age, only twos-and-threes take time to hold communion with these ancient Worthies; and hence my Essay, as with the FLETCHERS and LORD BROOKE and HENRY VAUGHAN, may win-back that recognition and love due to CRASHAW.

Then, in a much fuller and more adequate Memoir than hitherto furnished of WILLIAM CRASHAW, B.D., father of our Poet--also in our Volume II.--the usually-given ancestral details will appear from new and unused sources. So that here and now I intend to limit myself to a brief statement of the few outward Facts, i.e. reserving their relation to the central thing in RICHARD CRASHAW'S life--his passing from Protestantism to Catholicism, and to contemporaries and inner friends, and to his Poetry--to our announced Study.

WILLMOTT in his 'Lives of the English Sacred Poets' (vol. first, 1834, vol. second, 1839), begins his fine-toned little Notice thus: 'After an anxious search in all the accessible sources of information, I am able to tell little of one of whom every lover of poetry must desire to know much. The time of his birth and of his decease is involved in equal mystery.'[3] Our 'all' is still 'little' as compared with what we yearn for; but we do not need to begin so dolorously as our predecessor, for we have discovered both the 'time of his birth and of his decease.' He was born in London in 1612-3; this date being arrived at from the register-entry of his age on admission to the University, viz. 18 in 1630-1 (as hereafter stated). SHAKESPEARE was then retired to his beloved Stratford; MILTON was in the sixth year of his cherub-beauty. His father being 'Preacher at the Temple' at the date would have determined LONDON to have been his birthplace; but his admission to Pembroke and his own signature at Peterhouse, 'Richardum Crashaw, Londinensem,' prove it. Who was his mother I have failed to find. The second Mrs. WILLIAM CRASHAW, celebrated in a remarkable contemporary poetical tractate printed (if not published) by her bereaved husband (of which more anon and elsewhere, as supra), could not have been the Poet's mother, as she was not married to CRASHAW (pater) until 1619. We should gladly have exchanged the 'Honour of Vertue or the Monument erected by the sorrowfull Husband and the Epitaphs annexed by learned and worthy men, to the immortall memory of that worthy Gentle-woman Mrs. ELIZABETH CRASHAWE. Who dyed in child-birth, and was buried in Whit-Chappel: Octob. 8. 1620. In the 24 yeare of her age'--for a page on the first Mrs. Crashaw. Yet is it pleasant to know the motherless little lad received such a new mother as this tribute pictures. In 1620 he was in his ninth year. Thus twice a broad shadow blackened his father's house and his home. Little more than a year had he his 'second' mother.

Our after-Memoir of the elder CRASHAW shows that he was a man of no ordinary force of character and influence. The Epistles-dedicatory to his numerous polemical books are addressed with evident familiarity to the foremost in Church and State: and it is in agreement with this to learn (as we do) that MASTER RICHARD gained admission to the great 'Charterhouse' School through SIR HENRY YELVERTON and SIR RANDOLPH CREW--the former the patron-friend of the saintly DR. SIBBES, the latter of HERRICK, and both of mark. The Register of Charterhouse as now extant begins in 1680. So that we know not the date of young Crashaw's entry on the 'foundation' provided so munificently by SUTTON.[4] As we shall find, one of the Teachers--Brooke--is gratefully and characteristically remembered by our Worthy in one of his Latin poems, none the less gratefully that 'the rod' is recalled. He was 'Schoolmaster' from 1627-8 to 1643. The age of admission was 10 to 14: the latter would bring us to 1627-8, or Brooke's first year of office. Probably, however, he entered sooner; but neither ROBERT GREY (1624-26) nor WILLIAM MIDDLETON, A.M. (1626-28), nor others of the Masters or celebrities of the famous School are celebrated by him, with the exception of (afterwards) BISHOP LANEY. FRANCIS BEAUMONT was Head-Master in June 18, 1624, and I should have liked to have been able to associate CRASHAW with the Beaumont family. Probably DR. JOSEPH BEAUMONT of 'Psyche' was a school-fellow.

How long the Charterhouse was attended is unknown; but renewed researches at CAMBRIDGE add to as well as correct the usual dates of his attendance there. WILLMOTT states that 'he was elected a scholar of Pembroke Hall, March 26, 1632,' and remarks, 'and yet we find him lamenting the premature death of his friend, William Herrys, a fellow of the same College, which happened in the October of 1631.'[5] He quotes from the COLE MSS. The original register in the Admission-book of Pembroke College removes the difficulty, and is otherwise valuable, as will be seen. It is as follows:

'Julij 6. 1631. Richardus Crashawe, Gulielmi presbyteri filius, natus Londini annos habens 18, admissus est ad 2ae mensae ordinem sub tutela Mri Tourney.'

He was 'matriculated pensioner of Pembroke, March 26, 1632,' but, as above, his 'admission' preceded. Belonging to Essex, it is not improbable that CRASHAW and HARRIS were school-fellows at the Charterhouse. His 'friendships' and associates, so winsomely 'sung' of, will demand full after-notice. In 1632-3 appeared GEORGE HERBERT'S 'Temple;' an influential event in our Poet's history. He took the degree of B.A. in 1634. In 1634 he published anonymously his volume of Latin Epigrams and other Poems; a very noticeable book from a youth of 20, especially as most must have been composed long previously. He passed from Pembroke to Peterhouse in 1636; and again I have the satisfaction to give, for the first time, the entry in the old College Register. It is as follows:

'Anno Domini millesimo sexcentesimo tricesimo sexto vicesimo die mensis Novembris Richardus Crashaw admissus fuit a Reverendo in Christo Patre ac Dno Dno Francisco Episcopo Elaecisi ad locum sive societatem Magistri Simon Smith legitime vacantem in Collegio sive Domo Sti Petri, et vicesimo secundo die ejusdem mensis coram Magistro et Sociis ejusdem Collegii personaliter constitutus, juramentum praestitit quod singulis Ordinationibus et Statutis Collegii (quantum in ipso est) reverenter obediret, et specialiter praeter hoc de non appellando contra amotionem suam secundum modum et formam statutorum praedictorum et de salvando cistam Magistri Thomae de Castro Bernardi et Magri Thomae Holbrooke (quantum in ipso est) indemnum, quo juramento praestito admissus fuit a Magistro Collegii in perpetuum socium ejusdem Collegii et in locum supradictum. Per me Richardum Crashaw Londinensem.' (p. 500.)

He was made Fellow in 1637, and M.A. in 1638; looking forward to becoming a 'Minister' of the Gospel. His Latin Poems in honour of, and in pathetic appeal regarding PETERHOUSE, are of the rarest interest, and suggest much elucidatory of his great 'change' in religious matters; a change that must have been a sad shock to his ultra-Protestant father, but in which, beyond all gainsaying, conscience ruled, if the heart quivered. While at the University he was called on to contribute to the various 'Collections' issued from 1631 onward; and it certainly is once more noticeable that such a mere youth should have been thus recognised. His Verses--Latin and English--appeared thus with those of HENRY MORE, JOSEPH BEAUMONT, EDWARD KING ('Lycidas'), COWLEY, and others; and more than hold their own. In 1635 SHELFORD, 'priest' of RINGSFIELD, obtained a laudatory poem from him for his 'Five Pious and Learned Discourses.' According to ANTHONY A-WOOD, on the authority of one who knew (not from the Registers), he took a degree in 1641 at Oxford.[6]

Of his inner Life and experiences during these years (twelve at least), and the influences that went to shape his decision and after-course, and his relation to the COUNTESS OF DENBIGH, I shall speak fully and I trust helpfully in our Essay. We need to get at the Facts and Circumstances to pronounce a righteous verdict. For his great-brained, stout-hearted, iron-willed Father, the stormy period was congenial: but for his son the atmosphere was mephitic; as the Editor's 'Preface to the Learned Reader,' in his 'character' of him, suggests. Signatures were being put unsolemnly to the Solemn League and Covenant,' and as a political not a religious thing, by too many. RICHARD CRASHAW could not do that, and the crash of 'Ejection' came. Here is the rescript from the Register of PETERHOUSE once more unused hitherto:[7]

'Whereas in pursuite of an ordinance of Parliament for regulating and reforming of the Universitie of Cambridge, I have ejected Mr. Beaumont, Mr. Penniman, Mr. Crashaw, Mr. Holder, Mr. Tyringham, late fellowes of Peterhouse, in Cambridge. And whereas Mr. Charles Hotham, Robert Quarles, Howard Becher, Walter Ellis, Edward Sammes, have been examined and approved by the Assembly of Divines now sitting at Westminster, according to the said Ordinance as fitt to be Fellowes: These are therefore to require you, and every of you, to receive the said Charles Hotham, Robert Quarles, Howard Becher, Walter Ellis, Masters of Arts; and Edward Sammes, Bachr, as fellowes of your Colledge in room of the said Mr. Beaumont, Mr. Penniman, Mr. Crashaw, Mr. Holder, Mr. Tyringham, formerly ejected, and to give them place according to their seniority in the Universitie, in reference to all those that are or shall hereafter bee putt in by mee accordinge to the Ordinance of Parliament aforesaid. Given under my hand and seale the eleaventh day of June anno 1644.

'MANCHESTER.

'To the Master, President, and Fellowes of Peterhouse, in Cambridge.' (p. 518.)

'The ejection' of 1644, like that larger one of 1662, brought much sorrow and trial to a number of good and true souls. To one so gentle, shy, self-introspective as CRASHAW, it must have been as the tearing down of a nest to a poor bird. His fellow-sufferers went hither and thither. Our first glimpse of our Worthy after his 'ejection' is in 1646, when the 'Steps to the Temple' and 'Delights of the Muses' appeared, with its Editor's touching saying at the close of his Preface 'now dead to us.' A second edition, with considerable additions, was published in 1648. Previous to 1646 he had 'gone over' to Catholicism; for in the 'Steps' of that year is 'An Apologie' for his 'Hymn'--'In Memory of the Vertuous and Learned Lady Madre de Teresa, that sought an early Martyrdome.' In 1646 it is headed simply 'An Apologie for the precedent Hymne:' in the 'Carmen Deo Nostro' of 1652 it is more fully inscribed 'An Apologie for the foregoing Hymn, as hauing been writt when the author was yet among the Protestantes.' His two Latin poems, 'Fides quae sola justificat non est sine spe et dilectione' and 'Baptismus non tollit futura peccata,' were first published in 1648. TURNBULL was either ignorant of their existence or intentionally suppressed them.

Our Worthy did not long remain in England. He retired to France; and his little genial poem on sending 'two green apricocks' to COWLEY sheds a gleam of light on his residence in Paris. COWLEY was in the 'gay city' in 1646 as Secretary to LORD JERMYN; and inasmuch as the volume of that year contained his own alternate-poem on 'Hope,' I like to imagine that he carried over a copy of it to CRASHAW, and renewed their old friendship. COWLEY, it is told, found our Poet in great poverty: but CAR'S verses somewhat lighten the gloom. The 'Secretary' of LORD JERMYN introduced his friend to the Queen of Charles I., who was then a fugitive in Paris. So it usually runs: but CRASHAW had previously 'sung' of and to her Majesty. From the Queen the Poet obtained letters of recommendation to Italy; and from a contemporary notice, hereafter to be used, we learn he became 'Secretary' at Rome to CARDINAL PALOTTA. He appears to have remained in Rome until 1649-50, and by very 'plain speech' on the moralities, that is immoralities, of certain ecclesiastics, to have drawn down on himself Italian jealousy and threats. His 'good' Cardinal provided a place of shelter in the Lady-chapel of LORETTO, of which he was made a Canon. But his abode there was very brief; for, by a document sent me from Loretto, I ascertained that he died of fever after a few weeks' residence only, and was buried within the chapel there, in 1650.[8] COWLEY shed 'melodious tears' over his dear friend, in which he turns to fine account his 'fever' end: and with his priceless tribute, of which DR. JOHNSON said, 'In these verses there are beauties which common authors may justly think not only above their attainment, but above their ambition,'[9]--I close for the present our Memoir:

ON THE DEATH OF MR. CRASHAW.

Poet and Saint! to thee alone are giv'n The two most sacred names of Earth and Heav'n, The hardest, rarest union which can be Next that of godhead with humanity. Long did the Muses banish'd slaves abide, And built vain pyramids to mortal pride; Like Moses thou (tho' spells and charms withstand) Hast brought them nobly home, back to their Holy Land.

Ah, wretched we, Poets of Earth! but thou Wert living, the same Poet which thou'rt now; Whilst angels sing to thee their ayres divine, And joy in an applause so great as thine. Equal society with them to hold, Thou need'st not make new songs, but say the old; And they (kind spirits!) shall all rejoice to see, How little less than they, exalted man may be.

Still the old heathen gods in numbers dwell, The heav'nliest thing on Earth still keeps up Hell: Nor have we yet quite purg'd the Christian land; Still idols here, like calves at Bethel stand. And tho' Pan's death long since all or'cles broke, Yet still in rhyme the fiend Apollo spoke; Nay, with the worst of heathen dotage, we (Vain men!) the monster woman deifie; Find stars, and tie our fates there in a face, And Paradise in them, by whom we lost it, place. What diff'rent faults corrupt our Muses thus? Wanton as girls, as old wives, fabulous.

Thy spotless Muse, like Mary, did contain The boundless Godhead; she did well disdain That her eternal verse employ'd should be On a less subject than eternity; And for a sacred mistress scorn'd to take But her whom God Himself scorn'd not His spouse to make: It (in a kind) her miracle did do, A fruitful mother was, and virgin too.

How well (blest Swan) did Fate contrive thy death, And made thee render up thy tuneful breath In thy great mistress's arms! Thou most divine, And richest off'ring of Loretto's shrine! Where, like some holy sacrifice t' expire, A fever burns thee, and Love lights the fire. Angels (they say) brought the fam'd chappel there, And bore the sacred load in triumph thro' the air: 'Tis surer much they brought thee there; and they, And thou, their charge, went singing all the way.

Pardon, my Mother-Church, if I consent That angels led him, when from thee he went; For ev'n in error, sure no danger is, When join'd with so much piety as his. Ah! mighty God, with shame I speak't, and grief; Ah! that our greatest faults were in belief! And our weak reason were ev'n weaker yet, Rather than thus, our wills too strong for it. His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might Be wrong; his life, I'm sure, was in the right: And I, myself, a Catholick will be; So far at least, great Saint! to pray to thee.

Hail, Bard triumphant! and some care bestow On us, the Poets militant below: Oppos'd by our old enemy, adverse Chance, Attack'd by Envy and by Ignorance; Enchain'd by Beauty, tortur'd by desires, Expos'd by tyrant-love, to savage beasts and fires. Thou from low Earth in nobler flames didst rise, And like Elijah, mount alive the skies. Elisha-like (but with a wish much less, More fit thy greatness and my littleness;) Lo here I beg (I whom thou once didst prove So humble to esteem, so good to love) Not that thy sp'rit might on me doubled be, I ask but half thy mighty sp'rit for me: And when my Muse soars with so strong a wing, 'Twill learn of things divine, and first of thee to sing.[10]

ALEXANDER B. GROSART.

THE

WORKS OF RICHARD CRASHAW.

VOL. I.

ENGLISH POETRY.

NOTE.

The title-pages, with collation, of the original and early editions of 'Steps to the Temple' and 'The Delights of the Muses' (1646 to 1670) are here given successively:

1st edition, 1646. (1)

STEPS

TO THE

TEMPLE.

Sacred Poems,

With other Delights of the MUSES.

By RICHARD CRASHAW, sometimes of PEMBROKE Hall, and late Fellow of S. Peters Coll. in Cambridge.

Printed and Published according to Order.

LONDON, Printed by T.W. for Humphrey Moseley, and are to be sold at his shop at the Princes Armes in St Pauls Church-yard. 1646.

(2)

THE

DELIGHTS

OF THE

MUSES.

OR,

Other Poems written on severall occasions.

By RICHARD CRASHAW, sometimes of Pembroke Hall, and late Fellow of St. Peters Colledge in Cambridge.

Mart. Dic mihi quid melius desidiosus agas.

London,

Printed by T.W. for H. Moseley, at the Princes Armes in S. Pauls Churchyard, 1646. [12o]

Collation: Title-page; the Preface to the Reader, pp. 6; the Author's Motto and short Note to Reader, pp. 2 [all unpaged]; 'Steps to the Temple,' pp. 99; title-page of 'Delights,' as supra, and pp. 103-138; the Table, pp. 4.

2d edition, 1648.

STEPS

TO THE

TEMPLE,

Sacred Poems.

With

The Delights of the Muses.

By RICHARD CRASHAW, sometimes of Pembroke Hall, and late fellow of S. Peters Coll. in Cambridge.

The second Edition wherein are added divers pieces not before extant.

LONDON,

Printed for Humphrey Moseley, and are to be sold at his Shop at the Princes Armes in St. Pauls Church-yard. 1648. [12o]

The title-page to the 'Delights of the Muses' is exactly the same with that of 1646, except the date '1648.' Collation: Engraved title-page; title-page (printed); the Preface to the Reader and the Author's Motto, pp. 6; 'Steps,' pp. 110; the Table, pp. 4; the 'Delights;' title-page; the Table, pp. 3; Poems, pp. 71.

3d edition, 1652.

CARMEN

DEO NOSTRO,

TE DECET HYMNVS

SACRED POEMS,

Collected, Corrected, Avgmented, Most humbly Presented. To My Lady The Covntesse of DENBIGH By Her most deuoted Seruant. R.C.

In heaty [sic] acknowledgment of his immortall obligation to her Goodnes & Charity.

AT PARIS

By PETER TARGA, Printer to the Archbishope ef [sic] Paris, in S. Victors streete at the golden sunne.

M.DC.LII. [8vo]

Collation: Title-page; Verses by CAR, pp. 3; Verse-Letter to Countess of Denbigh, pp. 3 [all unpaged]; the Poems, pp. 131. (See our Preface for more on this and preceding and succeeding volumes, and for notice of a separate edition of the Verse-Letter to the Countess of Denbigh.)

4th edition, erroneously designated 2d edition, 1670.

STEPS

TO THE

TEMPLE,

THE DELIGHTS Of The Muses, and Carmen Deo Nostro.

By Ric. Crashaw, sometimes Fellow of Pembroke Hall, and late Fellow of St. Peters Colledge in Cambridge.

The 2d. Edition.

In the Savoy,

Printed by T.N. for Henry Herringham at the Blew Anchor in the Lower Walk of the New Exchange. 1670. [8vo]

Collation: Engraving of a 'Temple;' title-page; the Preface to the Reader and the Author's Motto, pp. 8; the Table, pp. 6 [all unpaged]; 'Steps,' pp. 77; 'Delights,' pp. 81-137; 'Carmen Deo Nostro, Te Decet Hymnvs,' pp. 141-208. For later editions see our Preface, as before, and for details on all, early and recent, and Manuscripts; and also our Memorial-Introduction and Essay. The 'Preface' of 1646 was reprinted in 1648 without change, save a few slight orthographical differences, and these: p. xlvi. line 3, 'their' for 'its dearest:' p. xlvii. line 1, 'subburd' for 'suburb:' and ibid, line 19, 'then' for 'than:' 1648 our text. It follows this Note in its own place. G.

STEPS TO THE TEMPLE, &c.

THE PREFACE TO THE READER.

LEARNED READER,

The Author's friend will not usurpe much upon thy eye: This is onely for those whom the name of our divine Poet hath not yet seized[11] into admiration. I dare undertake that what JAMBLICUS[12] (in vita Pythagorae) affirmeth of his Master, at his contemplations, these Poems can, viz. They shall lift thee, Reader, some yards above the ground: and, as in Pythagoras Schoole, every temper was first tuned into a height by severall proportions of Musick, and spiritualiz'd for one of his weighty lectures; so maist thou take a poem hence, and tune thy soule by it, into a heavenly pitch;[13] and thus refined and borne up upon the wings of meditation, in these Poems thou maist talke freely of God, and of that other state.

Here's Herbert's[14] second, but equall, who hath retriv'd Poetry of late, and return'd it up to its primitive use; let it bound back to heaven gates, whence it came. Thinke yee ST. AUGUSTINE would have steyned his graver learning with a booke of Poetry, had he fancied its dearest end to be the vanity of love-sonnets and epithalamiums? No, no, he thought with this our Poet, that every foot in a high-borne verse, might helpe to measure the soule into that better world. Divine Poetry, I dare hold it in position, against SUAREZ on the subject, to be the language of the angels; it is the quintessence of phantasie and discourse center'd in Heaven; 'tis the very out-goings of the soule; 'tis what alone our Author is able to tell you, and that in his owne verse.

It were prophane but to mention here in the Preface those under-headed Poets, retainers to seven shares and a halfe;[15] madrigall fellowes, whose onely businesse in verse, is to rime a poore six-penny soule, a suburb-sinner[16] into Hell:--May such arrogant pretenders to Poetry vanish, with their prodigious issue of tumorous[17] heats and flashes of their adulterate braines, and for ever after, may this our Poet fill up the better roome of man. Oh! when the generall arraignment of Poets shall be, to give an accompt of their higher soules, with what a triumphant brow shall our divine Poet sit above, and looke downe upon poore HOMER, VIRGIL, HORACE, CLAUDIAN, &c.? who had amongst them the ill lucke to talke out a great part of their gallant genius, upon bees, dung, froggs, and gnats, &c., and not as himself here, upon Scriptures, divine graces, martyrs and angels.

Reader, we stile his Sacred Poems, Steps to the Temple, and aptly, for in the Temple of God, under His wing, he led his life, in St. Marie's Church neere St. Peter's Colledge: there he lodged under TERTULLIAN'S roofe of angels; there he made his nest more gladly than David's swallow neere the house of God, where like a primitive saint, he offered more prayers in the night than others usually offer in the day; there he penned these Poems, STEPS for happy soules to climbe heaven by. And those other of his pieces, intituled The Delights of the Muses, (though of a more humane mixture) are as sweet as they are innocent.

The praises that follow, are but few of many that might be conferr'd on him: he was excellent in five languages (besides his mother tongue), vid. Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Italian, Spanish, the two last whereof he had little helpe in, they were of his own acquisition.

Amongst his other accomplishments in accademick (as well pious as harmlesse arts) he made his skill in Poetry, Musick, Drawing, Limming, Graving (exercises of his curious invention and sudden fancy) to be but his subservient recreations for vacant houres, not the grand businesse of his soule.

To the former qualifications I might adde that which would crowne them all, his rare moderation in diet (almost Lessian temperance[18]); he never created a Muse out of distempers, nor (with our Canary scribblers[19]) cast any strange mists of surfets before the intellectuall beames of his mind or memory, the latter of which he was so much a master of, that he had there under locke and key in readinesse, the richest treasures of the best Greek and Latine poets, some of which Authors hee had more at his command by heart, than others that onely read their works, to retaine little, and understand lesse.

Enough Reader, I intend not a volume of praises larger than his booke, nor need I longer transport thee to think over his vast perfections: I will conclude all that I have impartially writ of this learned young Gent. (now dead to us) as he himselfe doth, with the last line of his poem upon Bishop Andrews' picture before his Sermons: Verte paginas,

'Look on his following leaves, and see him breath.'[20]

THE AUTHOR'S MOTTO.

Live Iesus, live, and let it bee My life, to dye for love of Thee.

Sacred Poetry.

I.

STEPS TO THE TEMPLE

(1648),

AND

CARMEN DEO NOSTRO &c.

(1652).

SAINTE MARY MAGDALENE, OR THE WEEPER.[21]

Loe! where a wounded heart with bleeding eyes conspire. Is she a flaming fountain, or a weeping fire?

* * * * *

THE WEEPER.[22]

I.

Hail, sister springs! 1 Parents of syluer-footed rills! Euer-bubling things! Thawing crystall! snowy hills Still spending, neuer spent! I mean 5 Thy fair eyes, sweet Magdalene!

II.

Heauens thy fair eyes be; Heauens of euer-falling starres. 'Tis seed-time still with thee; And starres thou sow'st, whose haruest dares 10 Promise the Earth, to counter-shine Whateuer makes heaun's forehead fine.

III.

But we' are deceiued all: Starres indeed they are too true; For they but seem to fall, 15 As heaun's other spangles doe: It is not for our Earth and vs To shine in things so pretious.

IV.

Vpwards thou dost weep: Heaun's bosome drinks the gentle stream. 20 Where th' milky riuers creep, Thine floates aboue, and is the cream. Waters aboue th' heauns, what they be We' are taught best by thy teares and thee.

V.

Euery morn from hence, 25 A brisk cherub something sippes, Whose sacred influence Addes sweetnes to his sweetest lippes; Then to his musick; and his song Tasts of this breakfast all day long. 30

VI.

When some new bright guest Takes vp among the starres a room, And Heaun will make a feast: Angels with crystall violls come phials And draw from these full eyes of thine, 35 Their Master's water, their own wine.

VII.

The deaw no more will weep The primrose's pale cheek to deck: The deaw no more will sleep Nuzzel'd in the lilly's neck; 40 Much rather would it be thy tear, And leaue them both to tremble here.

VIII.

Not the soft gold which Steales from the amber-weeping tree, Makes Sorrow halfe so rich 45 As the drops distil'd from thee. Sorrowe's best iewels lye in these Caskets, of which Heaven keeps the keyes.

IX.

When Sorrow would be seen In her brightest majesty: 50 (For she is a Queen): Then is she drest by none but thee. Then, and only then, she weares Her proudest pearles: I mean, thy teares.

X.

Not in the Euening's eyes, 55 When they red with weeping are For the Sun that dyes; Sitts Sorrow with a face so fair. Nowhere but here did ever meet Sweetnesse so sad, sadnesse so sweet. 60

XI.

Sadnesse all the while Shee sits in such a throne as this, Can doe nought but smile, Nor beleeves she Sadnesse is: Gladnesse it selfe would be more glad, 65 To bee made soe sweetly sad.

XII.

There's no need at all, That the balsom-sweating bough So coyly should let fall His med'cinable teares; for now 70 Nature hath learnt to' extract a deaw More soueraign and sweet, from you.

XIII.

Yet let the poore drops weep (Weeping is the ease of Woe): Softly let them creep, 75 Sad that they are vanquish't so. They, though to others no releife, Balsom may be for their own greife.

XIV.

Golden though he be, Golden Tagus murmures though. 80 Were his way by thee, Content and quiet he would goe; Soe much more rich would he esteem Thy syluer, then his golden stream.

XV.

Well does the May that lyes 85 Smiling in thy cheeks, confesse The April in thine eyes; Mutuall sweetnesse they expresse. No April ere lent kinder showres, Nor May return'd more faithfull flowres. 90

XVI.

O cheeks! Bedds of chast loues, By your own showres seasonably dash't. Eyes! Nests of milky doues, In your own wells decently washt. O wit of Loue! that thus could place 95 Fountain and garden in one face.

XVII.

O sweet contest! of woes With loues; of teares with smiles disputing! O fair and freindly foes, Each other kissing and confuting! 100 While rain and sunshine, cheekes and eyes Close in kind contrarietyes.

XVIII.

But can these fair flouds be Freinds with the bosom-fires that fill thee! Can so great flames agree 105 Aeternal teares should thus distill thee! O flouds! O fires! O suns! O showres! Mixt and made freinds by Loue's sweet powres.

XIX.

'Twas his well-pointed dart That digg'd these wells, and drest this wine; 110 And taught the wounded heart The way into these weeping eyn. Vain loues auant! bold hands forbear! The Lamb hath dipp't His white foot here.

XX.

And now where'ere He strayes, 115 Among the Galilean mountaines, Or more vnwellcome wayes; He's follow'd by two faithfull fountaines; Two walking baths, two weeping motions, Portable, and compendious oceans. 120

XXI.

O thou, thy Lord's fair store! In thy so rich and rare expenses, Euen when He show'd most poor He might prouoke the wealth of princes. What prince's wanton'st pride e'er could 125 Wash with syluer, wipe with gold?

XXII.

Who is that King, but He Who calls 't His crown, to be call'd thine, That thus can boast to be Waited on by a wandring mine, 130 A voluntary mint, that strowes Warm, syluer showres wher're He goes?

XXIII.

O pretious prodigall! Fair spend-thrift of thy-self! thy measure (Mercilesse loue!) is all. 135 Euen to the last pearle in thy threasure: thesaurus, Latin. All places, times, and obiects be Thy teares' sweet opportunity.

XXIV.

Does the day-starre rise? Still thy teares doe fall and fall. 140 Does Day close his eyes? Still the fountain weeps for all. Let Night or Day doe what they will, Thou hast thy task: thou weepest still.

XXV.

Does thy song lull the air? 145 Thy falling teares keep faithfull time. Does thy sweet-breath'd praire Vp in clouds of incense climb? Still at each sigh, that is, each stop, A bead, that is, a tear, does drop. 150

XXVI.

At these thy weeping gates (Watching their watry motion), Each winged moment waits: Takes his tear, and gets him gone. By thine ey's tinct enobled thus, 155 Time layes him vp; he's pretious.

XXVII.

Time, as by thee He passes, Makes thy ever-watry eyes His hower-glasses. By them His steps He rectifies. 160 The sands He us'd, no longer please, For His owne sands Hee'l use thy seas.

XXVIII.

Not, 'so long she liued,' Shall thy tomb report of thee; But, 'so long she grieued:' 165 Thus must we date thy memory. Others by moments, months, and yeares Measure their ages; thou, by teares.

XXIX.

So doe perfumes expire, So sigh tormented sweets, opprest 170 With proud vnpittying fire. Such teares the suffring rose, that's vext With vngentle flames, does shed, Sweating in a too warm bed.

XXX.

Say, ye bright brothers, 175 The fugitiue sons of those fair eyes, Your fruitfull mothers! What make you here? what hopes can 'tice You to be born? what cause can borrow You from those nests of noble sorrow? 180

XXXI.

Whither away so fast? For sure the sluttish earth Your sweetnes cannot tast, Nor does the dust deserve your birth. Sweet, whither hast you then? O say 185 Why you trip so fast away?

XXXII.

We goe not to seek The darlings of Aurora's bed, The rose's modest cheek, Nor the violet's humble head. 190 Though the feild's eyes too Weepers be, Because they want such teares as we.

XXXIII.

Much lesse mean we to trace The fortune of inferior gemmes, Preferr'd to some proud face, 195 Or pertch't vpon fear'd diadems: Crown'd heads are toyes. We goe to meet A worthy object, our Lord's feet.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

With some shortcomings--superficial rather than substantive--'The Weeper' is a lovely poem, and well deserves its place of honour at the commencement of the 'Steps to the Temple,' as in editions of 1646, 1648, and 1670. Accordingly we have spent the utmost pains on our text of it, taking for basis that of 1652. The various readings of the different editions and of the SANCROFT MS. are given below for the capable student of the ultimate perfected form. I have not hesitated to correct several misprints of the text of 1652 from the earlier editions.

The present poem appears very imperfectly in the first edition (1646), consisting there of only twenty-three stanzas instead of thirty-three (and so too in 1670 edition). The stanzas that are not given therein are xvi. to xxix. (on the last see onward). But on the other hand, exclusive of interesting variations, the text of 1646 supplies two entire stanzas (xi. and xxvii.) dropped out in the editions of 1648 and 1652, though both are in 1670 edition and in the SANCROFT MS. Moreover I accept the succession of the stanzas in 1646, so far as it goes, confirmed as it is by the SANCROFT MS. A third stanza in 1652 edition (st. xi. there) as also in 1648 edition, I omit, as it belongs self-revealingly to 'The Teare,' and interrupts the metaphor in 'The Weeper.' Another stanza (xxix.) might seem to demand excision also, as it is in part repeated in 'The Teare;' but the new lines are dainty and would be a loss to 'The Weeper.' Our text therefore is that of 1652, as before, with restorations from 1646.

The form of the stanza in the editions of 1646, 1648 and 1670 is thus:

_______________________________ _______________________________ __________________________ _______________________________ ____________________________________ ____________________________________

In 1652 from stanza xv. (there) to end,

_______________________________ _______________________________ _______________________________ _______________________________ ____________________________________ ____________________________________

but I have made all uniform, and agreeably to above of 1652.

I would now submit variations, illustrations and corrections, under the successive stanzas and lines.

Couplet on the engraving of 'The Weeper.' In 1652 'Sainte' is misprinted 'Sanite,' one of a number that remind us that the volume was printed in Paris, not London. In all the other editions the heading 'Sainte Mary Magdalene' is omitted.

St. i. line 2. 1646, 1648 and 1670 editions read 'silver-forded.' Were it only for the reading of the text of 1652 'silver-footed,' I should have been thankful for it; and I accept it the more readily in that the SANCROFT MS. from Crashaw's own copy, also reads 'silver-footed.' The Homeric compound epithet occurs in HERRICK contemporarily in his Hesperides,

'I send, I send here my supremest kiss To thee, my silver-footed Thamasis'

[that is, the river Thames]. WILLIAM BROWNE earlier, has 'faire silver-footed Thetis' (Works by Hazlitt, i. p. 188). Cf. also the first line of the Elegy on Dr. Porter in our 'Airelles'--printed for the first time by us: 'Stay silver-footed Came.'

With reference to the long-accepted reading 'silver-forded,' the epithet is loosely used not for in the state of being forded, but for in a state to be forded, or fordable, and hence shallow. The thought is not quite the same as that intended to be conveyed by such a phrase as 'silver stream of Thames,' but pictures the bright, pellucid, silvery whiteness of a clear mountain rill. As silver-shallow--a meaning which, as has been said, cannot be fairly obtained from it--can it alone be taken as a double epithet. In any other sense the hyphen is only an attempt to connect two qualities which refuse to be connected. All difficulty and obscurity are removed by 'silver-footed.'

St. iii. line 1. The. 'we'' may be = wee, as printed in 1646, but in 1648 it is 'we are,' and in 1670 'we're,' and in the last, line 2, 'they're.' The SANCROFT MS. in line 2, reads 'they are indeed' for 'indeed they are.'

St. iv. line 4, 1646 and 1670 have 'crawles' and 'crawls' respectively, for 'floates,' as in 1648 and our text. The SANCROFT MS. also reads 'crawles.' In line 3, 1646 and 1670 'meet' is inadvertently substituted for 'creep.'

Lines 5 and 6, 1646 and 1670 read

'Heaven, of such faire floods as this, Heaven the christall ocean is.'

So too the SANCROFT MS., save that for 'this' it has 'these.'

St. v. line 2. 'Brisk' is = active, nimble. So--and something more--SHAKESPEARE: 'he made me mad, to see him shine so brisk' (1 Henry IV. 3).

Line 3. 1646, 1670 and SANCROFT MS. read 'soft' for 'sacred' of 1652 and 1648.

Line 6, 'Breakfast.' See our Essay on this and similar homely words, with parallels. 1648 reads 'his' for 'this breakfast.'

St. vi. line 4, 'violls' = 'phials' or small bottles. The reading in 1646 and 1670 is 'Angels with their bottles come.' So also in the SANCROFT MS.

St. vii. line 4. 'Nuzzeld' = nestled or nourished. In quaint old DR. WORSHIP'S Sermons, we have 'dew cruzzle on his cheek' (p. 91).

Lines 1 and 3, 'deaw' = 'dew.' This was the contemporary spelling, as it was long before in SIR JOHN DAVIES, the FLETCHERS and others in our Fuller Worthies' Library, s.v.

Lines 5 and 6. 1646, 1670 and SANCROFT MS. read

'Much rather would it tremble heere And leave them both to bee thy teare.'

1648 is as our text (1652).

St. ix. A hasty reader may judge this stanza to have been displaced by the xith, but a closer examination reveals a new vein (so-to-say) of the thought. It is characteristic of Crashaw to give a first-sketch, and afterwards fill in other details to complete the scene or portraiture.

St. xi. Restored from 1646.

St. xii. line 1. 1646, 1648 and 1670 read 'There is.'

Line 4, 'med'cinable teares.' So SHAKESPEARE (nearly): 'their medicinal gum' (Othello, v. 2).

St. xiii. line 2. 1646 and 1670 unhappily misprint 'case;' and TURNBULL passed the deplorable blunder and perpetuated it.

Line 5. Our text (1652) misprints 'draw' for 'deaw' = dew, as before.

Line 6. 1646 and 1670 read 'May balsame.'

St. xiv. line 3. 1646 and 1670 read

'Might he flow from thee.'

TURNBULL misses the rhythmical play in the first and second 'though,' and punctuates the second so as to read with next line. I make a full-stop as in the SANCROFT MS.

Line 4, ib. read

'Content and quiet would he goe.'

So the SANCROFT MS.

Line 5, ib. read

'Richer far does he esteeme.'

So the SANCROFT MS.

St. xv. lines 5 and 6, ib. read

'No April e're lent softer showres, Nor May returned fairer flowers.'

'Faithful' looks deeper: but the SANCROFT MS. agrees with '46 and '70.

St. xvii. line 2, in 1648 misreads

'With loves and tears, and smils disputing.'

TURNBULL, without the slightest authority, seeing not even in 1670 are the readings found, has thus printed lines 2 and 4, 'With loves, of tears with smiles disporting' ... 'Each other kissing and comforting'!!

St. xviii. line 2 in 1648 misreads

'Friends with the balsome fires that fill thee.'

The 'balsome' is an evident misprint, but 'thee' is preferable to 'fill you' of our text (1652), and hence I have adopted it.

Line 3 in 1648 reads

'Cause great flames agree.'

St. xix. line 3, 1648, reads 'that' for 'the.'

Line 4, ib. 'those' for 'these.'

Line 6. cf. Revelations xiv. 5, 'These are they which follow the Lamb whithersoever He goeth.'

St. xxi. line 6. 'wipe with gold,' refers to Mary Magdalene's golden tresses, as also in st. xxii. 'a voluntary mint.'

Line 4. 'prouoke' = challenge.

St. xxii. line 2. Curiously enough, 1648 edition leaves a blank where we read 'calls 't' as in our text (1652). TURNBULL prints 'call'st,' but that makes nonsense. It is calls't as = calls it. So too the SANCROFT MS. Probably the copy for 1648 was illegible.

St. xxiv. line 1. 1646 and 1670 read

'Does the Night arise?'

Line 2. Our text (1652) misprints 'starres' for 'teares' of 1646, 1648 and 1670.

Line 3. 1646 and 1670 read

'Does Night loose her eyes?'

The SANCROFT MS. reads line 139 'Does the Night arise?' and line 141, 'Does Niget loose her eyes?'

St. xxv. line 2. 1646 and 1670 read

'Thy teares' just cadence still keeps time.'

So the SANCROFT MS.

Line 3. Our text (1652) misprints 'paire' for 'praire.' 'Sweet-breath'd' should probably be pronounced as the adjectival of the substantive, not as the participle of the verb.

Line 6. 1646, 1648 and 1670 read 'doth' for 'does.'

St. xxvi. lines 1 and 2. 1646 and 1670 read

'Thus dost thou melt the yeare Into a weeping motion. Each minute waiteth heere.'

So the SANCROFT MS.

St. xxvii. Restored from 1646 edition. The SANCROFT MS. in line 168 miswrites 'teares.'

St. xxviii. line 5. reads in 1646 and 1670

'Others by dayes, by monthes, by yeares.'

So also the SANCROFT MS., wherein this st. follows our st. xv.

St. xxix. line 3. Our text (1652) misprints 'fires' for 'fire' of 1648.

St. xxx. line 1. Our text (1652) misprints 'Say the bright brothers.' 1646 and 1670 read 'Say watry Brothers.' So SANCROFT MS. 1648 gives 'ye,' which I have adopted. The misprint of 'the' in 1652 originated doubtless in the printer's reading 'ye,' the usual mode of writing 'the.'

Line 2. 1646 and 1670 read

'Yee simpering ...'

So the SANCROFT MS.

Line 3, ib. 'fertile' for 'fruitfull.'

Line 4, ib. 'What hath our world that can entice.' So the SANCROFT MS.

Lines 5 and 6, ib.

'what is't can borrow You from her eyes, swolne wombes of sorrow.'

So the SANCROFT MS.

St. xxxi. line 2. 1646 and 1670 read

'O whither? for the sluttish Earth:'

and I accept 'sluttish' for 'sordid,' which is also confirmed by SANCROFT MS.

Line 4, ib. 'your' for 'their;' and as this is also the reading of 1648 and SANCROFT MS., I have accepted it.

Line 5. 1646 and 1670 omit 'Sweet.'

Line 6, ib. read 'yee' for 'you.'

St. xxxii. and xxxiii. In 1646 and 1670 these two stanzas are thrown into one, viz. 23 (there), which consists of the first four lines of xxxii. and the two closing lines of xxxiii. as follows,

'No such thing; we goe to meet A worthier object, our Lords feet.'

In the SANCROFT MS. also, and reads as last line 'A worthy object, our Lord Jesus feet.' On the closing lines of st. xxxii. cf. Sospetto d'Herode, st. xlviii.

I have not thought it needful, either in these Notes or hereafter, to record the somewhat arbitrary variations of mere orthography in the different editions, as 'haile' for 'hail,' 'syluer' for 'silver,' 'hee' for 'he,' and the like. But I trust it will be found that no different wording has escaped record. G.

SANCTA MARIA DOLORVM, OR THE MOTHER OF SORROWS

A patheticall Descant vpon the deuout Plainsong of Stabat Mater Dolorosa.[23]

I.

In shade of Death's sad tree Stood dolefull shee. Ah she! now by none other Name to be known, alas, but Sorrow's Mother. Before her eyes, 5 Her's, and the whole World's ioyes, Hanging all torn she sees; and in His woes And paines, her pangs and throes: Each wound of His, from euery part, All, more at home in her one heart. 10

II.

What kind of marble, than, Is that cold man Who can look on and see, Nor keep such noble sorrowes company? Sure eu'en from you 15 (My flints) some drops are due, To see so many unkind swords contest So fast for one soft brest: While with a faithfull, mutuall floud, Her eyes bleed teares, His wounds weep blood. 20

III.

O costly intercourse Of deaths, and worse-- Diuided loues. While Son and mother Discourse alternate wounds to one another, Quick deaths that grow 25 And gather, as they come and goe: His nailes write swords in her, which soon her heart Payes back, with more then their own smart. Her swords, still growing with His pain, Turn speares, and straight come home again. 30

IV.

She sees her Son, her God, Bow with a load Of borrow'd sins; and swimme In woes that were not made for Him. Ah! hard command 35 Of loue! Here must she stand, Charg'd to look on, and with a stedfast ey See her life dy: Leauing her only so much breath As serues to keep aliue her death. 40

V.

O mother turtle-doue! Soft sourse of loue! That these dry lidds might borrow Somthing from thy full seas of sorrow! O in that brest 45 Of thine (the noblest nest Both of Loue's fires and flouds) might I recline This hard, cold heart of mine! The chill lump would relent, and proue Soft subject for the seige of Loue. 50

VI.

O teach those wounds to bleed In me; me, so to read This book of loues, thus writ In lines of death, my life may coppy it With loyall cares. 55 O let me, here, claim shares! Yeild somthing in thy sad praerogatiue (Great queen of greifes), and giue Me, too, my teares; who, though all stone, Think much that thou shouldst mourn alone. 60

VII.

Yea, let my life and me Fix here with thee, And at the humble foot Of this fair tree, take our eternall root. That so we may 65 At least be in Loue's way; And in these chast warres, while the wing'd wounds flee So fast 'twixt Him and thee, My brest may catch the kisse of some kind dart, Though as at second hand, from either heart. 70

VIII.

O you, your own best darts, Dear, dolefull hearts! Hail! and strike home, and make me see That wounded bosomes their own weapons be. Come wounds! come darts! 75 Nail'd hands! and peirced hearts! Come your whole selues, Sorrow's great Son and mother! Nor grudge a yonger brother Of greifes his portion, who (had all their due) One single wound should not haue left for you. 80

IX.

Shall I, sett there So deep a share (Dear wounds), and onely now In sorrows draw no diuidend with you? O be more wise, 85 If not more soft, mine eyes! Flow, tardy founts! and into decent showres Dissolue my dayes and howres. And if thou yet (faint soul!) desert To bleed with Him, fail not to weep with her. 90

X.

Rich queen, lend some releife; At least an almes of greif To' a heart who by sad right of sin Could proue the whole summe (too sure) due to him. By all those stings 95 Of Loue, sweet-bitter things, Which these torn hands transcrib'd on thy true heart; O teach mine too the art To study Him so, till we mix Wounds, and become one crucifix. 100

XI.

O let me suck the wine So long of this chast Vine, Till drunk of the dear wounds, I be A lost thing to the world, as it to me. O faithfull friend 105 Of me and of my end! Fold vp my life in loue; and lay't beneath My dear Lord's vitall death. Lo, heart, thy hope's whole plea! her pretious breath Pour'd out in prayrs for thee; thy Lord's in death. 110

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

St. i. line 10. In 1648 the reading is

'Are more at home in her Owne heart.'

In 1670. 'All, more at home in her own heart.' I think 'all' and 'one' of our text (1652) preferable. There is a world of pathos in the latter. Cf. st. ii. line 8.

St. ii. line 1. On the change of orthography for rhyme, see our PHINEAS FLETCHER, vol. ii. 206; and our LORD BROOKE, VAUGHAN, &c. &c., show 'then' and 'than' used as in Crashaw.

St. vi. line 3. In 1648 the reading is 'love;' 1670 as our text (1652). The plural includes the twofold love of Son and mother.

Line 7, ib. 'to' for 'in.'

Line 9, ib. 'Oh give' at commencement. 1670, 'to' for 'too.'

St. vii. and viii. These two stanzas do not appear in 1648 edition, but appear in 1670.

St. vii. line 4. By 'tree' the Cross is meant. Cf. st. i. line 1.

St. ix. line 1. 1648 edition supplies the two words required by the measure of the other stanzas, 'in sins.' They are dropped inadvertently in 1652 and 1670. Turnbull failed as usual to detect the omission.

Line 4. 1648 spells 'Divident.'

Lines 5 and 6. I have accepted correction of our text (1652) from 1648 edition, in line 6, of 'If' for 'Is,' which is also the reading of 1670. 1648 substitutes 'just' for 'soft;' but 1670 does not adopt it, nor can I.

St. x. line 1. 1648 reads 'Lend, O lend some reliefe.'

Line 9 reads 'To studie thee so.'

St. xi. line 3, ib. reads 'thy' for 'the.'

Line 8, ib. reads 'Thy deare lost vitall death.'

Line 10. I have adopted from 1648 'in thy Lord's death' for 'thy lord's in death' of our text (1652).

Turnbull has some sad misprints in this poem: e.g. st. ii. line 4, 'sorrow's' for 'sorrows;' st. iii. line 2, 'death's' for 'deaths;' st. vi. line 9, 'Me to' for 'Me, too;' st. x. line 2, 'in' for 'an,' and line 3, 'a' mis-inserted before 'sad.' Except in the 'Me to' of st. vi., he had not even the poor excuse of following the text of 1670. G.

THE TEARE.[24]

I.

What bright-soft thing is this, Sweet Mary, thy faire eyes' expence? A moist sparke it is, A watry diamond; from whence The very tearme, I think, was found, 5 The water of a diamond.

II.

O, 'tis not a teare: 'Tis a star about to dropp From thine eye, its spheare; The sun will stoope and take it up: 10 Proud will his sister be, to weare This thine eyes' iewell in her eare.

III.

O, 'tis a teare, Too true a teare; for no sad eyne, How sad so 'ere, 15 Raine so true a teare, as thine; Each drop leaving a place so deare, Weeps for it self; is its owne teare.

IV.

Such a pearle as this is, Slipt from Aurora's dewy brest-- 20 The rose-bud's sweet lipp kisses; And such the rose it self that's vext With ungentle flames, does shed, Sweating in a too warm bed.

V.

Such the maiden gem, 25 By the purpling vine put on, Peeps from her parent stem, And blushes on the bridegroom sun; The watry blossome of thy eyne Ripe, will make the richer wine. 30

VI.

Faire drop, why quak'st thou so? 'Cause thou streight must lay thy head In the dust? O, no! The dust shall never be thy bed: A pillow for thee will I bring, 35 Stuft with downe of angel's wing.

VII.

Thus carried up on high (For to Heaven thou must goe), Sweetly shalt thou lye, And in soft slumbers bath thy woe, 40 Till the singing orbes awake thee, And one of their bright chorus make thee.

VIII.

There thy selfe shalt bee An eye, but not a weeping one; Yet I doubt of thee, 45 Whether th' had'st rather there have shone An eye of heaven; or still shine here, In the heaven of Marie's eye, a TEARE.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

It is to be re-noted that st. v. is identical in all save 'watry' for 'bridegroom' with st. xi. of 'The Weeper' as given in text of 1652, and that st. iv. has two lines from st. xxix. of the same poem. Neither of these stanzas appear in 'The Weeper' of 1646. As stated in relative foot-note, I have withdrawn the former from 'The Weeper.' We may be sure it was inadvertently inserted in 1652, seeing that the very next stanza closes with the same word 'wine' as in it: a fault which our Poet never could have passed. It is to be noticed too that 'The Teare' did not appear in the edition of 1652. By transferring the stanza to 'The Teare' as in 1646, 1648 and 1670 editions, a blemish is removed from 'The Weeper,' while in 'The Teare' it is a vivid addition. The 'such' of line 1 links it naturally on to st. iv. with its 'such.'

Our text follows that of 1648 except in st. v. line 4, where I adopt the reading of 1652 in 'The Weeper' (there st. xi.) of 'bridegroom' (misprinted 'bridegrooms') for 'watry,' and that I correct in st. vii. line 6, the misprint 'the' for 'thee,'--the latter being found in 1646 and 1670. With reference to st. v. again, in line 5 in 'The Weeper' of 1648 the reading is 'balsome' for 'blossom.' The 'ripe' of line 6 settles (I think) that 'blossom' is the right word, as the ripe blossom is = the grape, to the rich lucent-white drops of which the Weeper's tears are likened. 'Balsome' doesn't make wine. I have adopted from st. xi. of 'The Weeper' of 1652 the reading 'the purpling vine' for 'the wanton Spring' of 1646, 1648 and 1670. The SANCROFT MS. in st. i. line 2, reads 'expends' for 'expence;' st. iv. line 4, 'that's' for 'when;' st. v. line 4, 'manly sunne' for 'bridegroome,' and line 5, 'thine' for 'thy;' st. viii. line 6, 'I' th'' for 'In th'.' G.

THE OFFICE OF THE HOLY CROSSE.[25]

Tradidit semetipsum pro nobis oblationem et hostiam Deo in odorem suauitatis. Ad Ephe. v. 2.

THE HOWRES.

FOR THE HOVR OF MATINES.

The Versicle.

Lord, by Thy sweet and sailing sign!

The Responsory.

Defend us from our foes and Thine.

V. Thou shalt open my lippes, O Lord.

R. And my mouth shall shew forth Thy prayse.

V. O God, make speed to saue me. 5

R. O Lord, make hast to help me.

Glory be to the FATHER, and to the SON, and to the H[oly] GHOST. As it was in the beginning, is now, and euer 10 shall be, world without end. Amen.

THE HYMN.

The wakefull Matines hast to sing The unknown sorrows of our King: The Father's Word and Wisdom, made Man for man, by man's betraid; 15 The World's price sett to sale, and by the bold Merchants of Death and Sin, is bought and sold: Of His best freinds (yea of Himself) forsaken; By His worst foes (because He would) beseig'd and taken.

The Antiphona.

All hail, fair tree, 20 Whose fruit we be! What song shall raise Thy seemly praise, Who broughtst to light Life out of death, Day out of Night! 25

The Versicle.

Lo, we adore Thee, Dread LAMB! and bow thus low before Thee:

The Responsor.

'Cause, by the couenant of Thy crosse, Thou hast sau'd at once the whole World's losse.

The Prayer.

O Lord IESV-CHRIST, Son of the liuing God! 30 interpose, I pray Thee, Thine Own pretious death, Thy crosse and passion, betwixt my soul and Thy iudgment, now and in the hour of my death. And vouchsafe to graunt vnto me Thy grace and mercy; vnto all quick and dead, remission and rest; to Thy 35 Church, peace and concord; to vs sinners, life and glory euerlasting. Who liuest and reignest with the Father, in the vnity of the Holy Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen.

FOR THE HOUR OF PRIME.

The Versicle.

Lord, by Thy sweet and sailing sign! 40

The Responsor.

Defend vs from our foes and Thine. V. Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord. R. And my mouth shall shew forth Thy praise. V. O God, make speed to save me. R. O Lord, make hast to help me. 45 V. Glory be to, &c. R. As it was in the, &c.

THE HYMN.

The early Prime blushes to say She could not rise so soon, as they Call'd Pilat vp; to try if he 50 Could lend them any cruelty. Their hands with lashes arm'd, their toungs with lyes And loathsom spittle, blott those beauteous eyes, The blissfull springs of ioy; from whose all-chearing ray The fair starrs fill their wakefull fires, the sun him- self drinks day. 55

The Antiphona.

Victorious sign That now dost shine, Transcrib'd aboue Into the land of light and loue; O let vs twine 60 Our rootes with thine, That we may rise Vpon thy wings, and reach the skyes.

The Versicle.

Lo, we adore Thee, Dread Lamb! and fall 65 Thus low before Thee.

The Responsor.

'Cause by the couenant of Thy crosse Thou hast sau'd at once the whole World's losse.

The Prayer.

O LORD IESV-CHRIST, Son of the liuing God! interpose, I pray Thee, Thine Own pretious death, 70 Thy crosse and passion, betwixt my soul and Thy iudgment, now and in the hour of my death. And vouchsafe to graunt vnto me Thy grace and mercy; vnto all quick and dead, remission and rest; to Thy Church, peace and concord; to vs sinners, 75 life and glory euerlasting. Who liuest and reignest with the Father, in the vnity of the Holy Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen.

THE THIRD.

The Versicle.

Lord, by Thy sweet and sauing sign,

The Responsor.

Defend vs from our foes and Thine. 80 V. Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord. R. And my mouth shall shew forth Thy praise. V. O God, make speed to save me. R. O Lord, make hast to help me. V. Glory be to, &c. 85 R. As it was in the, &c.

THE HYMN.

The third hour's deafen'd with the cry Of crucify Him, crucify. So goes the vote (nor ask them, why?), Liue Barabbas! and let God dy. 90 But there is witt in wrath, and they will try A hail more cruell then their crucify. For while in sport He weares a spitefull crown The serious showres along His decent Face run sadly down.

The Antiphona.

Christ when He dy'd 95 Deceiu'd the Crosse; And on Death's side Threw all the losse. The captiue World awak't and found The prisoners loose, the iaylor bound. 100

The Versicle.

Lo, we adore Thee, Dread LAMB, and fall Thus low before Thee.

The Responsor.

'Cause by the couenant of Thy crosse Thou hast sau'd at once the whole World's losse. 105

The Prayer.

O Lord IESV-CHRIST, Son of the liuing God! interpose, I pray Thee, Thine Own pretious death, Thy crosse and passion, betwixt my soul and Thy iudgment, now and in the hour of my death. And vouchsafe to graunt vnto me Thy grace and mercy; 110 vnto all quick and dead, remission and rest; to Thy Church, peace and concord; to vs sinners, life and glory everlasting. Who liuest and reignest with the Father, in the vnity of the Holy Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen. 115

THE SIXT.

The Versicle.

Lord, by Thy sweet and sauing sign!

The Responsor.

Defend vs from our foes and Thine.

V. Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord.

R. And my mouth shall shew forth Thy praise.

V. O God, make speed to save me! 120

R. O Lord, make hast to help me!

V. Glory be to, &c.

R. As it was in the, &c.

THE HYMN.

Now is the noon of Sorrow's night: High in His patience, as their spite, 125 Lo, the faint Lamb, with weary limb Beares that huge tree which must bear Him! That fatall plant, so great of fame For fruit of sorrow and of shame, Shall swell with both, for Him, and mix 130 All woes into one crucifix. Is tortur'd thirst itselfe too sweet a cup? Gall, and more bitter mocks, shall make it vp. Are nailes, blunt pens of superficiall smart? Contempt and scorn can send sure wounds to search the inmost heart. 135

The Antiphona.

O deare and sweet dispute 'Twixt Death's and Loue's farr different fruit! Different as farr As antidotes and poysons are. By that first fatall tree 140 Both life and liberty Were sold and slain; By this they both look vp, and liue again.

The Versicle.

Lo, we adore Thee, Dread Lamb! and bow thus low before Thee. 145

The Responsor.

'Cause by the couenant of Thy crosse, Thou hast sau'd the World from certain losse.

The Prayer.

O Lord IESV-CHRIST, Son of the liuing God! interpose, I pray Thee, Thine Own pretious death, Thy crosse and passion, betwixt my soul and Thy 150 iudgment, now and in the hour of my death. And vouchsafe to graunt vnto me Thy grace and mercy; vnto all quick and dead, remission and rest; to Thy Church, peace and concord; to vs sinners, life and glory euerlasting. Who liuest and reignest 155 with the Father, in the vnity of the Holy Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen.

THE NINTH.

The Versicle.

Lord, by Thy sweet and sauing sign,

The Responsor.

Defend vs from our foes and Thine. V. Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord. 160 R. And my mouth shall shew forth Thy praise. V. O God, make speed to save me! R. O Lord, make hast to help me! V. Glory be to, &c. R. As it was in the, &c. 165

THE HYMN.

The ninth with awfull horror hearkened to those groanes Which taught attention eu'n to rocks and stones. Hear, Father, hear! Thy Lamb (at last) complaines Of some more painfull thing then all His paines. Then bowes His all-obedient head, and dyes 170 His own lou's and our sins' GREAT SACRIFICE. The sun saw that, and would haue seen no more; The center shook: her vselesse veil th' inglorious Temple tore.

The Antiphona.

O strange, mysterious strife Of open Death and hidden Life! 175 When on the crosse my King did bleed, Life seem'd to dy, Death dy'd indeed.[26]

The Versicle.

Lo, we adore Thee, Dread Lamb! and fall Thus low before Thee. 180

The Responsor.

'Cause by the couenant of Thy crosse Thou hast sau'd at once the whole World's losse.

The Prayer.

O Lord Iesv-Christ, Son of the liuing God! interpose, I pray Thee, Thine Own pretious death,

Thy crosse and passion, betwixt my soul and Thy 185 iudgment, now and in the hour of my death. And vouchsafe to graunt vnto me Thy grace and mercy; vnto all quick and dead, remission and rest; to Thy Church, peace and concord; to vs sinners, life and glory euerlasting. Who liuest and reignest 190 with the Father, in the vnity of the Holy Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen.

EVENSONG.

The Versicle.

Lord, by Thy sweet and sauing sign!

The Responsor.

Defend vs from our foes and Thine. V. Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord! 195 R. And my mouth shall shew forth Thy praise. V. O God, make speed to save me! R. O Lord, make hast to help me! V. Glory be to, &c. R. As it was in the, &c. 200

THE HYMN.

But there were rocks would not relent at this: Lo, for their own hearts, they rend His; Their deadly hate liues still, and hath A wild reserve of wanton wrath; Superfluous spear! But there's a heart stands by 205 Will look no wounds be lost, no deaths shall dy. Gather now thy Greif's ripe fruit, great mother-maid! Then sitt thee down, and sing thine eu'nsong in the sad tree's shade.

The Antiphona.

O sad, sweet tree! Wofull and ioyfull we 210 Both weep and sing in shade of thee. When the dear nailes did lock And graft into thy gracious stock The hope, the health, The worth, the wealth 215 Of all the ransom'd World, thou hadst the power (In that propitious hour) To poise each pretious limb, And proue how light the World was, when it weighd with Him. Wide maist thou spred 220 Thine armes, and with thy bright and blissfull head O'relook all Libanus. Thy lofty crown The King Himself is, thou His humble throne, Where yeilding and yet conquering He Prou'd a new path of patient victory: 225 When wondring Death by death was slain, And our Captiuity His captiue ta'ne.

The Versicle.

Lo, we adore Thee, Dread LAMB! and bow thus low before Thee.

The Responsor.

'Cause by the couenant of Thy crosse 230 Thou hast sau'd the World from certain losse.

The Prayer.

O Lord Iesv-Christ, Son of the liuing, &c.

COMPLINE.

The Versicle.

Lord, by Thy sweet and sauing sign!

The Responsor.

Defend vs from our foes and Thine. V. Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord! 235 R. And my mouth shall shew forth Thy praise. V. O God, make speed to save me! R. O Lord, make hast to help me! V. Glory be to, &c. R. As it was in the, &c. 240

THE HYMN.

The Complin hour comes last, to call Vs to our own lives' funerall. Ah hartlesse task! yet Hope takes head, And liues in Him that here lyes dead. Run, Mary, run! Bring hither all the blest 245 Arabia, for thy royall phoenix' nest; Pour on thy noblest sweets, which, when they touch This sweeter body, shall indeed be such. But must Thy bed, Lord, be a borrow'd graue Who lend'st to all things all the life they haue. 250 O rather vse this heart, thus farr a fitter stone, 'Cause, though a hard and cold one, yet it is Thine own. Amen.

The Antiphona.

O saue vs then, Mercyfull King of men! Since Thou wouldst needs be thus 255 A Saviour, and at such a rate, for vs; Saue vs, O saue vs, Lord. We now will own no shorter wish, nor name a narrower word; Thy blood bids vs be bold, Thy wounds giue vs fair hold, 260 Thy sorrows chide our shame: Thy crosse, Thy nature, and Thy name Aduance our claim, And cry with one accord Saue them, O saue them, Lord! 265

THE RECOMMENDATION.[27]

These Houres, and that which houers o're my end, Into Thy hands and hart, Lord, I commend.

Take both to Thine account, that I and mine In that hour, and in these, may be all Thine.

That as I dedicate my deuoutest breath 270 To make a kind of life for my Lord's death,

So from His liuing and life-giuing death, My dying life may draw a new and neuer fleeting breath.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In the original edition of this composition, as supra (1648), it is entitled simply 'Vpon our B[lessed] Saviour's Passion.' What in our text (1652) constitute the Hymns, were originally numbered as seven stanzas. A few various readings from 1648 will be found below. Our text is given in full in 1670 edition, but not very accurately.

Various readings of the Hymns in 1648 'Steps.'

I. Line 1. 'The wakefull dawning hast's to sing.'

" 2. The allusion is to the petition in the old Litanies, 'By all Thine unknown sorrows, good Lord, deliver us.'

" 8. 'betray'd' for 'beseigd:' the former perhaps superior.

II. " 1. 'The early Morne.'

" 2. 'It' for 'she.'

III. " 5. 'ther's' for 'there is.'

IV. " 6. 'The fruit' instead of 'for'--a misprint.

V. " 6. 'our great sins' sacrifice.'

VII. " 1. 'The Nightening houre'--a curious coinage.

In the 'Prayer,' 'unto all quick and dead' is dropped, and reads 'the,' not 'Thy,' Church. In line 55 Turnbull reads 'weakful,' and, line 243, 'heed' for 'head,'--two of a number of provoking blunders in his text. G.

VEXILLA REGIS:

THE HYMN OF THE HOLY CROSSE.[28]

I.

Look vp, languisting soul! Lo, where the fair 1 Badge of thy faith calls back thy care, And biddes thee ne're forget Thy life is one long debt Of loue, to Him, Who on this painfull tree 5 Paid back the flesh He took for thee.

II.

Lo, how the streames of life, from that full nest Of loues, Thy Lord's too liberall brest, Flow in an amorous floud Of water wedding blood. 10 With these He wash't thy stain, transferred thy smart, And took it home to His own heart.

III.

But though great Love, greedy of such sad gain, Vsurpt the portion of thy pain, And from the nailes and spear 15 Turn'd the steel point of fear: Their vse is chang'd, not lost; and now they moue Not stings of wrath, but wounds of loue.

IV.

Tall tree of life! thy truth makes good What was till now ne're understood, 20 Though the prophetick king Struck lowd his faithfull string: It was thy wood he meant should make the throne For a more than Salomon.

V.

Large throne of Loue! royally spred 25 With purple of too rich a red: Thy crime is too much duty; Thy burthen, too much beauty; Glorious or greiuous more? thus to make good Thy costly excellence with thy King's own blood. 30

VI.

Euen ballance of both worlds! our world of sin, And that of grace, Heaun-way'd in Him: Vs with our price thou weighed'st; Our price for vs thou payed'st, Soon as the right-hand scale reioyc't to proue 35 How much Death weigh'd more light then Loue.

VII.

Hail, our alone hope! let thy fair head shoot Aloft, and fill the nations with thy noble fruit: The while our hearts and we Thus graft our selues on thee, 40 Grow thou and they. And be thy fair increase The sinner's pardon and the iust man's peace.

Liue, O for euer liue and reign The Lamb Whom His own loue hath slain! And let Thy lost sheep liue to inherit 45 That kingdom which this Crosse did merit. Amen.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

These variations &c. as between 1648 and 1652, deserve record:

St. i. line 1. 'Languishing,' which is the reading in 1648.

II. AN EPIGRAMME (part 2)

Ib. line 2. Here, and in v. line 1, I have added 'e' to 'badg' and 'larg' respectively from 1648.

St. vi. line 2. Our text (1652) corrects a manifest blunder of 1648, which reads 'wag'd' for 'way'd' = weighed. In 1648, lines 3-4 read

'Both with one price were weighed, Both with one price were paid.'

St. vii. appeared for the first time in our text (1652). In the closing four lines, line 4, 1648, reads noticeably

'That Kingdome which Thy blessed death did merit.'

The allusion in st. iv. is to the old reading of Psalm xcvi. 10: 'Tell it among the heathen that the Lord reigneth from the tree.' The reference to Solomon points to the mediaeval mystical interpretations of Canticles iii. 9-10.

I place 'Vexilla Regis' immediately after the 'Office of the Holy Crosse,' as really belonging to it, and not to be separated as in 1648. G.

[THE LORD SILENCES HIS QUESTIONERS.][29]

'Neither durst any man from that day aske Him any more questions.'

St. Matthew xxii.

Mid'st all the darke and knotty snares, 1 Black wit or malice can, or dares, Thy glorious wisedome breaks the nets, And treds with uncontrouled steps; Thy quell'd foes are not onely now 5 Thy triumphs, but Thy trophies too: They both at once Thy conquests bee, And Thy conquests' memorie. Stony amazement makes them stand Wayting on Thy victorious hand, 10 Like statues fixed to the fame Of Thy renoune, and their own shame, As if they onely meant to breath To be the life of their own death. 'Twas time to hold their peace, when they 15 Had ne're another word to say; Yet is their silence unto Thee, The full sound of Thy victorie; Their silence speaks aloud, and is Thy well pronounc'd panegyris. 20 While they speak nothing, they speak all Their share, in Thy memoriall. While they speake nothing, they proclame Thee, with the shrillest trump of Fame. To hold their peace is all the wayes 25 These wretches have to speak Thy praise.

OUR B[LESSED] LORD IN HIS CIRCUMCISION TO HIS FATHER.[30]

1. To Thee these first-fruits of My growing death 1 (For what else is My life?), lo! I bequeath:

2. Tast this, and as Thou lik'st this lesser flood Expect a sea; My heart shall make it good.

3. Thy wrath that wades here now, e're long shall swim, 5 The floodgate shall be set wide ope for Him.

4. Then let Him drinke, and drinke, and doe His worst To drowne the wantonnesse of His wild thirst.

5. Now's but the nonage of My paines, My feares Are yett but hopes, weake as my infant yeares. 10

6. The day of My darke woe is yet but morne, My teares but tender, and My death new-borne.

7. Yet may these unfledg'd griefes give fate some guesse, These cradle-torments have their towardnesse.

8. These purple buds of blooming death may bee, 15 Erst the full stature of a fatall tree.

9. And till My riper woes to age are come, This knife may be the speare's praeludium.

ON THE WOUNDS OF OUR CRUCIFIED LORD.[31]

O, these wakefull wounds of Thine! 1 Are they mouthes? or are they eyes? Be they mouthes, or be they eyne, Each bleeding part some one supplies.

Lo! a mouth! whose full-bloom'd lips 5 At too dear a rate are roses: Lo! a blood-shot eye! that weeps, And many a cruell teare discloses.

O, thou that on this foot hast laid Many a kisse, and many a teare; 10 Now thou shalt have all repaid, What soe're thy charges were.

This foot hath got a mouth and lips To pay the sweet summe of thy kisses; To pay thy teares, an eye that weeps, 15 Instead of teares, such gems as this is.

The difference onely this appeares, (Nor can the change offend) The debt is paid in ruby-teares Which thou in pearles did'st lend. 20

VPON THE BLEEDING CRUCIFIX: A SONG.[32]

I.

IIESU, no more! It is full tide: From Thy head and from Thy feet, From Thy hands and from Thy side All the purple riuers meet.

II.

What need Thy fair head bear a part In showres, as if Thine eyes had none? What need they help to drown Thy heart, That striues in torrents of it's own?

III.

Water'd by the showres they bring, The thornes that Thy blest browe encloses (A cruell and a costly spring) Conceiue proud hopes of proving roses.

IV.

Thy restlesse feet now cannot goe For vs and our eternall good, As they were euer wont. What though? They swimme, alas! in their own floud.

V.

Thy hand to giue Thou canst not lift; Yet will Thy hand still giuing be. It giues, but O itself's the gift: It giues though bound; though bound 'tis free.

VI.

But O Thy side, Thy deep-digg'd side! That hath a double Nilus going: Nor euer was the Pharian tide Half so fruitfull, half so flowing.

VII.

No hair so small, but payes his riuer To this Red Sea of Thy blood; Their little channells can deliuer Somthing to the generall floud.

VIII.

But while I speak, whither are run All the riuers nam'd before? I counted wrong: there is but one; But O that one is one all ore.

IX.

Rain-swoln riuers may rise proud, Bent all to drown and overflow; But when indeed all's ouerflow'd, They themselues are drowned too.

X.

This Thy blood's deluge (a dire chance, Dear Lord, to Thee) to vs is found A deluge of deliuerance; A deluge least we should be drown'd. lest N'ere wast Thou in a sense so sadly true, The well of liuing waters, Lord, till now.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

The title in 1646 is 'On the bleeding wounds of our crucified Lord:' in 1648 has 'body' for 'wounds:' in 1670 as 1646. I record these variations, &c.:

St. i. lines 2 and 3, in 1646 and 1670 read

'From Thy hands and from Thy feet, From Thy head and from Thy side.'

So the SANCROFT MS.

St. ii. In 1646 and 1670 this stanza is the 5th, and in line 2 has 'teares' for 'showres.'

St. iii. This stanza, by some strange oversight, is wholly dropped in 1652. St. iii. not in SANCROFT MS., and our st. ii. is the last. On one of the fly-leaves of the copy of 1646 edition in Trinity College, Cambridge, is the following contemporary MS. epigram, which embodies the sentiment of the stanza:

'In caput Xti spinis coronatum. Cerno Caput si Christe tuum mihi vertitur omne In spinis illud, quod fuit ante rosa.'

Turnbull gives the stanza, but misplaces it after our st. vi., overlooking that our st. ii. is in 1646 edition st. v.

St. iv. line 1: in 1646 and 1670 'they' for 'now.'

Line 3, ib. 'as they are wont'--evident inadvertence, as 'ever' is required by the measure.

Line 4, ib. 'blood' for 'floud:' so also in 1648.

St. v. line 1, ib. 'hand' for 'hands:' 'hand' in 1648, and in SANCROFT MS.: adopted. Line 4, 'dropps' in SANCROFT MS. for 'gives.'

St. vi. line 3. Our text (1652) prints 'pharian,' the Paris printer spelling (and mis-spelling) without comprehending the reference to Pharaoh.

St. vii. line 1, in 1646 and 1670 'not a haire but ...'

St. ix. line 3, in 1648 a capital in 'All's.' G.

TO THE NAME ABOVE EVERY NAME, THE NAME OF IESVS:

A HYMN.[33]

In Vnitate Devs Est Numisma Vrbani 6.

I sing the name which none can say 1 But touch't with an interiour ray: The name of our new peace; our good: Our blisse: and supernaturall blood: The name of all our liues and loues. 5 Hearken, and help, ye holy doues! The high-born brood of Day; you bright Candidates of blissefull light, The heirs elect of Loue, whose names belong Vnto the euerlasting life of song; 10 All ye wise sovles, who in the wealthy brest Of this vnbounded name, build your warm nest. Awake, my glory, Sovl (if such thou be, And that fair word at all referr to thee), Awake and sing, 15 And be all wing; Bring hither thy whole self; and let me see What of thy parent Heavn yet speakes in thee. O thou art poore Of noble powres, I see, 20 And full of nothing else but empty me: Narrow, and low, and infinitely lesse Then this great morning's mighty busynes. One little world or two (Alas) will neuer doe; 25 We must haue store. Goe, Sovl, out of thy self, and seek for more. Goe and request Great Natvre for the key of her huge chest Of Heauns, the self-inuoluing sett of sphears 30 (Which dull mortality more feeles then heares). Then rouse the nest Of nimble Art, and trauerse round The aiery shop of soul-appeasing sound: And beat a summons in the same 35 All-soueraign name, To warn each seuerall kind And shape of sweetnes, be they such As sigh with supple wind Or answer artfull touch; 40 That they conuene and come away To wait at the loue-crowned doores of this illustrious day. love Shall we dare this, my Soul? we'l doe't and bring No other note for't, but the name we sing. Wake lvte and harp, and euery sweet-lipp't thing 45 That talkes with tunefull string; Start into life, and leap with me Into a hasty fitt-tun'd harmony. Nor must you think it much T' obey my bolder touch; 50 I haue authority in Love's name to take you, And to the worke of Loue this morning wake you. Wake, in the name Of Him Who neuer sleeps, all things that are, Or, what's the same, 55 Are musicall; Answer my call And come along; Help me to meditate mine immortal song. Come, ye soft ministers of sweet sad mirth, 60 Bring all your houshold stuffe of Heaun on earth; O you, my Soul's most certain wings, Complaining pipes, and prattling strings, Bring all the store Of sweets you haue; and murmur that you haue no more. 65 Come, ne're to part, Nature and Art! Come; and come strong, To the conspiracy of our spatious song. Bring all the powres of praise, 70 Your prouinces of well-vnited worlds can raise; Bring all your lvtes and harps of Heavn and Earth; Whatere cooperates to the common mirthe: Vessells of vocall ioyes, Or you, more noble architects of intellectuall noise, 75 Cymballs of Heau'n, or humane sphears, Solliciters of sovles or eares; And when you are come, with all That you can bring or we can call: O may you fix 80 For euer here, and mix Your selues into the long And euerlasting series of a deathlesse song; Mix all your many worlds aboue, And loose them into one of loue. 85 Chear thee my heart! For thou too hast thy part And place in the Great Throng Of this vnbounded all-imbracing song. Powres of my soul, be proud! 90 And speake lowd To all the dear-bought Nations, this redeeming Name, And in the wealth of one rich word, proclaim New similes to Nature. May it be no wrong Blest Heauns, to you and your superiour song, 95 That we, dark sons of dust and sorrow, A while dare borrow The name of your dilights, and our desires, And fitt it to so farr inferior lyres. Our murmurs haue their musick too, 100 Ye mighty Orbes, as well as you; Nor yeilds the noblest nest Of warbling Seraphim to the eares of Loue, A choicer lesson then the ioyfull brest Of a poor panting turtle-doue. 105 And we, low wormes, haue leaue to doe The same bright busynes (ye Third Heavens) with you. Gentle spirits, doe not complain! We will haue care To keep it fair, 110 And send it back to you again. Come, louely Name! Appeare from forth the bright Regions of peacefull light; Look from Thine Own illustrious home, Fair King of names, and come: 115 Leaue all Thy natiue glories in their gorgeous nest, And giue Thy Self a while the gracious Guest Of humble soules, that seek to find The hidden sweets Which man's heart meets 120 When Thou art Master of the mind. Come louely Name; Life of our hope! Lo, we hold our hearts wide ope! Vnlock Thy cabinet of Day, Dearest Sweet, and come away. 125 Lo, how the thirsty Lands Gasp for Thy golden showres! with long-stretcht hands Lo, how the laboring Earth That hopes to be All Heauen by Thee, 130 Leapes at Thy birth! The' attending World, to wait Thy rise, First turn'd to eyes; And then, not knowing what to doe, Turn'd them to teares, and spent them too. 135 Come royall Name! and pay the expence Of all this pretious patience; O come away And kill the death of this delay! O, see so many worlds of barren yeares 140 Melted and measur'd out in seas of teares: O, see the weary liddes of wakefull Hope (Love's eastern windowes) all wide ope With curtains drawn, To catch the day-break of Thy dawn. 145 O, dawn at last, long-lookt for Day! Take Thine own wings, and come away. Lo, where aloft it comes! It comes, among The conduct of adoring spirits, that throng Like diligent bees, and swarm about it. 150 O, they are wise, And know what sweetes are suck't from out it: It is the hiue, By which they thriue, Where all their hoard of hony lyes. 155 Lo, where it comes, vpon the snowy Dove's Soft back; and brings a bosom big with loues: Welcome to our dark world, Thou womb of Day! Vnfold Thy fair conceptions, and display The birth of our bright ioyes, O Thou compacted 160 Body of blessings: Spirit of soules extracted! O, dissipate Thy spicy powres, (Cloud of condensed sweets) and break vpon vs In balmy showrs! O, fill our senses, and take from vs all force of so prophane a fallacy, 165 To think ought sweet but that which smells of Thee! Fair, flowry Name, in none but Thee And Thy nectareall fragrancy, Hourly there meetes An vniuersall synod of all sweets; 170 By whom it is defined thus, That no perfume For euer shall presume To passe for odoriferous, But such alone whose sacred pedigree 175 Can proue itself some kin (sweet Name!) to Thee. Sweet Name, in Thy each syllable A thousand blest Arabias dwell; A thousand hills of frankincense, Mountains of myrrh, and beds of spices 180 And ten thousand paradises, The soul that tasts Thee takes from thence. How many vnknown worlds there are Of comforts, which Thou hast in keeping! How many thousand mercyes there 185 In Pitty's soft lap ly a-sleeping! Happy he who has the art To awake them, And to take them Home, and lodge them in his heart. 190 O, that it were as it was wont to be! When Thy old freinds of fire, all full of Thee, Fought against frowns with smiles; gaue glorious chase To persecutions; and against the face Of Death and feircest dangers, durst with braue 195 And sober pace, march on to meet A GRAVE. On their bold brests, about the world they bore Thee, And to the teeth of Hell stood vp to teach Thee; In center of their inmost soules, they wore Thee, Where rackes and torments striu'd, in vain, to reach Thee. 200 Little, alas, thought they Who tore the fair brests of Thy freinds, Their fury but made way For Thee, and seru'd them in Thy glorious ends. What did their weapons but with wider pores 205 Inlarge Thy flaming-brested louers, More freely to transpire That impatient fire, The heart that hides Thee hardly couers? What did their weapons but sett wide the doores 210 For Thee? fair, purple doores, of Loue's deuising; The ruby windowes which inricht the East Of Thy so oft-repeated rising! Each wound of theirs was Thy new morning, And reinthron'd Thee in Thy rosy nest, 215 With blush of Thine Own blood Thy day adorning: It was the witt of Loue oreflowd the bounds Of Wrath, and made Thee way through all those wovnds. Wellcome, dear, all-adored Name! For sure there is no knee 220 That knowes not Thee: Or, if there be such sonns of shame, Alas! what will they doe When stubborn rocks shall bow And hills hang down their heaun-saluting heads 225 To seek for humble beds Of dust, where in the bashfull shades of Night Next to their own low Nothing, they may ly, And couch before the dazeling light of Thy dread majesty. They that by Loue's mild dictate now 230 Will not adore Thee, Shall then, with just confusion bow And break before Thee.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

The title in 1648 'Steps' is simply 'On the name of Jesus.' In 1670 it is 'To the Name above every Name, the Name of Jesus, a Hymn,' and throughout differs from our text (1652) only in usual modernisation of orthography. The text of 1648 yields these readings:

Line 7, 'the bright.'

" 42, 'of th's.'

" 49, 'Into a habit fit of self tun'd Harmonie.'

" 79, 'you're.'

" 92, 'aloud.'

" 105, 'Seraphins.'

" 106, 'loyall' for 'joyfull.'

" 132, 'heavens.'

" 182 spells 'sillabell.'

" 187, 'The soules tastes thee takes from thence.'

" 202, 'bare.'

" 204, 'ware.'

" 209, 'For Thee: And serv'd therein thy glorious ends.'

See our Essay for critical remarks on the measure and rhythm of this poem as printed in our text (1652). G.

PSALME XXIII.[34]

Happy me! O happy sheepe! 1 Whom my God vouchsafes to keepe; Even my God, even He it is, That points me to these paths of blisse; On Whose pastures cheerefull Spring, 5 All the yeare doth sit and sing, And rejoycing, smiles to see Their green backs weare His liverie: Pleasure sings my soul to rest, Plentie weares me at her brest, 10 Whose sweet temper teaches me Nor wanton, nor in want to be. At my feet, the blubb'ring mountaine Weeping, melts into a fountaine; Whose soft, silver-sweating streames 15 Make high-noon forget his beames: When my wayward breath is flying, He calls home my soul from dying; Strokes and tames my rabid griefe, And does wooe me into life: 20 When my simple weaknes strayes, (Tangled in forbidden wayes) He (my Shepheard) is my guide, Hee's before me, on my side, And behind me, He beguiles 25 Craft in all her knottie wiles: He expounds the weary wonder Of my giddy steps, and under Spreads a path, cleare as the day, Where no churlish rub says nay 30 To my joy-conducted feet, Whilst they gladly goe to meet Grace and Peace, to learne new laies, Tun'd to my great Shepheard's praise. Come now all ye terrors sally, 35 Muster forth into the valley, Where triumphant darknesse hovers With a sable wing, that covers Brooding horror. Come, thou Death, Let the damps of thy dull breath 40 Over-shadow even that shade, And make Darknes' selfe afraid; There my feet, even there, shall find Way for a resolved mind. Still my Shepheard, still my God, 45 Thou art with me; still Thy rod, And Thy staffe, whose influence Gives direction, gives defence. At the whisper of Thy word Crown'd abundance spreads my boord: 50 While I feast, my foes doe feed Their ranck malice not their need, So that with the self-same bread They are starv'd and I am fed. How my head in ointment swims! 55 How my cup o'relooks her brims! So, even so still may I move, By the line of Thy deare love; Still may Thy sweet mercy spread A shady arme above my head, 60 About my paths; so shall I find, The faire center of my mind, Thy temple, and those lovely walls Bright ever with a beame, that falls Fresh from the pure glance of Thine eye, 65 Lighting to Eternity. There I'le dwell for ever; there Will I find a purer aire To feed my life with, there I'le sup Balme and nectar in my cup; 70 And thence my ripe soule will I breath Warme into the armes of Death.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In the SANCROFT MS. this is headed 'Ps. 23 (Paraphrasia).' In line 4 it reads 'paths' for 'wayes,' which I accept; line 27 'weary' for 'giddy,' and line 28 'giddy' for 'weary,' both adopted; line 29 reads as we have printed instead of 'Spreads a path as cleare as day;' line 33, 'learne' for 'meet,' adopted; line 41, 'that' for 'the,' adopted. Only orthographic further variations. In line 30 'rub' = obstruction, reminds of SHAKESPEARE'S 'Now every rub is smoothed in our way' (Henry V. ii. 2), and elsewhere. G.

PSALM CXXXVII.[35]

On the proud banks of great Euphrates' flood, 1 There we sate, and there we wept: Our harpes, that now no musick understood, Nodding, on the willowes slept: While unhappy captiv'd wee, 5 Lovely Sion, thought on thee. They, they that snatcht us from our countrie's breast, Would have a song carv'd to their eares In Hebrew numbers, then (O cruell jest!) When harpes and hearts were drown'd in teares: 10 Come, they cry'd, come sing and play One of Sion's songs to-day. Sing? play? to whom (ah!) shall we sing or play, If not, Jerusalem, to thee? Ah! thee Jerusalem! ah! sooner may 15 This hand forget the masterie Of Musick's dainty touch, than I The musick of thy memory. Which when I lose, O may at once my tongue Lose this same busie-speaking art, 20 Vnpearch't, her vocall arteries unstrung, No more acquainted with my heart, On my dry pallat's roof to rest A wither'd leaf, an idle guest. No, no, Thy good Sion, alone, must crowne 25 The head of all my hope-nurst joyes. But Edom, cruell thou! thou cryd'st downe, downe Sinke Sion, downe and never rise, Her falling thou did'st urge and thrust, And haste to dash her into dust: 30 Dost laugh? proud Babel's daughter! do, laugh on, Till thy ruine teach thee teares, Even such as these; laugh, till a venging throng Of woes, too late, doe rouze thy feares: Laugh, till thy children's bleeding bones 35 Weepe pretious teares upon the stones.

IN THE HOLY NATIVITY OF OVR LORD GOD:

A HYMN SVNG AS BY THE SHEPHEARDS.[36]

THE HYMN.

Chorvs.

Come, we shepheards, whose blest sight 1 Hath mett Loue's noon in Nature's night; Come, lift we vp our loftyer song And wake the svn that lyes too long.

To all our world of well-stoln joy 5 He slept; and dreamt of no such thing. While we found out Heaun's fairer ey And kis't the cradle of our King. Tell him He rises now, too late To show vs ought worth looking at. 10

Tell him we now can show him more Then he e're show'd to mortall sight; Then he himselfe e're saw before, Which to be seen needes not his light. Tell him, Tityrus, where th' hast been, 15 Tell him Thyrsis, what th' hast seen.

TITYRUS.

Gloomy night embrac't the place Where the noble Infant lay. The Babe look't vp and shew'd His face; In spite of darknes, it was day. 20 It was Thy day, Sweet! and did rise Not from the East, but from Thine eyes.

Chorus. It was Thy day, Sweet.

THYRSIS.

Winter chidde aloud, and sent The angry North to wage his warres. 25 The North forgott his feirce intent, And left perfumes in stead of scarres. By those sweet eyes' persuasiue powrs Where he mean't frost, he scatter'd flowrs.

Chorus. By those sweet eyes. 30

BOTH.

We saw Thee in Thy baulmy-nest, Young dawn of our aeternall Day! We saw Thine eyes break from their East And chase the trembling shades away. We saw Thee; and we blest the sight, 35 We saw Thee by Thine Own sweet light.

TITYRUS.

Poor world (said I), what wilt thou doe To entertain this starry Stranger? Is this the best thou canst bestow? A cold, and not too cleanly, manger? 40 Contend, the powres of Heau'n and Earth, To fitt a bed for this huge birthe?

Chorus. Contend the powers.

THYRSIS.

Proud world, said I, cease your contest And let the mighty Babe alone. 45 The phaenix builds the phaenix' nest, Lov's architecture is his own. The Babe whose birth embraues this morn, Made His Own bed e're He was born.

Chorus. The Babe whose.... 50

TITYRUS.

I saw the curl'd drops, soft and slow, Come houering o're the place's head; Offring their whitest sheets of snow To furnish the fair Infant's bed: Forbear, said I; be not too bold, 55 Your fleece is white but 'tis too cold.

Chorus. Forbear, sayd I.

THYRSIS.

I saw the obsequious Seraphims Their rosy fleece of fire bestow. For well they now can spare their wing, 60 Since Heavn itself lyes here below. Well done, said I; but are you sure Your down so warm, will passe for pure?

Chorus. Well done, sayd I.

TITYRUS.

No, no! your King's not yet to seeke 65 Where to repose His royall head; See, see! how soon His new-bloom'd cheek Twixt's mother's brests is gone to bed. Sweet choise, said we! no way but so Not to ly cold, yet sleep in snow. 70

Chorus. Sweet choise, said we.

BOTH.

We saw Thee in Thy baulmy nest, Bright dawn of our aeternall Day! We saw Thine eyes break from their East And chase the trembling shades away. 75 We saw Thee: and we blest the sight, We saw Thee, by Thine Own sweet light.

Chorus. We saw Thee, &c.

FVLL CHORVS.

Wellcome, all wonders in one sight! Aeternity shutt in a span! 80 Sommer in Winter, Day in Night! Heauen in Earth, and God in man! Great, little One! Whose all-embracing birth Lifts Earth to Heauen, stoopes Heau'n to Earth.

Wellcome, though not to gold nor silk, 85 To more then Caesar's birth-right is; Two sister-seas of virgin-milk, With many a rarely-temper'd kisse, That breathes at once both maid and mother, Warmes in the one, cooles in the other. 90 Shee sings Thy tears asleep, and dips Her kisses in Thy weeping eye; She spreads the red leaves of Thy lips, That in their buds yet blushing lye; She 'gainst those mother-diamonds, tries 95 The points of her young eagle's eyes. Wellcome, though not to those gay flyes, Guilded i' th' beames of earthly kings; Slippery soules in smiling eyes; But to poor shepheards' home-spun things; 100 Whose wealth's their flock; whose witt, to be Well-read in their simplicity. Yet when young April's husband-showrs Shall blesse the fruitfull Maja's bed, We'l bring the first-born of her flowrs 105 To kisse Thy feet and crown Thy head. To Thee, dread Lamb! Whose loue must keep The shepheards, more then they the sheep.

To Thee, meek Majesty! soft King Of simple Graces and sweet Loves: 110 Each of vs his lamb will bring, Each his pair of sylver doues: Till burnt at last in fire of Thy fair eyes, Ourselues become our own best sacrifice.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is simply 'A Hymne of the Nativitie sung by the Shepheards.' It furnishes these various readings, though it wants a good deal of our text (1652):

Lines 1 to 4,

'who haue seene Daie's King deposed by night's Queene. Come lift we up our lofty song, To wake the sun that sleeps too long.'

" 5 to 7,

'Hee (in this our generall joy) Slept ... ... the faire-ey'd boy.'

" 24, 'Winter chid the world ...'

" 32, 'Bright dawne ...'

" 58 to 63,

'I saw the officious angells bring The downe that their soft breasts did strow: For well they now can spare their wings, When heauen itselfe lies here below. Faire youth (said I) be not too rough, Thy downe (though soft)'s not soft enough.'

'Officious' = ready to do good offices: 'obsequious' = obedient, eager to serve.

Lines 65 to 68,

'The Babe noe sooner 'gan to seeke Where to lay His louely head; But streight His eyes advis'd His cheeke 'Twixt's mother's breasts to goe to bed.'

" 79, 'Welcome to our wond'ring sight.'

" 83, 'glorious birth.'

" 85, 'not to gold' for 'nor to gold:' adopted.

" 96, 'points' = pupils (?).

Lines 101 to 103,

'But to poore shepheards' simple things, That vse not varnish; noe oyl'd arts, But lift cleane hands full of cleare hearts.'

" 108, '... while they feed the sheepe.'

" 114, 'Wee'l burne ...'

These variations agree with the text of 1646. See our Essay for critical remarks. G.

NEW YEAR'S DAY.[37]

Rise, thou best and brightest morning! Rosy with a double red; With thine own blush thy cheeks adorning, And the dear drops this day were shed.

All the purple pride, that laces The crimson curtains of thy bed, Guilds thee not with so sweet graces, Nor setts thee in so rich a red.

Of all the fair-cheek't flowrs that fill thee, None so fair thy bosom strowes, As this modest maiden lilly Our sins haue sham'd into a rose.

Bid thy golden god, the sun, Burnisht in his best beames rise, Put all his red-ey'd rubies on; These rubies shall putt out their eyes.

Let him make poor the purple East, Search what the world's close cabinets keep, Rob the rich births of each bright nest That flaming in their fair beds sleep.

Let him embraue his own bright tresses With a new morning made of gemmes; And wear, in those his wealthy dresses, Another day of diadems.

When he hath done all he may To make himselfe rich in his rise, All will be darknes to the day That breakes from one of these bright eyes.

And soon this sweet truth shall appear, Dear Babe, ere many dayes be done; The Morn shall come to meet Thee here, And leaue her own neglected sun.

Here are beautyes shall bereaue him Of all his eastern paramours. His Persian louers all shall leaue him, And swear faith to Thy sweeter powres; Nor while they leave him shall they lose the sun, But in Thy fairest eyes find two for one.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

St. ii. line 1,

'All the purple pride that laces;'

the reference is to the empurpled lighter and lace- (or gauze-) like clouds of the morning. The heavier clouds are the 'crimson curtains,' the 'purple laces' the fleecy, lace-like, and empurpled streakings of the lighter and dissolving clouds, which the Poet likens to the lace that edged the coverlet, and possibly other parts of the bed and bedstead. SHAKESPEARE describes a similar appearance with the same word, but uses it in the sense of inter or cross lacing, when he makes Juliet say (iii. 5),

'look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder East.'

So too in stanza v. 'each sparkling nest,' the flame-coloured clouds are intended. 'Nest,' like 'bud,' is a favourite word with CRASHAW, and he uses it freely. In 1648 edition, st. iii. line 2 reads 'showes;' stanza v. line 2, 'cabinets;' stanza viii. line 5, 'and meet;' stanza ix. 'paramours' = lovers, wooers, not as now signifying loose love. G.

IN THE GLORIOVS EPIPHANIE OF OVR LORD GOD:

A HYMN SVNG AS BY THE THREE KINGS.[38]

1 Kinge. Bright Babe! Whose awfull beautyes make 1 The morn incurr a sweet mistake;

2 Kinge. For Whom the officious Heauns deuise To disinheritt the sun's rise:

3 Kinge. Delicately to displace 5 The day, and plant it fairer in Thy face.

1 Kinge. O Thou born King of loues!

2 Kinge. Of lights!

3 Kinge. Of ioyes!

Chorus. Look vp, sweet Babe, look vp and see 10 For loue of Thee, Thus farr from home The East is come To seek her self in Thy sweet eyes.

1 Kinge. We, who strangely went astray, 15 Lost in a bright Meridian night.

2 Kinge. A darknes made of too much day.

3 Kinge. Becken'd from farr By Thy fair starr, 20 Lo, at last haue found our way.

Chorus. To Thee, Thou Day of Night! Thou East of West! Lo, we at last haue found the way To Thee, the World's great vniuersal East, The generall and indifferent Day. 25

1 Kinge. All-circling point! all-centring sphear! The World's one, round, aeternall year:

2 Kinge. Whose full and all-vnwrinkled face Nor sinks nor swells with time or place;

3 Kinge. But euery where and euery while 30 Is one consistent, solid smile:

1 Kinge. Not vext and tost

2 Kinge. 'Twixt Spring and frost;

3 Kinge. Nor by alternate shredds of light, Sordidly shifting hands with shades and Night. 35

Chorus. O little all! in Thy embrace The World lyes warm, and likes his place; Nor does his full globe fail to be Kist on both his cheeks by Thee. Time is too narrow for Thy year, 40 Nor makes the whole World Thy half-sphear.

1 Kinge. To Thee, to Thee From him we flee.

2 Kinge. From him, whom by a more illustrious ly, The blindnes of the World did call the eye. 45

3 Kinge. To Him, Who by these mortall clouds hast made Thyself our sun, though Thine Own shade.

1 Kinge. Farewell, the World's false light! Farewell, the white Aegypt; a long farewell to thee 50 Bright idol, black idolatry: The dire face of inferior darknes, kis't And courted in the pompus mask of a more specious mist.

2 Kinge. Farewell, farewell The proud and misplac't gates of Hell, 55 Pertch't in the Morning's way perched. And double-guilded as the doores of Day: The deep hypocrisy of Death and Night More desperately dark, because more bright.

3 Kinge. Welcome, the World's sure way! 60 Heavn's wholsom ray.

Chorus. Wellcome to vs; and we (Sweet!) to our selues, in Thee.

1 Kinge. The deathles Heir of all Thy Father's day!

2 Kinge. Decently born! 65 Embosom'd in a much more rosy Morn: The blushes of Thy all-vnblemisht mother.

3 Kinge. No more that other Aurora shall sett ope Her ruby casements, or hereafter hope 70 From mortall eyes To meet religious welcomes at her rise.

Chorus. We (pretious ones!) in you haue won A gentler Morn, a iuster sun.

1 Kinge. His superficiall beames sun-burn't our skin; 75

2 Kinge. But left within

3 Kinge. The Night and Winter still of Death and Sin.

Chorus. Thy softer yet more certaine darts Spare our eyes, but peirce our harts:

1 Kinge. Therfore with his proud Persian spoiles 80

2 Kinge. We court Thy more concerning smiles.

3 Kinge. Therfore with his disgrace We guild the humble cheek of this chast place;

Chorus. And at Thy feet powr forth his face.

1 Kinge. The doating Nations now no more 85 Shall any day but Thine adore.

2 Kinge. Nor--much lesse--shall they leaue these eyes For cheap Aegyptian deityes.

3 Kinge. In whatsoe're more sacred shape Of ram, he-goat, or reuerend ape; 90 Those beauteous rauishers opprest so sore The too-hard-tempted nations.

1 Kinge. Neuer more By wanton heyfer shall be worn

2 Kinge. A garland, or a guilded horn: 95 The altar-stall'd ox, fatt Osyris now With his fair sister cow

3 Kinge. Shall kick the clouds no more; but lean and tame,

Chorus. See His horn'd face, and dy for shame: And Mithra now shall be no name. 100

1 Kinge. No longer shall the immodest lust Of adulterous godles dust

2 Kinge. Fly in the face of Heau'n; as if it were The poor World's fault that He is fair. 105

3 Kinge. Nor with peruerse loues and religious rapes Reuenge Thy bountyes in their beauteous shapes; And punish best things worst; because they stood Guilty of being much for them too good.

1 Kinge. Proud sons of Death! that durst compell 110 Heau'n it self to find them Hell:

2 Kinge. And by strange witt of madnes wrest From this World's East the other's West.

3 Kinge. All-idolizing wormes! that thus could crowd And vrge their sun into Thy cloud; 115 Forcing His sometimes eclips'd face to be A long deliquium to the light of Thee.

Chorus. Alas! with how much heauyer shade The shamefac't lamp hung down his head For that one eclipse he made, 120 Then all those he suffered!

1 Kinge. For this he look't so bigg; and euery morn With a red face confes't his scorn. Or hiding his vex't cheeks in a hir'd mist Kept them from being so vnkindly kis't. 125

2 Kinge. It was for this the Day did rise So oft with blubber'd eyes: For this the Evening wept; and we ne're knew But call'd it deaw.

3 Kinge. This dayly wrong 130 Silenc't the morning-sons, and damp't their song:

Chorus. Nor was't our deafnes, but our sins, that thus Long made th' harmonious orbes all mute to vs.

1 Kinge. Time has a day in store When this so proudly poor 135 And self-oppressed spark, that has so long By the loue-sick World bin made Not so much their sun as shade: Weary of this glorious wrong From them and from himself shall flee 140 For shelter to the shadow of Thy tree:

Chorus. Proud to haue gain'd this pretious losse And chang'd his false crown for Thy crosse.

2 Kinge. That dark Day's clear doom shall define Whose is the master Fire, which sun should shine: 145 That sable judgment-seat shall by new lawes Decide and settle the great cause Of controuerted light:

Chorus. And Natur's wrongs rejoyce to doe Thee right.

3 Kinge. That forfeiture of Noon to Night shall pay 150 All the idolatrous thefts done by this Night of Day; And the great Penitent presse his own pale lipps With an elaborate loue-eclipse: To which the low World's lawes Shall lend no cause, 155

Chorus. Saue those domestick which He borrowes From our sins and His Own sorrowes.

1 Kinge. Three sad hours' sackcloth then shall show to vs His penance, as our fault, conspicuous:

2 Kinge. And He more needfully and nobly proue 160 The Nations' terror now then erst their loue.

3 Kinge. Their hated loues changd into wholsom feares:

Chorus. The shutting of His eye shall open their's.

1 Kinge. As by a fair-ey'd fallacy of Day Miss-ledde, before, they lost their way; 165 So shall they, by the seasonable fright Of an vnseasonable Night, Loosing it once again, stumble on true Light:

2 Kinge. And as before His too-bright eye Was their more blind idolatry; 170 So his officious blindnes now shall be Their black, but faithfull perspectiue of Thee:

3 Kinge. His new prodigious Night, Their new and admirable light, The supernaturall dawn of Thy pure Day; 175 While wondring they (The happy conuerts now of Him Whom they compell'd before to be their sin) Shall henceforth see To kisse him only as their rod, 180 Whom they so long courted as God.

Chorus. And their best vse of him they worship't, be To learn of him at last, to worship Thee.

1 Kinge. It was their weaknes woo'd his beauty; But it shall be 185 Their wisdome now, as well as duty, To injoy his blott; and as a large black letter Vse it to spell Thy beautyes better; And make the Night it self their torch to Thee.

2 Kinge. By the oblique ambush of this close night 190 Couch't in that conscious shade The right-ey'd Areopagite Shall with a vigorous guesse inuade And catch Thy quick reflex; and sharply see On this dark ground 195 To descant Thee.

3 Kinge. O prize of the rich Spirit! with what feirce chase Of his strong soul, shall he Leap at thy lofty face, And seize the swift flash, in rebound 200 From this obsequious cloud, Once call'd a sun, Till dearly thus vndone;

Chorus. Till thus triumphantly tam'd (O ye two Twinne svnnes!) and taught now to negotiate you. 205

1 Kinge. Thus shall that reuerend child of Light,

2 Kinge. By being scholler first of that new Night, Come forth great master of the mystick Day;

3 Kinge. And teach obscure mankind a more close way By the frugall negatiue light 210 Of a most wise and well-abused Night To read more legible Thine originall ray;

Chorus. And make our darknes serue Thy Day: Maintaining 'twixt Thy World and oures A commerce of contrary powres, 215 A mutuall trade 'Twixt sun and shade, By confederat black and white Borrowing Day and lending Night. 219

1 Kinge. Thus we, who when with all the noble powres That (at Thy cost) are call'd, not vainly, ours: We vow to make braue way Vpwards, and presse on for the pure intelligentiall prey; 2 Kinge. At least to play The amorous spyes 225 And peep and proffer at Thy sparkling throne;

3 Kinge. In stead of bringing in the blissfull prize And fastening on Thine eyes: Forfeit our own And nothing gain 230 But more ambitious losse at last, of brain;

Chorus. Now by abased liddes shall learn to be Eagles; and shutt our eyes that we may see.

The Close.

[Chorus.] Therfore to Thee and Thine auspitious ray (Dread Sweet!) lo thus 236 At last by vs, The delegated eye of Day Does first his scepter, then himself, in solemne tribute pay. Thus he vndresses 240 His sacred vnshorn tresses; At Thy adored feet, thus he layes down

1 Kinge. His gorgeous tire Of flame and fire,

2 Kinge. His glittering robe. 3 Kinge. His sparkling crown; 245

1 Kinge. His gold: 2 Kinge. His mirrh: 3 Kinge. His frankincense.

Chorus. To which he now has no pretence: For being show'd by this Day's light, how farr He is from sun enough to make Thy starr, His best ambition now is but to be 250 Somthing a brighter shadow, Sweet, of Thee. Or on Heaun's azure forhead high to stand Thy golden index; with a duteous hand Pointing vs home to our own sun The World's and his Hyperion. 255

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

The title in 1648 edition is simply 'A Hymne for the Epiphanie. Sung as by the three Kings.' Except the usual slight changes of orthography, the following are all the variations between the two texts necessary to record: and I give with them certain corrective and explanatory notes:

line 25, 'indifferent' is = impartial, not as now 'unconcerned.'

Line 52, 1648 edition misprints 'his't' for 'kis't.' In the 51st line the 'bright idol' is the sun.

Line 83, ib. reads 'thy' for 'this.'

" 95, 'a guilded horn.' Cf. Juvenal, Satire x.

" 99, ib. is given to 3d King. Throughout we have corrected a number of slips of the Paris printer in his figures.

Line 108, ib. spells 'to' for 'too.'

" 117, 'deliquium' = swoon, faint. In chemistry = melting.

" 122, 1648 edition reads 'his' for 'this;' and I have adopted it.

Line 143, ib. reads 'deere:' a misprint.

" 155, ib. reads 'domesticks.'

" 180, ib. reads 'the' for 'their.'

" 186, ib. drops 'it.'

" 195, ib. reads 'what' for 'that,' and in next line 'his' for 'this,' of 1652: both adopted.

Line 212, 'legible' is = legibly.

" 224 and onward, in 1648 is printed 'least,' in our text (1652) 'lest.' Except in line 224 it is plainly = last, and so I read it in 231st and 237th.

See our Essay for Miltonic parallels with lines in this remarkable composition. Line 46, 'these mortal clouds,' i.e. of infant flesh. Cf. Sosp. d' Herode, stanza xxiii.

'That He whom the sun serves should faintly peep Through clouds of infant flesh.'

Line 114, 'And urge their sun into Thy cloud,' i.e. into becoming Thy cloud, forcing him to become 'a long deliquium to the light of thee.' Line 189, our text (1652) misprints 'in self.' Line 190, 'By the oblique ambush,' &c. The Kings continuing in the spirit of prophecy, and with words not to be understood till their fulfilment, pass on from the dimming of the sun at the Crucifixion to a second dimming, but this time through the splendour of a brighter light, at the conversion of him who was taken to preach to the Gentiles in the court of the Areopagites. The speaker, or rather CRASHAW, takes the view which at first sight may seem to be implied in the gospel narrative, that the light brighter than midday shone round about SAUL and his companions but not on them, they being couched in the conscious shade of the daylight. Throughout, there is a double allusion to this second dimming of the sun as manifesting Christ to St. Paul and the Gentiles, and to the dimming of the eyes, and the walking in darkness for a time of him who as a light on Earth was to manifest the True Light to the world. Throughout, too, there is a kind of parallelism indicated between the two lesser lights. Both rebellions were to be dimmed and brought into subjection, and then to shine forth 'right-eyed' in renewed and purified splendour as evidences of the Sun of Righteousness. Hence at the close, the chorus calls them 'ye twin-suns,'--and the words, 'Till thus triumphantly tamed' refer equally to both. The punctuation to make this clear should be '... sun, ... undone; ...' 'To negotiate you' (both word and metaphor being rather unhappily chosen) means, to pass you current as the true-stamped image of the Deity. 'O price of the rich Spirit' (line 197) may be made to refer to 'thee [O Christ], price of the rich spirit' of Paul, but 'may be' is almost too strong to apply to such an interpretation. It is far more consonant to the structure and tenor of the whole passage, to read it as an epithet applied to St. Paul: 'O prize of the rich Spirit of grace.' I have also without hesitation changed 'of this strong soul' into 'of his strong soul.' 'Oblique ambush' may refer to the oblique rays of the sun now rays of darkness, but the primary reference is to the indirect manner and 'vigorous guess,' by which St. Paul, mentally glancing from one to the other light, learned through the dimming of the sun to believe in the Deity of Him who spake from out the dimming brightness. The same thought, though with a strained and less successful effort of expression, appears in the song of the third King, 'with that fierce chase,' &c.

Line 251. 'Somthing a brighter shadow (Sweet) of Thee.' Apparently a remembrance of a passage which THOMAS HEYWOOD, in his 'Hierarchie of the Angels,' gives from a Latin translation of PLATO, 'Lumen est umbra Dei et Deus est Lumen Luminis.' On which see our Essay. Perhaps the same gave rise to the thought that the sun eclipsed God, or shut Him out as a cloud or shade, or made night, e.g.

'And urge their sun ... ... eclipse he made:' (lines 115-120). 'Not so much their sun as shade ... by this night of day:' (lines 138-151). G.

TO THE QVEEN'S MAIESTY.[39]

MADAME, 1 'Mongst those long rowes of crownes that guild your race, These royall sages sue for decent place: The day-break of the Nations; their first ray, When the dark World dawn'd into Christian Day, 5 And smil'd i' th' Babe's bright face; the purpling bud And rosy dawn of the right royall blood; Fair first-fruits of the Lamb! sure kings in this, They took a kingdom while they gaue a kisse. But the World's homage, scarse in these well blown, 10 We read in you (rare queen) ripe and full-grown. For from this day's rich seed of diadems Does rise a radiant croppe of royalle stemms, A golden haruest of crown'd heads, that meet And crowd for kisses from the Lamb's white feet: 15 In this illustrious throng, your lofty floud Swells high, fair confluence of all high-born bloud: With your bright head, whole groues of scepters bend Their wealthy tops, and for these feet contend. So swore the Lamb's dread Sire: and so we see't, 20 Crownes, and the heads they kisse, must court these feet. Fix here, fair majesty! May your heart ne're misse To reap new crownes and kingdoms from that kisse; Nor may we misse the ioy to meet in you The aged honors of this day still new. 25 May the great time, in you, still greater be, While all the year is your epiphany; While your each day's deuotion duly brings Three kingdomes to supply this day's three kings.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In 1648 the title is 'To the Queene's Majestie upon his dedicating to her the foregoing Hymne, viz. "A Hymne for the Epiphanie,"' which there precedes, but in 1652 follows, the dedicatory lines to the Queen. 1648 furnishes these variations: line 7 misprints 'down' for 'dawn:' line 11 reads 'deare' for 'rare:' line 14 'royall' for 'golden:' line 18 corrects our text's misprint of 'whose' for 'whole,' which I have accepted: line 20 reads 'great' for 'dread.'

In line 3 we read

'Those royall sages sue for decent place.'

We know that the King on Twelfth-day presented gold, frankincense and myrrh, and so perhaps did the Queen. But these gifts were not presented to the magi-kings, and CRASHAW seems to sue on behalf of 'these royall sages.' The explanation doubtless is that this was a verse-letter to the Queen, enclosing as a gift his Epiphany Hymn 'sung as by the three Kings.'

In line 5 'the purpling bud,' &c. requires study. Led by the (erroneous) punctuation (face,) I supposed this clause to refer to the 'Babe.' But would our Poet have said that the 'dawn of the world smiled on the Babe's face,' and in the same breath have called the face a 'rosy dawn'? Looking to this, and his rather profuse employment of 'bud,' I now believe the clause to be another description of the kings, and punctuate (face;). The rhythm of the passage is certainly improved thereby and made more like that of CRASHAW, and the words 'right royall blood,' which may be thought to become difficult, can be thus explained. The races of the heathen kings were not 'royal,' their authority being usurped and falsely derived from false gods, and the kingly blood first became truly royal when the kings recognised the supreme sovereignty of the King of kings and the derivation of their authority from Him, and when they were in turn recognised by Him. Hence the use of the epithet 'purpling,' the Christian or Christ-accepting kings being the first who were truly 'born in the purple,' or 'right royall blood.'

In lines 15-18, as punctuated in preceding editions, the Poet is made to arrange his words after a fashion hardly to be called English, and to jumble his metaphors like a poetaster or 4th of July orator in America. But both sense and poetry are restored by taking the (!) after 'blood' as at least equal to (:), and by replacing 'whose' by 'whole,' as in 1648. This seems to us restoration, not change. Even thus read, however, the passage is somewhat cloudy; but the construction is--the groves of sceptres of your high-born ancestors bend with you their wealthy tops, when you bow down your head. Our Poet is fond of inversions, and they are sometimes more obscure than they ought to be. Line 20 = Psalm i., and cf. Philip. ii. 11. G.

VPON EASTER DAY.[40]

Rise heire of fresh Eternity 1 From thy virgin tombe! Rise mighty Man of wonders, and Thy World with Thee! Thy tombe the uniuersall East, Nature's new wombe, 5 Thy tombe, fair Immortalitie's perfumed nest.

Of all the glories make Noone gay, This is the Morne; This Rock buds forth the fountaine of the streames of Day; In Joye's white annalls live this howre 10 When Life was borne; No cloud scoule on His radiant lids, no tempest lower.

Life, by this Light's nativity All creatures have; Death onely by this Daye's just doome is forc't to dye, 15 Nor is Death forc't; for may he ly Thron'd in Thy grave, Death will on this condition be content to dye.

SOSPETTO D' HERODE.

LIBRO PRIMO.[41]

ARGOMENTO.

_Casting the times with their strong signes, Death's master his owne death divines: Strugling for helpe, his best hope is Herod's suspition may heale his. Therefore he sends a fiend to wake The sleeping tyrant's fond mistake; foolish Who feares (in vaine) that He Whose birth Meanes Heav'n, should meddle with his Earth._

I.

Muse, now the servant of soft loves no more, Hate is thy theame, and Herod, whose unblest Hand (O what dares not jealous greatnesse?) tore A thousand sweet babes from their mothers' brest: The bloomes of martyrdome. O be a dore Of language to my infant lips, yee best Of confessours: whose throates answering his swords, Gave forth your blood for breath, spoke soules for words.

II.

Great Anthony! Spain's well-beseeming pride, Thou mighty branch of emperours and kings; The beauties of whose dawne what eye may bide? Which with the sun himselfe weigh's equall wings; Mappe of heroick worth! whom farre and wide To the beleeving world, Fame boldly sings: Deigne thou to weare this humble wreath, that bowes To be the sacred honour of thy browes.

III.

Nor needs my Muse a blush, or these bright flowers Other than what their owne blest beauties bring: They were the smiling sons of those sweet bowers That drink the deaw of life, whose deathlesse spring, Nor Sirian flame nor Borean frost deflowers: From whence heav'n-labouring bees with busie wing, Suck hidden sweets, which well-digested proves Immortall hony for the hive of loves.

IV.

Thou, whose strong hand with so transcendent worth, Holds high the reine of faire Parthenope, That neither Rome nor Athens can bring forth A name in noble deeds rivall to thee! Thy fame's full noise, makes proud the patient Earth, Farre more then, matter for my Muse and mee. The Tyrrhene Seas and shores sound all the same And in their murmurs keepe thy mighty name.

V.

Below the bottome of the great Abysse, There where one center reconciles all things: The World's profound heart pants; there placed is Mischiefe's old master. Close about him clings A curl'd knot of embracing snakes, that kisse His correspondent cheekes: these loathsome strings Hold the perverse prince in eternall ties Fast bound, since first he forfeited the skies.

VI.

The judge of torments and the king of teares, He fills a burnisht throne of quenchlesse fire: And for his old faire roabes of light, he weares A gloomy mantle of darke flames; the tire That crownes his hated head on high appeares: Where seav'n tall hornes (his empire's pride) aspire. And to make up Hell's majesty, each horne Seav'n crested Hydras, horribly adorne.

VII.

His eyes, the sullen dens of Death and Night, Startle the dull ayre with a dismall red: Such his fell glances, as the fatall light Of staring comets, that looke kingdomes dead. From his black nostrills, and blew lips, in spight Of Hell's owne stinke, a worser stench is spread. His breath Hell's lightning is: and each deepe groane Disdaines to think that Heav'n thunders alone.

VIII.

His flaming eyes' dire exhalation, Vnto a dreadfull pile gives fiery breath; Whose unconsum'd consumption preys upon The never-dying life of a long death. In this sad house of slow destruction, (His shop of flames) hee fryes himself, beneath A masse of woes; his teeth for torment gnash, While his steele sides sound with his tayle's strong lash.

IX.

Three rigourous virgins waiting still behind, Assist the throne of th' iron-sceptred king. With whips of thornes and knotty vipers twin'd They rouse him, when his ranke thoughts need a sting. Their lockes are beds of uncomb'd snakes that wind About their shady browes in wanton rings. Thus reignes the wrathfull king, and while he reignes, His scepter and himselfe both he disdaines.

X.

Disdainefull wretch! how hath one bold sinne cost Thee all the beauties of thy once bright eyes! How hath one black eclipse cancell'd, and crost The glories that did gild thee in thy rise! Proud morning of a perverse day! how lost Art thou unto thy selfe, thou too selfe-wise Narcissus! foolish Phaeton! who for all Thy high-aym'd hopes, gaind'st but a flaming fall.

XI.

From Death's sad shades to the life-breathing ayre, This mortall enemy to mankind's good, Lifts his malignant eyes, wasted with care, To become beautifull in humane blood. Where Iordan melts his chrystall, to make faire The fields of Palestine, with so pure a flood, There does he fixe his eyes: and there detect New matter, to make good his great suspect.

XII.

He calls to mind th' old quarrell, and what sparke Set the contending sons of Heav'n on fire: Oft in his deepe thought he revolves the darke Sibill's divining leaves: he does enquire Into th' old prophesies, trembling to marke How many present prodigies conspire, To crowne their past predictions, both he layes Together, in his pondrous mind both weighs.

XIII.

Heaven's golden-winged herald, late he saw To a poore Galilean virgin sent: How low the bright youth bow'd, and with what awe Immortall flowers to her faire hand present. He saw th' old Hebrewe's wombe, neglect the law Of age and barrennesse, and her babe prevent anticipate His birth by his devotion, who began Betimes to be a saint, before a man.

XIV.

He saw rich nectar-thawes, release the rigour Of th' icy North; from frost-bound Atlas hands, His adamantine fetters fall: green vigour Gladding the Scythian rocks and Libian sands. He saw a vernall smile, sweetly disfigure Winter's sad face, and through the flowry lands Of faire Engaddi, hony-sweating fountaines With manna, milk, and balm, new-broach the mountaines.

XV.

He saw how in that blest Day-bearing Night, The Heav'n-rebuked shades made hast away; How bright a dawne of angels with new light Amaz'd the midnight world, and made a Day Of which the Morning knew not. Mad with spight He markt how the poore shepheards ran to pay Their simple tribute to the Babe, Whose birth Was the great businesse both of Heav'n and Earth.

XVI.

He saw a threefold Sun, with rich encrease Make proud the ruby portalls of the East. He saw the Temple sacred to sweet Peace, Adore her Prince's birth, flat on her brest. He saw the falling idolls, all confesse A comming Deity: He saw the nest Of pois'nous and unnaturall loves, Earth-nurst, Toucht with the World's true antidote, to burst.

XVII.

He saw Heav'n blossome with a new-borne light, On which, as on a glorious stranger gaz'd The golden eyes of Night: whose beame made bright The way to Beth'lem and as boldly blaz'd, (Nor askt leave of the sun) by day as night. By whom (as Heav'ns illustrious hand-maid) rais'd, Three kings (or what is more) three wise men went Westward to find the World's true orient.

XVIII.

Strucke with these great concurrences of things, Symptomes so deadly unto Death and him; Faine would he have forgot what fatall strings Eternally bind each rebellious limbe. He shooke himselfe, and spread his spatious wings: Which like two bosom'd sailes, embrace the dimme Aire, with a dismall shade; but all in vaine: Of sturdy adamant is his strong chaine.

XIX.

While thus Heav'n's highest counsails, by the low Footsteps of their effects, he trac'd too well, He tost his troubled eyes: embers that glow Now with new rage, and wax too hot for Hell: With his foule clawes he fenc'd his furrowed brow, And gave a gastly shreeke, whose horrid yell Ran trembling through the hollow vaults of Night, The while his twisted tayle he gnaw'd for spight.

XX.

Yet on the other side, faine would he start Above his feares, and thinke it cannot be. He studies Scripture, strives to sound the heart And feele the pulse of every prophecy; He knows (but knowes not how, or by what art) The Heav'n-expecting ages hope to see A mighty Babe, Whose pure, unspotted birth From a chast virgin wombe, should blesse the Earth.

XXI.

But these vast mysteries his senses smother, And reason (for what's faith to him?) devoure. How she that is a maid should prove a mother, Yet keepe inviolate her virgin flower; How God's eternall Sonne should be Man's brother, Poseth his proudest intellectuall power. How a pure Spirit should incarnate bee, And Life it selfe weare Death's fraile livery.

XXII.

That the great angell-blinding Light should shrinke His blaze, to shine in a poore shepherd's eye: That the unmeasur'd God so low should sinke, As pris'ner in a few poore rags to lye: That from His mother's brest He milke should drinke, Who feeds with nectar Heav'n's faire family: That a vile manger His low bed should prove, Who in a throne of stars thunders above.

XXIII.

That He Whom the sun serves, should faintly peepe Through clouds of infant flesh: that He the old Eternall Word should be a child, and weepe: That He Who made the fire, should feare the cold: That Heav'n's high Majesty His court should keepe In a clay-cottage, by each blast control'd: That Glorie's Self should serve our griefs and feares, And free Eternity, submit to yeares.

XXIV.

And further, that the Lawe's eternall Giver Should bleed in His Owne Lawe's obedience: And to the circumcising knife deliver Himselfe, the forfet of His slave's offence: That the unblemisht Lambe, blessed for ever, Should take the marke of sin, and paine of sence. These are the knotty riddles, whose darke doubt Intangles his lost thoughts, past getting out.

XXV.

While new thoughts boyl'd in his enraged brest, His gloomy bosome's darkest character Was in his shady forehead seen exprest: The forehead's shade in Griefe's expression there, Is what in signe of joy among the blest The face's lightning, or a smile is here. Those stings of care that his strong heart opprest, A desperate, Oh mee! drew from his deepe brest.

XXVI.

Oh mee! (thus bellow'd he) Oh mee! what great Portents before mine eyes their powers advance? And serves my purer sight, onely to beat Downe my proud thought, and leave it in a trance? Frowne I: and can great Nature keep her seat? And the gay starrs lead on their golden dance? Can His attempts above still prosp'rous be, Auspicious still, in spight of Hell and me?

XXVII.

Hee has my Heaven (what would He more?) whose bright And radiant scepter this bold hand should beare: And for the never-fading fields of light, My faire inheritance, He confines me here To this darke house of shades, horrour and night, To draw a long-liv'd death, where all my cheere Is the solemnity my sorrow weares, That mankind's torment waits upon my teares.

XXVIII.

Darke, dusky Man, He needs would single forth, To make the partner of His Owne pure ray: And should we powers of Heav'n, spirits of worth, Bow our bright heads before a king of clay? It shall not be, said I, and clombe the North, Where never wing of angell yet made way: What though I mist my blow? yet I strooke high, And to dare something, is some victory.

XXIX.

Is He not satisfied? meanes He to wrest Hell from me too, and sack my territories? Vile humane nature means He not t' invest (O my despight!) with His divinest glories? And rising with rich spoiles upon His brest With His faire triumphs fill all future stories? Must the bright armes of Heav'n, rebuke these eyes? Mocke me, and dazle my darke mysteries?

XXX.

Art thou not Lucifer? he to whom the droves Of stars that gild the Morne, in charge were given? The nimblest of the lightning-winged loves, The fairest, and the first-borne smile of Heav'n? Looke in what pompe the mistrisse planet moves Rev'rently circled by the lesser seaven: Such, and so rich, the flames that from thine eyes, Opprest the common-people of the skyes.

XXXI.

Ah wretch! what bootes thee to cast back thy eyes, Where dawning hope no beame of comfort showes? While the reflection of thy forepast joyes, Renders thee double to thy present woes: Rather make up to thy new miseries, And meet the mischiefe that upon thee growes. If Hell must mourne, Heav'n sure shall sympathize, What force cannot effect, fraud shall devise.

XXXII.

And yet whose force feare I? have I so lost My selfe? my strength too with my innocence? Come try who dares, Heav'n, Earth, what ere doth boast A borrowed being, make thy bold defence. Come thy Creator too: What though it cost Me yet a second fall? wee'd try our strengths: Heav'n saw us struggle once; as brave a fight Earth now should see, and tremble at the sight.

XXXIII.

Thus spoke th' impatient prince, and made a pause: His foule hags rais'd their heads, and clapt their hands, And all the powers of Hell in full applause Flourisht their snakes, and tost their flaming brands. We (said the horrid sisters) wait thy lawes, Th' obsequious handmaids of thy high commands: Be it thy part, Hell's mighty lord, to lay On us thy dread command, our's to obey.

XXXIV.

What thy Alecto, what these hands can doe, Thou mad'st bold proofe upon the brow of Heav'n, Nor should'st thou bate in pride, because that now To these thy sooty kingdomes thou art driven. Let Heav'n's Lord chide above lowder than thou In language of His thunder, thou art even With Him below: here thou art lord alone, Boundlesse and absolute: Hell is thine owne.

XXXV.

If usuall wit, and strength will doe no good, Vertues of stones, nor herbes: use stronger charmes, Anger and love, best hookes of humane blood. If all faile, wee'l put on our proudest armes, And pouring on Heav'n's face the Sea's huge flood Quench His curl'd fires: wee'l wake with our alarmes Ruine, where e're she sleepes at Nature's feet: And crush the World till His wide corners meet.

XXXVI.

Reply'd the proud king, O my crowne's defence, Stay of my strong hopes, you of whose brave worth, The frighted stars tooke faint experience, When 'gainst the Thunder's mouth we marched forth: Still you are prodigall of your Love's expence In our great projects, both 'gainst Heav'n and Earth: I thanke you all, but one must single out: Cruelty, she alone shall cure my doubt.

XXXVII.

Fourth of the cursed knot of hags is shee, Or rather all the other three in one; Hell's shop of slaughter shee do's oversee, And still assist the execution. But chiefly there do's she delight to be, Where Hell's capacious cauldron is set on: And while the black soules boile in their own gore, To hold them down, and looke that none seeth o're.

XXXVIII.

Thrice howl'd the caves of Night, and thrice the sound, Thundring upon the bankes of those black lakes, Rung through the hollow vaults of Hell profound: At last her listning eares the noise o're takes, She lifts her sooty lampes, and looking round, A gen'rall hisse from the whole tire of snakes Rebounding, through Hell's inmost cavernes came, In answer to her formidable name.

XXXIX.

'Mongst all the palaces in Hell's command, No one so mercilesse as this of her's. The adamantine doors, for ever stand Impenetrable, both to prai'rs and teares; The walls inexorable steele, no hand Of Time, or teeth of hungry Ruine feares. Their ugly ornaments are the bloody staines Of ragged limbs, torne sculls, and dasht-out braines.

XL.

There has the purple Vengeance a proud seat Whose ever-brandisht sword is sheath'd in blood: About her Hate, Wrath, Warre and Slaughter sweat; Bathing their hot limbs in life's pretious flood: There rude impetuous Rage do's storme and fret, And there as master of this murd'ring brood, Swinging a huge sith stands impartiall Death: scythe With endlesse businesse almost out of breath.

XLI.

For hangings and for curtaines, all along The walls (abominable ornaments!) Are tooles of wrath, anvills of torments hung; Fell executioners of foule intents, Nailes, hammers, hatchets sharpe, and halters strong, Swords, speares, with all the fatall instruments Of Sin and Death, twice dipt in the dire staines Of brothers' mutuall blood, and fathers' braines.

XLII.

The tables furnisht with a cursed feast Which Harpyes, with leane Famine feed upon, Vnfill'd for ever. Here among the rest, Inhumane Erisicthon too makes one; Tantalus, Atreus, Progne, here are guests: Wolvish Lycaon here a place hath won. The cup they drinke in is Medusa's scull, Which mixt with gall and blood they quaffe brim-full.

XLIII.

The foule queen's most abhorred maids of honour, Medaea, Jezabell, many a meager witch, With Circe, Scylla, stand to wait upon her: But her best huswife's are the Parcae, which Still worke for her, and have their wages from her: They prick a bleeding heart at every stitch. Her cruell cloathes of costly threds they weave, Which short-cut lives of murdred infants leave.

XLIV.

The house is hers'd about with a black wood, hearsed Which nods with many a heavy-headed tree: Each flowers a pregnant poyson, try'd and good, Each herbe a plague. The wind's sighes timed bee By a black fount, which weeps into a flood. Through the thick shades obscurely might you see Minotaures, Cyclopses, with a darke drove Of Dragons, Hydraes, Sphinxes, fill the grove.

XLV.

Here Diomed's horses, Phereus' dogs appeare, With the fierce lyons of Therodamas. Busiris has his bloody altar here: Here Sylla his severest prison has: The Lestrigonians here their table reare: Here strong Procrustes plants his bed of brasse: Here cruell Scyron boasts his bloody rockes And hatefull Schinis his so feared oakes.

XLVI.

What ever schemes of blood, fantastick Frames Of death, Mezentius or Geryon drew; Phalaris, Ochus, Ezelinus: names Mighty in mischiefe; with dread Nero too; Here are they all, here all the swords or flames Assyrian tyrants or Egyptian knew. Such was the house, so furnisht was the hall, Whence the fourth Fury answer'd Pluto's call.

XLVII.

Scarce to this monster could the shady king The horrid summe of his intentions tell; But shee (swift as the momentary wing Of lightning, or the words he spoke) left Hell. She rose, and with her to our World did bring Pale proofe of her fell presence; th' aire too well With a chang'd countenance witnest the sight, And poore fowles intercepted in their flight.

XLVIII.

Heav'n saw her rise, and saw Hell in the sight: The fields' faire eyes saw her, and saw no more, But shut their flowry lids for ever: Night And Winter strow her way: yea, such a sore Is she to Nature, that a generall fright, An universal palsie spreading o're The face of things, from her dire eyes had run, Had not her thick snakes hid them from the sun.

XLIX.

Now had the Night's companion from her dew, Where all the busie day she close doth ly, With her soft wing wipt from the browes of men Day's sweat; and by a gentle tyranny And sweet oppression, kindly cheating them Of all their cares, tam'd the rebellious eye Of Sorrow, with a soft and downy hand, Sealing all brests in a Lethaean band.

L.

When the Erinnys her black pineons spread, And came to Bethlem, where the cruell king Had now retyr'd himselfe, and borrowed His brest a while from Care's unquiet sting; Such as at Thebes' dire feast she shew'd her head, Her sulphur-breathed torches brandishing: Such to the frighted palace now she comes, And with soft feet searches the silent roomes.

LI.

By Herod___________________now was borne The scepter, which of old great David swaid; Whose right by David's linage so long worne, lineage Himselfe a stranger to, his owne had made; And from the head of Judah's house quite torne The crowne, for which upon their necks he laid A sad yoake, under which they sigh'd in vaine, And looking on their lost state sigh'd againe.

LII.

Vp, through the spatious pallace passed she, To where the king's proudly-reposed head (If any can be soft to Tyranny And selfe-tormenting sin) had a soft bed. She thinkes not fit, such, he her face should see, As it is seene in Hell, and seen with dread. To change her face's stile she doth devise, And in a pale ghost's shape to spare his eyes.

LIII.

Her selfe a while she layes aside, and makes Ready to personate a mortall part. Ioseph, the king's dead brother's shape, she takes: What he by nature was, is she by art. She comes to th' king, and with her cold hand slakes His spirits (the sparkes of life) and chills his heart, Life's forge; fain'd is her voice, and false too, be Her words: 'sleep'st thou, fond man? sleep'st thou?' said she.

LIV.

So sleeps a pilot, whose poore barke is prest With many a mercylesse o're-mastring wave; For whom (as dead) the wrathfull winds contest Which of them deep'st shall digge her watry grave. Why dost thou let thy brave soule lye supprest In death-like slumbers, while thy dangers crave A waking eye and hand? looke vp and see The Fates ripe, in their great conspiracy.

LV.

Know'st thou not how of th' Hebrewes' royall stemme (That old dry stocke) a despair'd branch is sprung: A most strange Babe! Who here conceal'd by them In a neglected stable lies, among Beasts and base straw: Already is the streame Quite turn'd: th' ingratefull rebells, this their young Master (with voyce free as the trumpe of Fame) Their new King, and thy Successour proclame.

LVI.

What busy motions, what wild engines stand On tiptoe in their giddy braynes! th' have fire Already in their bosomes, and their hand Already reaches at a sword; they hire Poysons to speed thee; yet through all the Land What one comes to reveale what they conspire? Goe now, make much of these; wage still their wars And bring home on thy brest, more thanklesse scarrs.

LVII.

Why did I spend my life, and spill my blood, That thy firme hand for ever might sustaine A well-pois'd scepter? does it now seeme good Thy brother's blood be spilt, life spent in vaine? 'Gainst thy owne sons and brothers thou hast stood In armes, when lesser cause was to complaine: And now crosse Fates a watch about thee keepe, Can'st thou be carelesse now? now can'st thou sleep?

LVIII.

Where art thou man? what cowardly mistake Of thy great selfe, hath stolne king Herod from thee? O call thy selfe home to thy self, wake, wake, And fence the hanging sword Heav'n throws upon thee. Redeeme a worthy wrath, rouse thee, and shake Thy selfe into a shape that may become thee. Be Herod, and thou shalt not misse from mee Immortall stings to thy great thoughts, and thee.

LIX.

So said, her richest snake, which to her wrist For a beseeming bracelet she had ty'd (A speciall worme it was as ever kist The foamy lips of Cerberus) she apply'd To the king's heart: the snake no sooner hist, But Vertue heard it, and away she hy'd: Dire flames diffuse themselves through every veine: This done, home to her Hell she hy'd amaine.

LX.

He wakes, and with him (ne're to sleepe) new feares: His sweat-bedewed bed hath now betraid him To a vast field of thornes; ten thousand speares All pointed in his heart seem'd to invade him: So mighty were th' amazing characters With which his feeling dreame had thus dismay'd him, He his owne fancy-framed foes defies: In rage, My armes, give me my armes, he cryes.

LXI.

As when a pile of food-preparing fire, The breath of artificiall lungs embraves, The caldron-prison'd waters streight conspire And beat the hot brasse with rebellious waves; He murmurs, and rebukes their bold desire; Th' impatient liquor frets, and foames, and raves, Till his o're-flowing pride suppresse the flame Whence all his high spirits and hot courage came.

LXII.

So boyles the fired Herod's blood-swolne brest, Not to be slak't but by a sea of blood: His faithlesse crowne he feeles loose on his crest, Which a false tyrant's head ne're firmely stood. The worme of jealous envy and unrest To which his gnaw'd heart is the growing food, Makes him, impatient of the lingring light, Hate the sweet peace of all-composing Night.

LXIII.

A thousand prophecies that talke strange things Had sowne of old these doubts in his deepe brest. And now of late came tributary kings, Bringing him nothing but new feares from th' East, More deepe suspicions, and more deadly stings, With which his feav'rous cares their cold increast. And now his dream (Hel's fireband) still more bright, Shew'd him his feares, and kill'd him with the sight.

LXIV.

No sooner therefore shall the Morning see (Night hangs yet heavy on the lids of Day) But all the counsellours must summon'd bee, To meet their troubled lord: without delay Heralds and messengers immediately Are sent about, who poasting every way To th' heads and officers of every band, Declare who sends, and what is his command.

LXV.

Why art thou troubled, Herod? what vaine feare Thy blood-revolving brest to rage doth move? Heaven's King, Who doffs Himselfe weak flesh to weare, Comes not to rule in wrath, but serve in love. Nor would He this thy fear'd crown from thee teare, But give thee a better with Himselfe above. Poor jealousie! why should He wish to prey Vpon thy crowne, Who gives His owne away?

LXVI.

Make to thy reason, man, and mock thy doubts, Looke how below thy feares their causes are; Thou art a souldier, Herod; send thy scouts, See how Hee's furnish't for so fear'd a warre? What armour does He weare? A few thin clouts. His trumpets? tender cries; His men to dare So much? rude shepheards: what His steeds? alas Poore beasts! a slow oxe and a simple asse.

Il fine del primo Libro.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

See our Essay for critical remarks on the original and CRASHAW'S interpretation. These things may be recorded:

St. viii. line 6. '(His shop of flames) he fries himself.' This verb 'fries,' like 'stick' and some others, had not in Elizabethan times and later, that colloquial, and therefore in such a context ludicrous, sound that it has to us. In MARLOWE'S or JONSON'S translation of Ovid's fifteenth elegy (book i.) the two lines which originally ran thus,

'Lofty Lucretius shall live that hour That Nature shall dissolve this earthly bower,'

were afterwards altered by JONSON himself to,

'Then shall Lucretius' lofty numbers die, When earth and seas in fire and flame shall frie.'

In another way one of our most ludicrous-serious experiences of printers' errors was in a paper contributed by us to an American religious periodical. The subject was Affliction, and we remarked that God still, as of old with the 'three children' (so-called) permits His people to be put into the furnace of 'fiery trials,' wherein He tries them whether they be ore or dross. To our horror we found the t changed into f, and so read sensationally 'fries'--all the worse that some might think it the author's own word.

St. xxviii. and xxx. The star Lucifer or Phosporos, to whom 'the droves of stars that guild the morn, in charge were given,' can never climb the North or reach the zenith, being conquered by the effulgence of the sun of day. When did the fable of the angel Lucifer, founded on an astronomical appearance, mingle itself as it has done here, and grandly in MILTON, and in the popular mind generally, with the biblical history of Satan?

St. xxxvi. line 2. TURNBULL perpetuates the misprint of 'whose' for 'my' from 1670.

St. li. line 3, 'linage' = 'lineage.' For once 1670 is correct in reading 'linage' for the misprint 'image' of 1646 and 1648. The original is literally as follows:

'Herod the liege of Augustus, a man now aged, Then ruled over the royal courts of David: Not of the royal line ...'

St. lix. line 3, 'a special worm:' so SHAKESPEARE (Ant. and Cleopatra, v. 2), 'the pretty worm' and 'the worm.'

St. lx. Every one will be reminded of the tent-scene in Richard III.

At end of this translation PEREGRINE PHILLIPS adds 'cetera desunt--heu! heu!'

MARINO and CRASHAW have left proper names in the poem unannotated. They are mostly trite; but these may be noticed: st. xlii. l. 4, Erisichton (see Ovid, Met. viii. 814 &c.); he offended Ceres, and was by her punished with continual hunger, so that he devoured his own limbs: line 5, Tantalus the fabled son of Zeus and Pluto, whose doom in the 'lower world,' has been celebrated from Homer (Od. xi. 582) onward: ib. Atreus, grandson of Tantalus, immortalised in infamy with his brother Thyestes: ib. Progne = Procne, wife of Tereus, who was metamorphosed into a swallow (Apollod. iii. 14, 8): l. 6, Lycaon, like Tantalus, with his sons changed by Zeus into wolves (Ovid; Paus. viii. 3, Sec. 1): st. xliii. line 2, Medea, most famous of the mythical sorcerers: ib. Jezebel, 2 Kings ix. 10, 36: line 3, Circe, another mythical sorceress: Scylla, daughter of Typho and rival of Circe, who transformed her (Ovid, Met. xiv. 1-74); cf. Paradise Lost: line 4, the Parae = the Fates, ever spinning: st. xliv. lines 7-8, all classic monsters: st. xlv. line 1, 'Diomed's horses' = the fabled 'mares' fed on human flesh (Apollod. ii. 5, Sec. 8): 'Phereus' dogs,' or Fereus of mythical celebrity: line 2, Therodamas or Theromedon, king of Scythia, who fed lions with human blood (Ovid, Ibis 385, Pont. i. 2, 121): line 3, Busiris, associated with Osiris of Egypt; but Herodotus denies that the Egyptians ever offered human sacrifices: line 4, Sylla = Sulla: line 5, Lestrigonians, ancient inhabitants of Sicily who fed on human flesh (Ovid, Met. xiv. 233, &c.): line 6, Procrustes, i.e. the Stretcher, being a surname of the famous robber Damastes (Ovid, Met. vii. 438): line 7, Scyron, or Sciron (Ovid, Met. vii. 444-447), who threw his captives from the rocks: line 8, Schinis, more accurately Sinis or Sinnis, a celebrated robber, his name being connected with {sinomai}, expressing the manner in which he tore his victims to pieces by tying them to branches of two trees, which he bent together and then let go (Ovid, Met. vii. 440); according to some he was surnamed Procrustes, but MARINO and CRASHAW distinguish the two: st. xlvi. line 2, Mezentius, a mythical king of the Etruscans (Virgil, Aeneid, viii. 480, &c.); he put men to death by tying them to a corpse: ib. Geryon, a fabulous king of Hesperia (Apollod. ii. 5, Sec. 10); under this name the very reverend Dr. J.H. Newman has composed one of his most remarkable poems: line 3, Phalaris, the tyrant of Sicily, whose 'brazen bull' of torture gave point to Cicero's words concerning him, as 'crudelissimus omnium tyrannorum' (in Verr. iv. 33): ib. Ochus = Artaxerxes III. a merciless king of Persia: ib. Ezelinus or Ezzelinus, another wicked tyrant.

THE HYMN OF SAINTE THOMAS,

IN ADORATION OF THE BLESSED SACRAMENT.[42]

Ecce panis Angelorum, Adoro te.

With all the powres my poor heart hath 1 Of humble loue and loyall faith, Thus lowe (my hidden life!) I bow to Thee Whom too much loue hath bow'd more low for me. Down, down, proud Sense! discourses dy! 5 Keep close, my soul's inquiring ey! Not touch, nor tast, must look for more But each sitt still in his own dore.

Your ports are all superfluous here, Saue that which lets in Faith, the eare. 10 Faith is my skill: Faith can beleiue As fast as Loue new lawes can giue. Faith is my force: Faith strength affords To keep pace with those powrfull words. And words more sure, more sweet then they, 15 Loue could not think, Truth could not say.

O let Thy wretch find that releife Thou didst afford the faithful theife. Plead for me, Loue! alleage and show That Faith has farther here to goe 20 And lesse to lean on: because than then Though hidd as God, wounds with Thee man: Thomas might touch, none but might see At least the suffring side of Thee; And that too was Thy self which Thee did couer, 25 But here eu'n that's hid too which hides the other.

Sweet, consider then, that I Though allow'd nor hand nor eye To reach at Thy lou'd face; nor can Tast Thee God, or touch Thee man, 30 Both yet beleiue; and witnesse Thee My Lord too and my God, as lowd as he.

II. AN EPIGRAMME (part 3)

Help, Lord, my faith, my hope increase, And fill my portion in Thy peace: Giue loue for life; nor let my dayes 35 Grow, but in new powres to Thy name and praise.

O dear memoriall of that Death Which liues still, and allowes vs breath! Rich, royall food! Bountyfull bread! Whose vse denyes vs to the dead; 40 Whose vitall gust alone can giue The same leaue both to eat and liue; Liue euer bread of loues, and be My life, my soul, my surer-selfe to mee.

O soft self-wounding Pelican! 45 Whose brest weepes balm for wounded man: Ah! this way bend Thy benign floud To a bleeding heart that gaspes for blood. That blood, whose least drops soueraign be To wash my worlds of sins from me. 50

Come Loue! come Lord! and that long day For which I languish, come away. When this dry soul those eyes shall see, And drink the vnseal'd sourse of Thee: When Glory's sun, Faith's shades shall chase, 55 And for Thy veil giue me Thy face. Amen.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

The original title is 'A Hymne to our Saviour by the Faithfull Receiver of the Sacrament.' As before in the title of 'The Weeper' 'Sainte' is misspelled 'Sanite.'

Line 1 in 1648 reads 'power.'

" 8, 'sitt still in his own dore.'

" 9, 'ports' = openings or gates. So in Edinburgh the 'West-port' = a gate of the city in the old west wall.

Line 21, 'than' = 'then.' See our PHINEAS FLETCHER, as before.

Line 29, TURNBULL leaves undetected the 1670 misprint of 'teach' for 'reach.'

Line 33, 1648 supplies 'my faith,' which in our text is inadvertently dropped; 1670 continues the error, which of course TURNBULL repeated.

Line 36, 1670 edition reads 'Grow, but in new pow'rs to name thy Praise.'

Lines 37-38 are inadvertently omitted in 1648 edition.

Our text, as will be seen, is arranged in stanzas of irregular form. In 1648 edition it is one continuous poem thus printed:

--------------------- --------------------- --------------------- --------------------- G.

LAVDA SION SALVATOREM:

THE HYMN FOR THE BL. SACRAMENT.[43]

I.

Rise, royall Sion! rise and sing Thy soul's kind shepheard, thy hart's King. Stretch all thy powres; call if you can Harpes of heaun to hands of man. This soueraign subject sitts aboue The best ambition of thy loue.

II.

Lo, the Bread of Life, this day's Triumphant text, prouokes thy prayse: incites The liuing and life-giuing bread To the great twelue distributed; When Life, Himself, at point to dy Of loue, was His Own legacy.

III.

Come, Loue! and let vs work a song Lowd and pleasant, sweet and long; Let lippes and hearts lift high the noise Of so iust and solemn ioyes, Which on His white browes this bright day Shall hence for euer bear away.

IV.

Lo, the new law of a new Lord, With a new Lamb blesses the board: The aged Pascha pleads not yeares But spyes Loue's dawn, and disappeares. Types yield to truthes; shades shrink away; And their Night dyes into our Day.

V.

But lest that dy too, we are bid Euer to doe what He once did: And by a mindfull, mystick breath That we may liue, reuiue His death; With a well-bles't bread and wine, Transsum'd and taught to turn diuine.

VI.

The Heaun-instructed house of Faith Here a holy dictate hath, That they but lend their form and face;-- Themselues with reuerence leaue their place, Nature, and name, to be made good, By a nobler bread, more needfull blood.

VII.

Where Nature's lawes no leaue will giue, Bold Faith takes heart, and dares beleiue In different species: name not things, Himself to me my Saviovr brings; As meat in that, as drink in this, But still in both one Christ He is.

VIII.

The receiuing mouth here makes Nor wound nor breach in what he takes. Let one, or one thovsand be Here diuiders, single he Beares home no lesse, all they no more, Nor leaue they both lesse then before.

IX.

Though in it self this soverain Feast Be all the same to euery guest, Yet on the same (life-meaning) Bread The child of death eates himself dead: Nor is't Loue's fault, but Sin's dire skill That thus from Life can death distill.

X.

When the blest signes thou broke shalt see Hold but thy faith intire as He Who, howsoe're clad, cannot come Lesse then whole Christ in euery crumme. In broken formes a stable Faith Vntouch't her precious totall hath.

XI.

So the life-food of angells then Bow'd to the lowly mouths of men! The children's Bread, the Bridegroom's Wine; Not to be cast to dogges, or swine.

XII.

Lo, the full, finall Sacrifice On which all figures fix't their eyes: The ransom'd Isack, and his ramme; The manna, and the paschal lamb.

XIII.

Iesv Master, iust and true! Our food, and faithfull Shephard too! O by Thy self vouchsafe to keep, As with Thy selfe Thou feed'st Thy sheep.

XIV.

O let that loue which thus makes Thee Mix with our low mortality, Lift our lean soules, and sett vs vp Con-victors of Thine Own full cup, Coheirs of saints. That so all may Drink the same wine; and the same way: Nor change the pastvre, but the place, To feed of Thee, in Thine Own face. Amen.

NOTES.

In 1648, line 3 has 'thou' for 'you:' line 4 'and' for 'to:' line 6, 'ambitious:' line 19, 'Lord' is misprinted 'Law:' line 39, 'names:' line 42 spells 'one' as 'on:' line 55, our text (1652) misprints 'shall:' line 75, 1648 reads 'mean' for 'lean.' G.

PRAYER:

AN ODE WHICH WAS PRAEFIXED TO A LITTLE PRAYER-BOOK GIVEN TO A YOUNG GENTLE-WOMAN.[44]

Lo here a little volume, but great book! 1 (Feare it not, sweet, It is no hipocrit) Much larger in itselfe then in its looke. A nest of new-born sweets; 5 Whose natiue fires disdaining To ly thus folded, and complaining Of these ignoble sheets, Affect more comly bands (Fair one) from thy kind hands; 10 And confidently look To find the rest Of a rich binding in your brest. It is, in one choise handfull, Heauvn; and all Heaun's royall host; incampt thus small 15 To proue that true, Schooles vse to tell, Ten thousand angels in one point can dwell. It is Loue's great artillery Which here contracts it self, and comes to ly 19 Close-couch't in your white bosom; and from thence As from a snowy fortresse of defence, Against the ghostly foes to take your part, And fortify the hold of your chast heart. It is an armory of light; Let constant vse but keep it bright, 25 You'l find it yields To holy hands and humble hearts More swords and sheilds Then sin hath snares, or Hell hath darts. Only be sure 30 The hands be pure That hold these weapons; and the eyes, Those of turtles, chast and true; Wakefull and wise: Here is a freind shall fight for you; 35 Hold but this book before your heart, Let prayer alone to play his part; But O the heart That studyes this high art Must be a sure house-keeper: 40 And yet no sleeper. Dear soul, be strong! Mercy will come e're long And bring his bosome fraught with blessings, Flowers of neuer-fading graces 45 To make immortall dressings For worthy soules, whose wise embraces Store vp themselues for Him, Who is alone The Spovse of virgins and the virgin's Son. But if the noble Bridegroom, when He come, 50 Shall find the loytering heart from home; Leauing her chast aboad To gadde abroad Among the gay mates of the god of flyes; To take her pleasure, and to play 55 And keep the deuill's holyday; To dance in th' sunshine of some smiling But beguiling Spheare of sweet and sugred lyes; Some slippery pair 60 Of false, perhaps, as fair, Flattering but forswearing, eyes; Doubtlesse some other heart Will gett the start Meanwhile, and stepping in before 65 Will take possession of that sacred store Of hidden sweets and holy ioyes; Words which are not heard with eares (Those tumultuous shops of noise) Effectuall whispers, whose still voice 70 The soul it selfe more feeles then heares; Amorous languishments; luminous trances; Sights which are not seen with eyes; Spirituall and soul-peircing glances Whose pure and subtil lightning flyes 75 Home to the heart, and setts the house on fire, And melts it down in sweet desire Yet doth not stay To ask the windows' leaue, to passe that way; Delicious deaths; soft exalations 80 Of soul; dear and diuine annihilations; A thousand vnknown rites Of ioyes and rarefy'd delights; A hundred thousand goods, glories, and graces: And many a mystick thing 85 Which the diuine embraces Of the deare Spouse of spirits, with them will bring, For which it is no shame That dull mortality must not know a name. Of all this hidden store 90 Of blessings, and ten thousand more (If when He come He find the heart from home) Doubtlesse He will vnload Himself some other where, 95 And poure abroad His pretious sweets On the fair soul whom first He meets. O fair, O fortunate! O riche! O dear! O happy and thrice-happy she 100 Deare silver-breasted dove Who ere she be, Whose early loue With winged vowes Makes hast to meet her morning Spouse, 105 And close with His immortall kisses. Happy indeed, who neuer misses To improue that pretious hour, And euery day Seize her sweet prey, 110 All fresh and fragrant as He rises, Dropping with a baulmy showr, A delicious dew of spices; O let the blissfull heart hold it fast Her heaunly arm-full; she shall tast 115 At once ten thousand paradises; She shall haue power To rifle and deflour The rich and roseall spring of those rare sweets Which with a swelling bosome there she meets: 120 Boundles and infinite ___________ ___________ Bottomles treasures Of pure inebriating pleasures. Happy proof! she shal discouer What ioy, what blisse, 125 How many heau'ns at once it is To haue her God become her Lover.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

The text of 1648 corresponds pretty closely, except in the usual changes of orthography, with our text (1652): and 1670, in like manner, follows that of 1646. 1646 edition furnishes some noticeable variations:

Line 1, 'large' for 'great.'

" 2-4 restored to their place here. TURNBULL gives them in a foot-note with this remark: 'So in the Paris edition of 1652. In all the others,

Fear it not, sweet, It is no hypocrite, Much larger in itself, than in its book.'

This is a mistake. The only edition that omits the lines (5-13) besides the first (1646) and substitutes these three is that of 1670.

Lines 5-13 not in 1646 edition: first appeared in 1648 edition.

" 14, 'choise' for 'rich.'

" 15, 'hoasts' for 'host.'

" 17, 'Ten thousand.'

" 20. Our text (1652) here and elsewhere misreads 'their:' silently corrected.

Line 22. Our text (1652) misprints 'their' for 'the:' as 'the' is the reading of 1648 and 1670, I have adopted it.

Line 24, 'the' for 'an.'

" 27, 'hand' for 'hands.'

" 37, 1648 edition has 'its' for 'his.'

" 44. Our text (1652) oddly misprints 'besom' for 'bosome:' the latter reading in 1646, 1648 and 1670 vindicates itself. 1646 reads 'her' and 1648 'its' for 'his.'

Line 50, 'comes' for 'come.'

" 51, 'wandring' for 'loytering.'

" 54. The allusion is to one of the names of Satan, viz. Baal-zebub = fly-god, dunghill-god.

Line 55, 'pleasures.'

" 57. Our text (1652) inadvertently drops 'in.' 1648 has 'i' th'.'

Line 59. Our text misprints 'spheares:' 1648 adopts 'spheare' from 1646 edition. 1670 misprints 'spear.'

Line 62, 'forswearing:' a classic word.

" 64, 'git' is the spelling.

" 65. All the editions save our text (1652) omit 'meanwhile.'

Line 66, 'the' for 'that.'

" 69, 'These' for 'Those,' by mistake.

" 78, 'doth' for 'does' I have adopted here.

" 83, 1648, by misprint, has 'O' for 'Of.'

" 84, 'An hundred thousand loves and graces.'

" 90. I have accepted 'hidden' before 'store' from 1646 edition.

Line 101. I have also adopted this characteristic line from 1646 edition. In all the others (except 1670) it is 'Selected dove.'

Line 107, 'soule' for 'indeed.'

" 114, 'that' for 'the.'

" 121-122. In 1648 printed as supra, the lines probably indicating a blank where the MS. was illegible. In our text (1652) we have two lines, but no blank indicated.

Line 124, 'soul' for 'proof.'

" 127, 'a' for 'her.' G.

TO THE SAME PARTY:

COVNCEL CONCERNING HER CHOISE.[45]

Dear, Heaun-designed sovl! 1 Amongst the rest Of suters that beseige your maiden brest, Why may not I My fortune try 5 And venture to speak one good word, Not for my self, alas! but for my dearer Lord? You have seen allready, in this lower sphear Of froth and bubbles, what to look for here: Say, gentle soul, what can you find 10 But painted shapes, Peacocks and apes; Illustrious flyes, Guilded dunghills, glorious lyes; Goodly surmises 15 And deep disguises, Oathes of water, words of wind? Trvth biddes me say 'tis time you cease to trust Your soul to any son of dust. 'Tis time you listen to a brauer loue, 20 Which from aboue Calls you vp higher And biddes you come And choose your roome Among His own fair sonnes of fire; 25 Where you among The golden throng That watches at His palace doores May passe along, And follow those fair starres of your's; 30 Starrs much too fair and pure to wait vpon The false smiles of a sublunary sun. Sweet, let me prophesy that at last t'will proue Your wary loue Layes vp his purer and more pretious vowes, 35 And meanes them for a farre more worthy Spovse Then this World of lyes can giue ye: Eu'n for Him with Whom nor cost, Nor loue, nor labour can be lost; Him Who neuer will deceiue ye. 40 Let not my Lord, the mighty Louer Of soules, disdain that I discouer The hidden art Of His high stratagem to win your heart: It was His heaunly art 45 Kindly to cross you In your mistaken loue; That, at the next remoue Thence, He might tosse you And strike your troubled heart 50 Home to Himself; to hide it in His brest: The bright ambrosiall nest Of Loue, of life, and euerlasting rest. Happy mystake! That thus shall wake 55 Your wise soul, neuer to be wonne Now with a loue below the sun. Your first choyce failes; O when you choose agen May it not be amongst the sonnes of men.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

The first line, 'To Mistress M.R. Dear, Heav'n-designed soul,'

as in 1670, is not to be considered as an unrhymed line, but as the address or superscription, though so contrived as not to interfere with the metre, but to make a five-foot line with the two feet of the true first line of the poem. So Parolles prefaces his verse with

'Dian, the count's a fool and full of gold.'

(All's Well that ends Well, iv. 3.)

and Longaville (Love's Labour Lost) prefixes to his sonnet,

'O sweet Maria, empress of my love.'

In fact, it is the 'Madam' of a poetical epistle brought into metrical harmony with the verse. G.

DESCRIPTION OF A RELIGIOVS HOVSE AND CONDITION OF LIFE.

(OVT OF BARCLAY.)[46]

No roofes of gold o're riotous tables shining 1 Whole dayes and suns, deuour'd with endlesse dining. No sailes of Tyrian sylk, proud pauements sweeping, Nor iuory couches costlyer slumber keeping; False lights of flairing gemmes; tumultuous ioyes; 5 Halls full of flattering men and frisking boyes; What'ere false showes of short and slippery good Mix the mad sons of men in mutuall blood. But walkes, and vnshorn woods; and soules, iust so Vnforc't and genuine; but not shady tho. 10 Our lodgings hard and homely as our fare, That chast and cheap, as the few clothes we weare. Those, course and negligent, as the naturall lockes Of these loose groues; rough as th' vnpolish't rockes. A hasty portion of praescribed sleep; 15 Obedient slumbers, that can wake and weep, And sing, and sigh, and work, and sleep again; Still rowling a round spear of still-returning pain. Hands full of harty labours; paines that pay And prize themselves: doe much, that more they may, 20 And work for work, not wages; let to-morrow's New drops, wash off the sweat of this daye's sorrows. A long and dayly-dying life, which breaths A respiration of reuiuing deaths. But neither are there those ignoble stings 25 That nip the blossome of the World's best things, And lash Earth-labouring souls.... No cruell guard of diligent cares, that keep Crown'd woes awake, as things too wise for sleep: But reuerent discipline, and religious fear, 30 And soft obedience, find sweet biding here; Silence, and sacred rest; peace, and pure ioyes; Kind loues keep house, ly close, make no noise; And room enough for monarchs, while none swells Beyond the kingdomes of contentfull cells. 35 The self-remembring sovl sweetly recouers Her kindred with the starrs; not basely houers Below: but meditates her immortall way Home to the originall sourse of Light and intellectuall day

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In 1648 the heading is simply 'Description of a religious house.' The original occurs in BARCLAY'S Argenis, book v. These variations include one important correction of a long-standing blunder:

Line 3, 1648 misprints 'weeping' for 'sweeping.'

" 4, 'costly' for 'costlyer.'

" 6, 'flatt'ring' for 'flattering.'

" 19-20. Our text (1652), followed by 1670, strangely confuses this couplet by printing,

'Hands full of harty labours; doe much, that more they may.'

TURNBULL, as usual, unintelligently repeats the blunder. Even in using the text of 1652 exceptionally, if only he found it confirmed by 1670, there was no vigilance. The reading of 1648 puts all right.

Line 23. Our text misspells 'ding.'

" 26. Misprinted 'bosome' in all the editions, and perpetuated by TURNBULL. Line 27 that follows is a break (unrhymed).

Line 33. 1648 misreads 'keep no noise.' G.

ON MR. GEORGE HERBERT'S BOOKE INTITULED THE TEMPLE OF SACRED POEMS.

SENT TO A GENTLE-WOMAN.[47]

Know you, faire, on what you looke? 1 Divinest love lyes in this booke: Expecting fier from your faire eyes, To kindle this his sacrifice.

When your hands untie these strings, 5 Think, yo' have an angell by the wings; One that gladly would be nigh, To waite upon each morning sigh; To flutter in the balmy aire Of your well-perfumed praier; 10 These white plumes of his hee'l lend you, Which every day to Heaven will send you: To take acquaintance of each spheare, And all your smooth-fac'd kindred there. And though HERBERT'S name doe owe 15 These devotions; fairest, know While I thus lay them on the shrine Of your white hand, they are mine.

A HYMN TO THE NAME AND HONOR OF THE ADMIRABLE SAINTE TERESA:

Fovndresse of the Reformation of the discalced Carmelites, both men and women; a Woman for angelicall heigth of speculation, for masculine courage of performance more then a woman: who yet a child, out-ran maturity, and durst plott a Martyrdome;

Misericordias Domini in Aeternvm cantabo.

Le Vray portraict de Ste Terese, Fondatrice des Religieuses et Religieux reformez de l'ordre de N. Dame du mont Carmel: Decedee le 4e Octo. 1582. Canonisee le 12e Mars. 1622.[48]

THE HYMNE.

Loue, thou art absolute, sole lord 1 Of life and death. To proue the word Wee'l now appeal to none of all Those thy old souldiers, great and tall, Ripe men of martyrdom, that could reach down 5 With strong armes, their triumphant crown; Such as could with lusty breath Speak lowd into the face of death, Their great Lord's glorious name, to none Of those whose spatious bosomes spread a throne 10 For Love at large to fill; spare blood and sweat: And see him take a priuate seat, Making his mansion in the mild And milky soul of a soft child. Scarse has she learn't to lisp the name 15 Of martyr; yet she thinks it shame Life should so long play with that breath Which spent can buy so braue a death. She neuer vndertook to know What Death with Loue should haue to doe; 20 Nor has she e're yet vnderstood Why to show loue, she should shed blood, Yet though she cannot tell you why She can love, and she can dy. Scarse has she blood enough to make 25 A guilty sword blush for her sake; Yet has she a heart dares hope to proue How much lesse strong is Death then Love. Be Loue but there; let poor six yeares Be pos'd with the maturest feares 30 Man trembles at, you straight shall find Love knowes no nonage, nor the mind; 'Tis love, not yeares or limbs that can Make the martyr, or the man. Love touch't her heart, and lo it beates 35 High, and burnes with such braue heates; Such thirsts to dy, as dares drink vp A thousand cold deaths in one cup. Good reason: for she breathes all fire; Her white brest heaues with strong desire 40 Of what she may with fruitles wishes Seek for amongst her mother's kisses. Since 'tis not to be had at home She'l trauail to a martyrdom. No home for hers confesses she 45 But where she may a martyr be. She'l to the Moores; and trade with them Moors For this vnualued diadem: She'l offer them her dearest breath, With Christ's name in't, in change for death: 50 She'l bargain with them; and will giue Them God; teach them how to liue In Him: or, if they this deny, For Him she'l teach them how to dy: So shall she leaue amongst them sown 55 Her Lord's blood; or at lest her own. least Farewel then, all the World! adieu! Teresa is no more for you. Farewell, all pleasures, sports, and ioyes (Never till now esteemed toyes) 60 Farewell, what ever deare may bee, Mother's armes or father's knee: Farewell house, and farewell home! She's for the Moores, and martyrdom. Sweet, not so fast! lo thy fair Spouse 65 Whom thou seekst with so swift vowes; Calls thee back, and bidds thee come T'embrace a milder martyrdom. Blest powres forbid, thy tender life Should bleed vpon a barbarous knife: 70 Or some base hand haue power to raze Thy brest's chast cabinet, and vncase A soul kept there so sweet: O no, Wise Heaun will neuer have it so. Thou art Love's victime; and must dy 75 A death more mysticall and high: Into Loue's armes thou shalt let fall A still-suruiuing funerall. His is the dart must make the death Whose stroke shall tast thy hallow'd breath; 80 A dart thrice dip't in that rich flame Which writes thy Spouse's radiant name Vpon the roof of Heau'n, where ay It shines; and with a soueraign ray Beates bright vpon the burning faces 85 Of soules which in that Name's sweet graces Find euerlasting smiles: so rare, So spirituall, pure, and fair Must be th' immortall instrument Vpon whose choice point shall be sent 90 A life so lou'd: and that there be Fitt executioners for thee, The fair'st and first-born sons of fire Blest seraphim, shall leaue their quire, And turn Loue's souldiers, vpon thee 95 To exercise their archerie. O how oft shalt thou complain Of a sweet and subtle pain: Of intolerable ioyes: Of a death, in which who dyes 100 Loues his death, and dyes again And would for euer so be slain. And liues, and dyes; and knowes not why To liue, but that he thus may neuer leaue to dy. How kindly will thy gentle heart 105 Kisse the sweetly-killing dart! And close in his embraces keep Those delicious wounds, that weep Balsom to heal themselves with: thus When these thy deaths, so numerous 110 Shall all at last dy into one, And melt thy soul's sweet mansion; Like a soft lump of incense, hasted By too hott a fire, and wasted Into perfuming clouds, so fast 115 Shalt thou exhale to Heaun at last In a resoluing sigh, and then O what? Ask not the tongues of men; Angells cannot tell; suffice Thy selfe shall feel thine own full ioyes, 120 And hold them fast for euer there. So soon as thou shalt first appear, The moon of maiden starrs, thy white Mistresse, attended by such bright Soules as thy shining self, shall come 125 And in her first rankes make thee room; Where 'mongst her snowy family Immortall wellcomes wait for thee. O what delight, when reueal'd Life shall stand, And teach thy lipps Heaun with His hand; 130 On which thou now maist to thy wishes Heap vp thy consecrated kisses. What ioyes shall seize thy soul, when she, Bending her blessed eyes on Thee, (Those second smiles of Heau'n,) shall dart 135 Her mild rayes through Thy melting heart. Angels, thy old friends, there shall greet thee Glad at their own home now to meet thee. All thy good workes which went before And waited for thee, at the door, 140 Shall own thee there; and all in one Weaue a constellation Of crowns, with which the King thy Spouse Shall build vp thy triumphant browes. All thy old woes shall now smile on thee, 145 And thy paines sitt bright vpon thee, All thy sorrows here shall shine, All thy svfferings be diuine: Teares shall take comfort, and turn gemms And wrongs repent to diademms. 150 Eu'n thy death shall liue; and new- Dresse the soul that erst he slew. Thy wounds shall blush to such bright scarres As keep account of the Lamb's warres. Those rare workes where thou shalt leaue writt 155 Loue's noble history, with witt Taught thee by none but Him, while here They feed our soules, shall clothe thine there. Each heaunly word, by whose hid flame Our hard hearts shall strike fire, the same 160 Shall flourish on thy browes, and be Both fire to vs and flame to thee; Whose light shall liue bright in thy face By glory, in our hearts by grace. Thou shalt look round about, and see 165 Thousands of crown'd soules throng to be Themselues thy crown: sons of thy vowes The virgin-births with which thy soueraign Spouse Made fruitfull thy fair soul. Goe now And with them all about thee, bow 170 To Him; put on (Hee'l say) put on (My rosy loue) that thy rich zone Sparkling with the sacred flames Of thousand soules, whose happy names Heau'n keep vpon thy score: (Thy bright 175 Life brought them first to kisse the light, That kindled them to starrs,) and so Thou with the Lamb, thy Lord, shalt goe, And whereso'ere He setts His white Stepps, walk with Him those wayes of light, 180 Which who in death would liue to see, Must learn in life to dy like thee.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

The original edition (1646) has this title, 'In memory of the Vertuous and Learned Lady Madre de Teresa, that sought an early Martyrdome;' and so also in 1648. 1670 agrees with 1652; only the Latin line above the portrait and the French verses are omitted.

The text of 1646 furnishes a number of variations corrective in part of all the subsequent editions. These are recorded below. 1648 agrees substantially with 1652: but a few unimportant readings peculiar to it are also given in these Notes.

Various readings from 1646 edition.

Line 3, 'Wee need to goe to none of all.'

" 4, 'stout' for 'great.'

" 5, 'ripe and full growne.'

" 8, 'unto' for 'into;' the latter preferable.

" 10, 'Of those whose large breasts built a throne.'

" 11-13,

'For Love their Lord, glorious and great Weel see Him take a private seat, And make ...'

I have hesitated whether this ought not to have been adopted as our text; but it is a characteristic of CRASHAW to introduce abruptly long and short lines as in our text, and to carry a thought or metaphor through a number of lines.

Line 15, 'had' for 'has,' and 'a' for 'the.'

" 21, 'hath,' and so in 1648 edition.

" 23, our text (1652) misprints 'enough:' I correct from 1648.

" 25, 'had,' 1648 'hath.'

" 27, 1648, 'hath.'

" 31, 'wee' for 'you.'

Line 37, 'thirst' for 'thirsts,' and 'dare' for 'dares.'

" 38 spells 'coled.'

" 40, 'weake' for 'white;' the latter a favourite epithet with CRASHAW: 1648 'weake.'

Line 43, 1648 drops 'at' inadvertently.

" 44 spells 'travell:' 1648 has 'for' instead of 'to.'

" 45, 'her,' by misprint for 'her's.'

" 47, 1648 has 'try' for 'trade.'

" 49, 'Shee offers.' 57 spells 'adeiu.'

" 61, this line is by oversight dropped from our text (1652).

Line 70, spelled 'barborous' in our text, but I have adopted 'a' from 1646 and 1648.

Line 71, 'race' for 'raze;' a common contemporary spelling.

" 77, 'hand' for 'armes.'

" 93, 'The fairest, and the first borne Loves of fire.'

" 94, 'Seraphims,' the usual misspelling of the plural of seraph in our English Bible.

Line 104, 'To live, but that he still may dy.'

" 106, our text (1652) misreads 'sweetly-kissing.' I have adopted 'sweetly-killing' from 1646, 1648 and 1670.

Line 108, 1648 has 'thine' for 'his.'

" 118, 'disolving.'

" 123, our text (1652) inadvertently drops 'shalt,' and misreads 'you' for 'thou.' I accept the text of 1646, 1648 and 1670.

line 129, 'on.'

" 130, 'shee' for 'reueal'd Life;' and in next line 'her' for 'His.' Our text (1652) is preferable, as pointing to Christ the Life, our Life. See under lines 11-13.

Line 133, 'joy.'

" 146, 'set;' a common contemporary spelling.

" 147, this line, dropped inadvertently from our text (1652), is restored from 1646, 1648 and 1670.

Line 148, 'And' for 'All.'

" 151, 'Even thy deaths.'

" 152, 'Dresse the soul that late they slew.'

" 167 misprints 'nowes;' corrected in 1648, but not in 1670.

" 168 drops 'soueraign.' See under lines 11-13.

" 175, 'keeps.'

" 178, 'shall.' Cf. Rev. xiv. 5, as before. G.

AN APOLOGIE FOR THE FOREGOING HYMN,

AS HAUING BEEN WRITT WHEN THE AUTHOR WAS YET AMONG THE PROTESTANTS.[49]

Thus haue I back again to thy bright name 1 (Fair floud of holy fires!) transfus'd the flame I took from reading thee: 'tis to thy wrong I know, that in my weak and worthlesse song Thou here art sett to shine where thy full day 5 Scarse dawnes. O pardon, if I dare to say Thine own dear bookes are guilty. For from thence I learn't to know that Loue is eloquence. That hopefull maxime gaue me hart to try If, what to other tongues is tun'd so high, 10 Thy praise might not speak English too: forbid (By all thy mysteryes that here ly hidde) Forbid it, mighty Loue! let no fond hate Of names and wordes, so farr praeiudicate. Souls are not Spaniards too: one freindly floud 15 Of baptism blends them all into a blood. Christ's faith makes but one body of all soules, And Loue's that body's soul; no law controwlls Our free traffique for Heau'n; we may maintaine Peace, sure, with piety, though it come from Spain. 20 What soul so e're, in any language, can Speak Heau'n like her's, is my soul's country-man. O 'tis not Spanish, but 'tis Heau'n she speaks! 'Tis Heau'n that lyes in ambush there, and breaks From thence into the wondring reader's brest; 25 Who feels his warm heart hatcht into a nest Of little eagles and young loues, whose high Flights scorn the lazy dust, and things that dy. There are enow whose draughts (as deep as Hell) Drink vp all Spain in sack. Let my soul swell 30 With the strong wine of Loue: let others swimme In puddles; we will pledge this seraphim Bowles full of richer blood then blush of grape Was euer guilty of. Change we our shape (My soul) some drink from men to beasts, O then 35 Drink we till we proue more, not lesse, then men, And turn not beasts but angels. Let the King Me euer into these His cellars bring, Where flowes such wine as we can haue of none But Him Who trod the wine-presse all alone: 40 Wine of youth, life, and the sweet deaths of Loue; Wine of immortall mixture; which can proue Its tincture from the rosy nectar; wine That can exalt weak earth; and so refine Our dust, that at one draught, Mortality 45 May drink it self vp, and forget to dy.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

The title in 1646 'Steps' is 'An Apologie for the precedent Hymne:' in 1648 the 'Flaming Heart' also precedes the 'Apologie,' and its title, 'Hymnes on Teresa,' is added. 1670 has 'was yet a Protestant.'

Various readings from 1646.

Line 2, 'sea.'

" 9, 'heavenly.'

" 12, 'there' for 'here.'

" 14, 'prejudicate.'

" 16, 'one' for 'a:' 1670 has 'one.'

" 18, 1648 spells 'comptrolls.'

" 20, 'dwell in' for 'come from.'

" 21, 'soever.'

" 26, 'finds' for 'feels:' our text (1652) drops 'hatcht,' which we have restored after 1646 and 1648; 1670 reads 'hatch,' and TURNBULL follows blindly.

Line 29, our text (1652) misreads 'now:' we restore 'enow,' after the editions as in No. 9.

Line 34, our text misreads 'too' after 'we:' I omit it, as in 1646 and 1670. 1648 has 'to.'

Line 41, 'Wine of youth's Life.'

" 45, 'in' for 'at.' As the 'Apologie' refers only to the Hymn preceding, and not to what follows, I have placed it after the former, not (as in 1648) the latter, which would make it refer to both. G.

THE FLAMING HEART:

VPON THE BOOK AND PICTURE OF THE SERAPHICAL SAINT TERESA, AS SHE IS VSVALLY EXPRESSED WITH A SERAPHIM BISIDE HER.[50]

Wel-meaning readers! you that come as freinds 1 And catch the pretious name this peice pretends; Make not too much hast to admire That fair-cheek't fallacy of fire. That is a seraphim, they say 5 And this the great Teresia. Readers, be rul'd by me; and make Here a well-plact and wise mistake: You must transpose the picture quite, And spell it wrong to read it right; 10 Read him for her, and her for him, And call the saint the seraphim. Painter, what didst thou vnderstand To put her dart into his hand? See, euen the yeares and size of him 15 Showes this the mother seraphim. This is the mistresse flame; and duteous he Her happy fire-works here, comes down to see. O most poor-spirited of men! Had thy cold pencil kist her pen, 20 Thou couldst not so vnkindly err To show vs this faint shade for her. Why, man, this speakes pure mortall frame; And mockes with female frost Loue's manly flame. One would suspect thou meant'st to paint 25 Some weak, inferiour, woman-saint. But had thy pale-fac't purple took Fire from the burning cheeks of that bright booke, Thou wouldst on her haue heap't vp all That could be found seraphicall; 30 What e're this youth of fire, weares fair, Rosy fingers, radiant hair, Glowing cheek, and glistering wings, All those fair and fragrant things But before all, that fiery dart 35 Had fill'd the hand of this great heart. Doe then, as equall right requires, Since his the blushes be, and her's the fires, Resume and rectify thy rude design, Vndresse thy seraphim into mine; 40 Redeem this iniury of thy art, Giue him the vail, giue her the dart. Giue him the vail; that he may couer The red cheeks of a riuall'd louer. Asham'd that our world now can show 45 Nests of new seraphims here below. Giue her the dart, for it is she (Fair youth) shootes both thy shaft, and thee; Say, all ye wise and well-peirc't hearts That liue and dy amidst her darts, 50 What is't your tastfull spirits doe proue In that rare life of her, and Loue? Say, and bear witnes. Sends she not A seraphim at euery shott? What magazins of immortall armes there shine! 55 Heaun's great artillery in each loue-spun line. Giue then the dart to her who giues the flame; Giue him the veil, who giues the shame. But if it be the frequent fate Of worst faults to be fortunate; 60 If all's praescription; and proud wrong Hearkens not to an humble song; For all the gallantry of him, Giue me the suffring seraphim. His be the brauery of all those bright things, 65 The glowing cheekes, the glistering wings; The rosy hand, the radiant dart; Leaue her alone the flaming heart. Leaue her that; and thou shalt leaue her Not one loose shaft but Loue's whole quiver. 70 For in Loue's feild was neuer found A nobler weapon then a wovnd. Loue's passiues are his actiu'st part, The wounded is the wounding heart. O heart! the aequall poise of Loue's both parts 75 Bigge alike with wound and darts. Liue in these conquering leaues; liue all the same, And walk through all tongues one triumphant flame. Liue here, great heart; and loue and dy and kill; And bleed and wound; and yeild and conquer still. 80 Let this immortall life wherere it comes Walk in a crowd of loues and martyrdomes. Let mystick deaths wait on't; and wise soules be The loue-slain wittnesses of this life of thee.

O sweet incendiary! shew here thy art, 85 Vpon this carcasse of a hard, cold hart; Let all thy scatter'd shafts of light, that play Among the leaues of thy larg books of day. Combin'd against this brest at once break in And take away from me my self and sin; 90 This gratious robbery shall thy bounty be, And my best fortunes such fair spoiles of me. O thou vndanted daughter of desires! By all thy dowr of lights and fires; By all the eagle in thee, all the doue; 95 By all thy liues and deaths of loue; By thy larg draughts of intellectuall day, And by thy thirsts of loue more large then they; By all thy brim-fill'd bowles of feirce desire, By thy last morning's draught of liquid fire; 100 By the full kingdome of that finall kisse That seiz'd thy parting soul, and seal'd thee His; By all the Heau'n thou hast in Him (Fair sister of the seraphim!) By all of Him we have in thee; 105 Leaue nothing of my self in me. Let me so read thy life, that I Vnto all life of mine may dy.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

The title in 1648 omits the words 'the seraphical saint,' and the text there lacks the last twenty-four lines.

Various readings from 1648.

Line 3, 'so' for 'too.'

" 11, 'And' for 'read.'

" 18, 'happier.'

Line 31 misreads 'But e're,' and 'were' for 'weares.'

" 33, 'cheekes.'

" 34 flagrantly misreads 'flagrant' for 'fragrant,' which TURNBULL as usual blindly repeats.

Line 48, 'shafts.'

" 58 reads '... kindly tells the shame.' It is a characteristic of CRASHAW to vary his measures, else I should have adopted this reading from 1648. The line is somewhat obscure through the conceitful repetition of 'gives.' The sense is, who, being pictured red, shows the blushing shamefacedness of being outdone in his own seraphic nature by an earthly saint. G.

A SONG OF DIVINE LOVE.[51]

Lord, when the sense of Thy sweet grace 1 Sends vp my soul to seek Thy face, Thy blessed eyes breed such desire, I dy in Loue's delicious fire. O Loue, I am thy sacrifice! 5 Be still triumphant, blessed eyes! Still shine on me, fair suns! that I Still may behold, though still I dy.

SECOND PART.

Though still I dy, I liue again; Still longing so to be still slain; 10 So gainfull is such losse of breath, I dy euen in desire of death. Still liue in me this longing strife Of liuing death and dying life; For while Thou sweetly slayest me 15 Dead to my selfe, I liue in Thee.

IN THE GLORIOVS ASSVMPTION OF OVR BLESSED LADY.[52]

THE HYMN.

Hark! she is call'd, the parting houre is come; 1 Take thy farewell, poor World! Heaun must go home. A peice of heau'nly earth; purer and brighter Then the chast starres, whose choise lamps come to light her, Whil'st through the crystall orbes, clearer then they 5 She climbes; and makes a farre more Milkey Way. She's call'd! Hark, how the dear immortall Doue Sighes to His syluer mate, 'Rise vp, my loue'! Rise vp, my fair, my spotlesse one! The Winter's past, the rain is gone; 10 The Spring is come, the flowrs appear, No sweets, (save thou,) are wanting here. Come away, my loue! Come away, my doue! Cast off delay; 15 The court of Heau'n is come To wait vpon thee home; Come, come away! The flowrs appear, Or quickly would, wert thou once here. 20 The Spring is come, or if it stay 'Tis to keep time with thy delay. The rain is gone, except so much as we Detain in needfull teares to weep the want of thee. The Winter's past, 25 Or if he make lesse hast, His answer is, why she does so, If Sommer come not, how can Winter goe? Come away, come away! The shrill winds chide, the waters weep thy stay; 30 The fountains murmur, and each loftyest tree Bowes low'st his leauy top, to look for thee. Come away, my loue! Come away, my doue &c. She's call'd again. And will she goe? 35 When Heau'n bidds come, who can say no? Heau'n calls her, and she must away, Heau'n will not, and she cannot stay. Goe then; goe, gloriovs on the golden wings Of the bright youth of Heau'n, that sings 40 Vnder so sweet a burthen. Goe, Since thy dread Son will haue it so. And while thou goest, our song and we Will, as we may, reach after thee. Hail, holy queen of humble hearts! 45 We in thy prayse will haue our parts. And though thy dearest lookes must now give light To none but the blest heavens, whose bright Beholders, lost in sweet delight, Feed for ever their faire sight 50 With those divinest eyes, which we And our darke world noe more shall see; Though our poore eyes are parted soe, Yet shall our lipps never lett goe Thy gracious name, but to the last 55 Our loving song shall hold it fast. Thy pretious name shall be Thy self to vs; and we With holy care will keep it by vs. We to the last 60 Will hold it fast, And no Assvmption shall deny vs. All the sweetest showres Of our fairest flowres Will we strow vpon it. 65 Though our sweets cannot make It sweeter, they can take Themselues new sweetness from it. Maria, men and angels sing, Maria, mother of our King. 70 Live, rosy princesse, live! and may the bright Crown of a most incomparable light Embrace thy radiant browes. O may the best Of euerlasting ioyes bath thy white brest. Live, our chast loue, the holy mirth 75 Of Heau'n; the humble pride of Earth. Liue, crown of woemen; queen of men; Liue, mistresse of our song. And when Our weak desires haue done their best, Sweet angels come, and sing the rest. 80

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

The heading in the SANCROFT MS. is 'On the Assumption of the Virgin Marie.' In line 5 it reads 'whil'st,' and so in line 43: line 7, 'againe th' immortal Dove:' line 12, our text (1652) reads 'but;' we prefer 'saue' of 1648 and the MS.: line 30, our text (1652) misprints 'heauy' for 'leavy' of 1648: line 42, the MS. reads 'great:' line 47, 'give' for 'be;' adopted: line 53, 'eyes' for 'ioyes;' adopted: line 57, 'sacred:' line 76, 'bragg:' line 77, 'praise of women, pride of men.'

By an unaccountable inadvertence, our text (1652) omits lines 47-56. They are restored from 1648: they also appear in 1670. Line 18 in 1648 reads 'Come, come away:' in 1670 it is 'Come away, come away;' but this edition strangely, but characteristically, omits lines 19-34; and TURNBULL, following it, though pronounced by himself 'the most inaccurate of all' (Preliminary Observations, p. xi. of his edition), has overlooked them. Confer, for a quaint parallel with these lines (19-34), our JOSEPH FLETCHER. It may also be noted here that TURNBULL betrays his habitual use of his self-condemned text of 1670 by misreading in line 12, 'No sweets since thou art wanting here;' so converting the fine compliment into ungrammatical nonsense. Earlier also (line 3) he similarly reads, after the same text, 'light' for 'earth.' So too in line 7 he reads 'She's call'd again; hark! how th' immortall dove:' and line 42, for the favourite 'dread' of our Poet the weaker 'great,' as supra: and the following line 63 omits 'the:' line 64, 'our:' line 65 reads 'We'll:' line 76, 'and' for 'the.' On lines 9-10, cf. Song of Solomon, ii. 10-13. G.

UPON FIVE PIOVS AND LEARNED DISCOURSES:

BY ROBERT SHELFORD.[53]

Rise, then, immortall maid! Religion, rise! 1 Put on thy self in thine own looks: t' our eyes Be what thy beauties, not our blots, have made thee; Such as (ere our dark sinnes to dust betray'd thee) Heav'n set thee down new drest; when thy bright birth 5 Shot thee like lightning to th' astonisht Earth. From th' dawn of thy fair eyelids wipe away Dull mists and melancholy clouds: take Day And thine own beams about thee: bring the best Of whatsoe're perfum'd thy Eastern nest. 10 Girt all thy glories to thee: then sit down, Open this book, fair Queen, and take thy crown. These learned leaves shall vindicate to thee Thy holyest, humblest, handmaid, Charitie; She'l dresse thee like thy self, set thee on high 15 Where thou shalt reach all hearts, command each eye. Lo! where I see thy altars wake, and rise From the pale dust of that strange sacrifice Which they themselves were; each one putting on A majestie that may beseem thy throne. 20 The holy youth of Heav'n, whose golden rings Girt round thy awfull altars; with bright wings Fanning thy fair locks, (which the World beleeves As much as sees) shall with these sacred leaves Trick their tall plumes, and in that garb shall go 25 If not more glorious, more conspicuous tho. --------Be it enacted then, By the fair laws of thy firm-pointed pen, God's services no longer shall put on Pure sluttishnesse for pure religion: 30 No longer shall our Churches' frighted stones Lie scatter'd like the burnt and martyr'd bones Of dead Devotion; nor faint marbles weep In their sad ruines; nor Religion keep A melancholy mansion in those cold 35 Urns: Like God's sanctuaries they lookt of old; Now seem they Temples consecrate to none, Or to a new god, Desolation. No more the hypocrite shall th' upright be Because he's stiffe, and will confesse no knee: 40 While others bend their knee, no more shalt thou, (Disdainfull dust and ashes!) bend thy brow; Nor on God's altar cast two scorching eyes, Bak't in hot scorn, for a burnt sacrifice: But (for a lambe) thy tame and tender heart, 45 New struck by Love, still trembling on his dart; Or (for two turtle-doves) it shall suffice To bring a pair of meek and humble eyes. This shall from henceforth be the masculine theme Pulpits and pennes shall sweat in; to redeem 50 Vertue to action, that life-feeding flame That keeps Religion warm: not swell a name Of Faith; a mountain-word, made up of aire, With those deare spoils that wont to dresse the fair And fruitfull Charitie's full breasts (of old), 55 Turning her out to tremble in the cold. What can the poore hope from us, when we be Uncharitable ev'n to Charitie? Nor shall our zealous ones still have a fling At that most horrible and horned thing, 60 Forsooth the Pope: by which black name they call The Turk, the devil, Furies, Hell and all, And something more. O he is Antichrist: Doubt this, and doubt (say they) that Christ is Christ: Why, 'tis a point of Faith. What e're it be, 65 I'm sure it is no point of Charitie. In summe, no longer shall our people hope, To be a true Protestant's but to hate the Pope.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

I have taken the text of this poem as it originally appeared, because in all the editions of the Poems wherein it is given the last ten lines are omitted. TURNBULL discovered this after his text of the Poems was printed off, and so had to insert them in a Postscript, wherein his genius for blundering describes Shelford's volume as 'Five ... Poems.' These slight variations may be recorded:

The title in all is 'On a Treatise of Charity.'

Line 12, 1648 has 'thy' for 'this.'

" 16, ib. 'shall' for 'shalt.'

" 17, all the editions 'off'rings' for 'altars.'

" 30, ib. 'A' for the first 'pure.'

" 36, our text misprints 'look' for 'look't.'

The poem is signed in Shelford's volume 'RICH. CRASHAW, Aul. Pemb. A.B.' It appeared in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 86-8), 1648 (pp. 101-2), 1670 (pp. 68-70). G.

DIES IRAE, DIES ILLA:

THE HYMN OF THE CHVRCH, IN MEDITATION OF THE DAY OF IVDGMENT.[54]

I.

Hear'st thou, my soul, what serious things Both the Psalm and sybyll sings Of a sure Iudge, from Whose sharp ray The World in flames shall fly away.

II.

O that fire! before whose face Heaun and Earth shall find no place. O those eyes! Whose angry light Must be the day of that dread night.

III.

O that trump! whose blast shall run An euen round with the circling sun, And vrge the murmuring graues to bring Pale mankind forth to meet his King.

IV.

Horror of Nature, Hell, and Death! When a deep groan from beneath Shall cry, We come, we come, and all The caues of Night answer one call.

V.

O that Book! whose leaues so bright Will sett the World in seuere light. O that Iudge! Whose hand, Whose eye None can indure; yet none can fly.

VI.

Ah then, poor soul, what wilt thou say? And to what patron chuse to pray? When starres themselues shall stagger; and The most firm foot no more then stand.

VII.

But Thou giu'st leaue (dread Lord!) that we Take shelter from Thy self, in Thee; And with the wings of Thine Own doue Fly to Thy scepter of soft loue.

VIII.

Dear, remember in that Day Who was the cause Thou cam'st this way. Thy sheep was stray'd; and Thou wouldst be Euen lost Thyself in seeking me.

IX.

Shall all that labour, all that cost Of loue, and eu'n that losse, be lost? And this lou'd soul, iudg'd worth no lesse Then all that way, and wearyness.

X.

Iust mercy then, Thy reckning be With my Price, and not with me; 'Twas pay'd at first with too much pain, To be pay'd twice; or once, in vain.

XI.

Mercy (my Iudge), mercy I cry With blushing cheek and bleeding ey: The conscious colors of my sin Are red without and pale within.

XII.

O let Thine Own soft bowells pay Thy self; and so discharge that day. If Sin can sigh, Loue can forgiue: O say the word, my soul shall liue.

XIII.

Those mercyes which Thy Mary found, Or who Thy crosse confes't and crown'd; Hope tells my heart, the same loues be Still aliue, and still for me.

XIV.

Though both my prayres and teares combine, Both worthlesse are; for they are mine. But Thou Thy bounteous Self still be; And show Thou art, by sauing me.

XV.

O when Thy last frown shall proclaim The flocks of goates to folds of flame, And all Thy lost sheep found shall be; Let 'Come ye blessed,' then call me.

XVI.

When the dread 'Ite' shall diuide Those limbs of death, from Thy left side; Let those life-speaking lipps command That I inheritt Thy right hand.

XVII.

O hear a suppliant heart, all crush't And crumbled into contrite dust. My hope, my fear! my Iudge, my Freind! Take charge of me, and of my end.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In st. vi. line 4, 'then' is = than, on which cf. our PHINEAS FLETCHER, as before: in st. xvi. line 1, 'Ite' = 'go ye' of the Vulgate. 1670, st. ii. line 3, misprints 'these' for 'those:' st. viii. line 3, 'And Thou would'st be,' i.e. didst will to be,--not merely wished to be, but carried out Thy intent. G.

CHARITAS NIMIA, OR THE DEAR BARGAIN.[55]

Lord, what is man? why should he coste Thee 1 So dear? what had his ruin lost Thee? Lord, what is man? that thou hast ouerbought So much a thing of nought?

Loue is too kind, I see; and can 5 Make but a simple merchant-man. 'Twas for such sorry merchandise, Bold painters haue putt out his eyes.

Alas, sweet Lord, what wer't to Thee If there were no such wormes as we? 10 Heau'n ne're the lesse still Heau'n would be, Should mankind dwell In the deep Hell: What haue his woes to doe with Thee?

Let him goe weep 15 O're his own wounds; Seraphims will not sleep Nor spheares let fall their faithfull rounds. Still would the youthfull spirits sing; And still Thy spatious palace ring; 20 Still would those beauteous ministers of light Burn all as bright.

And bow their flaming heads before Thee: Still thrones and dominations would adore Thee; Still would those euer-wakefull sons of fire 25 Keep warm Thy prayse Both nights and dayes, And teach Thy lou'd name to their noble lyre.

Let froward dust then doe it's kind; And giue it self for sport to the proud wind. 30 Why should a peice of peeuish clay plead shares In the aeternity of Thy old cares? Why shouldst Thou bow Thy awfull brest to see What mine own madnesses haue done with me?

Should not the king still keepe his throne 35 Because some desperate fool's vndone? Or will the World's illustrious eyes Weep for euery worm that dyes.

Will the gallant sun E're the lesse glorious run? 40 Will he hang down his golden head Or e're the sooner seek his Western bed, Because some foolish fly Growes wanton, and will dy?

If I were lost in misery, 45 What was it to Thy Heaun and Thee? What was it to Thy pretious blood If my foul heart call'd for a floud?

What if my faithlesse soul and I Would needs fall in 50 With guilt and sin; What did the Lamb, that He should dy? What did the Lamb, that He should need, When the wolf sins, Himself to bleed?

If my base lust, 55 Bargain'd with Death and well-beseeming dust: Why should the white Lamb's bosom write The purple name Of my sin's shame? 60 Why should His vnstaind brest make good My blushes with His Own heart-blood?

O my Saviovr, make me see How dearly Thou hast payd for me, That lost again my life may proue, 65 As then in death, so now in loue.

S. MARIA MAIOR.

Dilectus meus mihi, et ego illi, qui pascitur inter lilia. Cant. ii.

THE HIMN, O GLORIOSA DOMINA.[56]

Hail, most high, most humble one! 1 Aboue the world, below thy Son; Whose blush the moon beauteously marres And staines the timerous light of stares. He that made all things, had not done 5 Till He had made Himself thy Son: The whole World's host would be thy guest And board Himself at thy rich brest. O boundles hospitality! The Feast of all things feeds on thee. 10 The first Eue, mother of our Fall, E're she bore any one, slew all. Of her vnkind gift might we haue Th' inheritance of a hasty grave: Quick-burye'd in the wanton tomb 15 Of one forbidden bitt; Had not a better frvit forbidden it. Had not thy healthfull womb The World's new eastern window bin, And giuen vs heau'n again, in giuing Him. 20 Thine was the rosy dawn, that spring the Day Which renders all the starres she stole away. Let then the aged World be wise, and all Proue nobly here vnnaturall; 'Tis gratitude to forgett that other 25 And call the maiden Eue their mother. Yee redeem'd nations farr and near, Applaud your happy selues in her; (All you to whom this loue belongs) And keep't aliue with lasting songs. 30 Let hearts and lippes speak lowd; and say Hail, door of life: and sourse of Day! The door was shut, the fountain seal'd; Yet Light was seen and Life reueal'd. The door was shut, yet let in day, 35 The fountain seal'd, yet life found way. Glory to Thee, great virgin's Son In bosom of Thy Father's blisse. The same to Thee, sweet Spirit be done; As euer shall be, was, and is. Amen. 40

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

The heading in 1648 is simply 'The Virgin-Mother:' in 1670 it is 'The Hymn, O Gloriosa Domina.'

Line 2, 1648 reads 'the Son.'

" 10, our text (1652) misprints 'the' for 'thee.'

Line 21, I follow here the text of 1648. 1652 reads

'Thine was the rosy dawn that sprung the day.'

and this is repeated in 1670 and, of course, by TURNBULL.

Line 26, 1648 has 'your' for 'their.'

" 35 is inadvertently dropped in our text (1652), though the succeeding line (with which it rhymes) appears. I restore it. 1670 also drops it; and so again TURNBULL!

Lines 43-44, 'Because some foolish fly.' This metaphorical allusion to the Fall and its results (as described by MILTON and others) is founded on the dying of various insects after begetting their kind. G.

HOPE.[57]

Hope, whose weak beeing ruin'd is 1 Alike if it succeed or if it misse! Whom ill and good doth equally confound, And both the hornes of Fate's dilemma wound. Vain shadow; that dost vanish quite 5 Both at full noon and perfect night! The starres haue not a possibility Of blessing thee. If thinges then from their end we happy call, 'Tis Hope is the most hopelesse thing of all. 10

Hope, thou bold taster of delight! Who in stead of doing so, deuourst it quite. Thou bringst vs an estate, yet leau'st vs poor By clogging it with legacyes before. The ioyes which we intire should wed 15 Come deflour'd-virgins to our bed. Good fortunes without gain imported be Such mighty custom's paid to thee For ioy, like wine kep't close, doth better tast; If it take air before, his spirits wast. 20

Hope, Fortun's cheating lottery, Where for one prize, an hundred blankes there be. Fond anchor, Hope! who tak'st thine aime so farr That still or short or wide thine arrows are; Thinne empty cloud which th' ey deceiues 25 With shapes that our own fancy giues. A cloud which gilt and painted now appeares But must drop presently in teares: When thy false beames o're reason's light preuail, By ignes fatvi for North starres we sail. 30

Brother of Fear, more gaily clad, The merryer fool o' th' two, yet quite as mad. Sire of Repentance, child of fond desire That blow'st the chymick's and the louer's fire. Still leading them insensibly on 35 With the strong witchcraft of 'anon.' By thee the one does changing nature, through Her endlesse labyrinths pursue; And th' other chases woman; while she goes More wayes and turnes then hunted Nature knowes. 40

M. COWLEY.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In all the editions save that of 1652 the respective portions of COWLEY and CRASHAW are alternated as Question and Answer, after a fashion of the day exemplified by Pembroke and RUDYARD and others. The heading in 1646, 1648 and 1670 accordingly is 'On Hope, by way of Question and Answer, between A. COWLEY and R. CRASHAW.'

Various readings from 1646 edition.

Line 3, 'and' for 'or,' and 'doth' for 'does.'

" 7, 'Fates' for 'starres:' but as Fate occurs in line 4, 'starres' seems preferable.

Line 9, 'ends' for 'end.'

" 18, 'so' for 'such.'

" 19, 'doth' for 'does;' adopted.

" 20, 'its' for 'his;' the personification warrants 'his.'

" 25. All the other editions misread

'Thine empty cloud, the eye it selfe deceives.'

There can be no question that 'thinne' not 'thine' was the poet's word. Cf. CRASHAW'S reference in his Answer. TURNBULL perpetuates the error.

Line 30, 'not' for 'for.'

" 33, 'shield' in all the editions save 1652 by mistake.

" 34, 'blows' and 'chymicks' for 'chymick;' the latter adopted.

Line 37, as in line 19.

" 38, spelled 'laborinths.'

In our Essay see critical remarks showing that COWLEY and CRASHAW revised their respective portions. It seems to have escaped notice that COWLEY himself wrote another poem 'For Hope,' as his former was 'Against Hope.' See it in our Study of Crashaw's Life and Poetry. G.

M. CRASHAW'S ANSWER FOR HOPE.[58]

Dear Hope! Earth's dowry, and Heaun's debt! 1 The entity of things that are not yet. Subtlest, but surest beeing! thou by whom Our nothing has a definition! Substantiall shade! whose sweet allay 5 Blends both the noones of Night and Day: Fates cannot find out a capacity Of hurting thee. From thee their lean dilemma, with blunt horn, Shrinkes, as the sick moon from the wholsome morn. 10

Rich hope! Loue's legacy, vnder lock Of Faith! still spending, and still growing stock! Our crown-land lyes aboue, yet each meal brings A seemly portion for the sonnes of kings. Nor will the virgin ioyes we wed 15 Come lesse vnbroken to our bed, Because that from the bridall cheek of Blisse Thou steal'st vs down a distant kisse. Hope's chast stealth harmes no more Ioye's maidenhead Then spousal rites preiudge the marriage bed. 20 Fair hope! Our earlyer Heau'n! by thee Young Time is taster to Eternity: Thy generous wine with age growes strong, not sowre, Nor does it kill thy fruit, to smell thy flowre. Thy golden, growing head neuer hangs down 25 Till in the lappe of Loue's full noone It falls; and dyes! O no, it melts away As doth the dawn into the Day: As lumpes of sugar loose themselues, and twine Their subtile essence with the soul of wine. 30

Fortune? alas, aboue the World's low warres Hope walks; and kickes the curld heads of conspiring starres. Her keel cutts not the waues where these winds stirr, Fortune's whole lottery is one blank to her. Her shafts and shee, fly farre above, 35 And forage in the fields of light and love. Sweet Hope! kind cheat! fair fallacy! by thee We are not where nor what we be, But what and where we would be. Thus art thou Our absent presence, and our future now. 40

Faith's sister! nurse of fair desire! Fear's antidote! a wise and well-stay'd fire! Temper 'twixt chill Despair, and torrid Ioy! Queen regent in yonge Loue's minority! Though the vext chymick vainly chases 45 His fugitiue gold through all her faces; Though Loue's more feirce, more fruitlesse, fires assay: One face more fugitiue then all they; True Hope's a glorious huntresse, and her chase, The God of Nature in the feilds of grace. 50

NOTES.

Various readings from 1646 edition.

Line 2, 'things' for 'those;' adopted. But in HARLEIAN MS. 6917-18, it is 'those.' As this MS. supplies in poems onward various excellent readings (e.g. 'Wishes'), it may be noted that the Collection came from Lord Somers' Library of MSS., and is accordingly authoritative.

Lines 5-6 read

'Faire cloud of fire, both shade and light Our life in death, our day in night.'

Our text (1652) seems finer and deeper, and to put the thought with more concinnity.

Line 9, 'thinne' for 'lean.'

" 10, 'like' for 'as.'

" 11, 'Rich hope' dropped in all the other editions; but as it is parallel with the 'dear Hope' and 'fair Hope' of the preceding and succeeding stanzas, I have restored the words. The line reads elsewhere,

'Thou art Love's Legacie under lock'

and the next,

'Of Faith: the steward of our growing stock.'

Line 13, 'crown-lands lye.'

" 18, 'Thou thus steal'st downe a distant kisse.'

" 19, 'Hope's chaste kisse wrongs.'...

" 24, 'Nor need wee.'...

" 25, 'growing' is dropped.

" 28, 'doth' for 'does;' adopted.

" 30, 'subtile' for 'supple;' adopted: but in HARLEIAN MS. as before, it is 'supple.'

Lines 31-32. This couplet is oddly misprinted in all the other editions,

'Fortune, alas, above the world's law warres, Hope kicks the curld'....

In 1670 there is a capital L to Law: but 'low' yields the evident meaning intended. Alas is = exclamation simply, not in our present limitation of it to sorrow. See Epitaph of HERRYS onward, lines 49-52.

Line 33, 'our' for 'these;' the latter necessary in its relation to 'low' not 'law,' the 'winds' being those of the 'warres' of our world.

Line 34, 'And Fate's' for 'Fortune's.'

" 35-36 dropped by our text (1652) inadvertently.

" 36, 'or' for 'nor.'

" 45, 'And' for 'Though.'

" 47, 'huntresse' for 'hunter;' adopted.

" 48, 'field' for 'fields.'

" 49. I prefer 'huntresse' of 1646, 1648 and 1670, to 'hunter' of our text (1652). G.

=Sacred Poetry.=

II.

AIRELLES.

FROM UNPUBLISHED MSS.

NOTE.

See our Preface for explanation of the title. 'Airelles' to these and other hitherto unprinted and unpublished Poems from the TANNER MSS. of Archbishop Sancroft: and our Essay for the biographic interest of the poems on the Gunpowder-Plot. I adhere strictly throughout to the orthography of the MS. G.

MARY SEEKING JESUS WHEN LOST.

St. Luke ii. 41-52: Quaerit Jesum suum Maria, &c. (v. 44.)

And is He gone, Whom these armes held but now? Their hope, their vow! Did euer greife and joy in one poore heart Soe soone change part? Hee's gone! The fair'st flower that e're bosome drest; My soule's sweet rest. My wombe's chast pride is gone, my heauen-borne boy; And where is joy? Hee's gone! and His lou'd steppes to wait vpon, My joy, is gone. My joyes, and Hee are gone; my greife, and I Alone must ly. Hee's gone! not leaving with me, till He come, One smile at home. Oh come then, bring Thy mother her lost joy: Oh come, sweet boy! Make hast, and come, or e're my greife and I Make hast, and dy. Peace, heart! The heauens are angry, all their spheres Rivall thy teares. I was mistaken, some faire sphere or other Was Thy blest mother. What but the fairest heauen, could owne the birth Of soe faire earth? Yet sure Thou did'st lodge heere: this wombe of mine Was once call'd Thine! Oft haue these armes Thy cradle envied, Beguil'd Thy bed. Oft to Thy easy eares hath this shrill tongue Trembled, and sung. Oft haue I wrapt Thy slumbers in soft aires, And stroak't Thy cares. Oft hath this hand those silken casements kept, While their sunnes slept. Oft haue my hungry kisses made Thine eyes Too early rise. Oft haue I spoild my kisses' daintiest diet, To spare Thy quiet. Oft from this breast to Thine, my loue-tost heart Hath leapt, to part. Oft my lost soule haue I bin glad to seeke On Thy soft cheeke. Oft haue these armes--alas!--show'd to these eyes Their now lost joyes. Dawne then to me, Thou morne of mine owne day, And lett heauen stay. Oh, would'st Thou heere still fixe Thy faire abode, My bosome God: What hinders, but my bosome still might be Thy heauen to Thee?

THE WOUNDS OF THE LORD JESUS.

IN CICATRICES DOMINI JESU.

Come braue soldjers, come and see Mighty Loue's artillery. This was the conquering dart; and loe There shines His quiuer, there His bow. These the passiue weapons are, That made great Loue, a man of warre. The quiver that He bore, did bide Soe neare, it prov'd His very side: In it there sate but one sole dart, A peircing one--His peirced heart. His weapons were nor steele, nor brasse, The weapon that He wore, He was. For bow His vnbent hand did serue, Well strung with many a broken nerue. Strange the quiver, bow and dart! A bloody side, and hand, and heart! But now the feild is wonne; and they (The dust of Warre cleane wip'd away) The weapons now of triumph be, That were before of Victorie.

ON YE GUNPOWDER-TREASON.[59]

I sing Impiety beyond a name: Who stiles it any thinge, knowes not the same. Dull, sluggish Ile! what more than lethargy Gripes thy cold limbes soe fast, thou canst not fly, And start from of[f] thy center? hath Heauen's loue Stuft thee soe full with blisse, thou can'st not moue? If soe, oh Neptune, may she farre be throwne By thy kind armes to a kind world vnknowne: Lett her surviue this day, once mock her fate, And shee's an island truely fortunate. Lett not my suppliant breath raise a rude storme To wrack my suite: O keepe Pitty warme In thy cold breast, and yearely on this day Mine eyes a tributary streame shall pay. Dos't thou not see an exhalation Belch'd from the sulph'ry lungs of Phlegeton? A living comet, whose pestiferous breath Adulterates the virgin aire? with death It laboures: stif'led Nature's in a swound, Ready to dropp into a chaos, round About horror's displai'd; It doth portend, That earth a shoure of stones to heauen shall send, And crack the christall globe; the milkly streame Shall in a siluer raine runne out, whose creame Shall choake the gaping earth, wch then shall fry In flames, & of a burning feuer dy. That wonders may in fashion be, not rare, A Winter's thunder with a groane shall scare, And rouze the sleepy ashes of the dead, Making them skip out of their dusty bed. Those twinckling eyes of heauen, wch eu'n now shin'd, Shall with one flash of lightning be struck blind. The sea shall change his youthfull greene, & slide Along the shore in a graue purple tide. It does praesage, that a great Prince shall climbe, And gett a starry throne before his time. To vsher in this shoale of prodigies, Thy infants, Aeolus, will not suffice. Noe, noe, a giant wind, that will not spare To tosse poore men like dust into the aire; Justle downe mountaines: Kings courts shall be sent, Like bandied balles, into the firmament. Atlas shall be tript vpp, Ioue's gate shall feele The weighty rudenes of his boysterous heele. All this it threats, & more: Horror, that flies To th' empyraeum of all miseries. Most tall hyperbole's cannot descry it; Mischeife, that scornes expression should come nigh it. All this it only threats: the meteor ly'd; It was exhal'd, a while it hung, & dy'd. Heauen kickt the monster downe: downe it was throwne, The fall of all things it praesag'd, its oune It quite forgott: the fearfull earth gaue way, And durst not touch it, heere it made noe stay. At last it stopt at Pluto's gloomy porch; He streightway lighted vpp his pitchy torch. Now to those toiling soules it giues its light, Wch had the happines to worke ith' night. They banne the blaze, & curse its curtesy, For lighting them vnto their misery. Till now Hell was imperfect; it did need Some rare choice torture; now 'tis Hell indeed. Then glutt thy dire lampe with the warmest blood, That runnes in violett pipes: none other food It can digest, then watch the wildfire well, Least it breake forth, & burne thy sooty cell.

UPON THE GUNPOWDER-TREASON.

Reach me a quill, pluckt from the flaming wing Of Pluto's Mercury, that I may sing Death to the life. My inke shall be the blood Of Cerberus, or Alecto's viperous brood. Vnmated malice! Oh vnpeer'd despight! Such as the sable pinions of the night Neuer durst hatch before: extracted see The very quintessence of villanie: I feare to name it; least that he, wch heares, Should haue his soule frighted beyond the spheres. Heauen was asham'd, to see our mother Earth Engender with the Night, & teeme a birth Soe foule, one minute's light had it but seene, The fresh face of the morne had blasted beene. Her rosy cheekes you should haue seene noe more Dy'd in vermilion blushes, as before: But in a vaile of clouds mufling her head A solitary life she would haue led. Affrighted Phoebus would haue lost his way, Giving his wanton palfreys leaue to play Olympick games in the' Olympian plaines, His trembling hands loosing the golden raines. The Queene of night gott the greene sicknes then, Sitting soe long at ease in her darke denne, Not daring to peepe forth, least that a stone Should beate her headlong from her jetty throne. Ioue's twinckling tapers, that doe light the world, Had beene puft out, and from their stations hurl'd: Aeol kept in his wrangling sonnes, least they With this grand blast should haue bin blowne away. Amazed Triton, with his shrill alarmes Bad sporting Neptune to pluck in his armes, And leaue embracing of the Isles, least hee Might be an actor in this Tragedy. Nor should wee need thy crisped waues, for wee An Ocean could haue made t' haue drowned thee. Torrents of salt teares from our eyes should runne, And raise a deluge, where the flaming sunne Should coole his fiery wheeles, & neuer sinke Soe low to giue his thirsty stallions drinke; Each soule in sighes had spent its dearest breath, As glad to waite vpon their King in death. Each winged chorister would swan-like sing A mournfull dirge to their deceased king. The painted meddowes would haue laught no more For ioye of their neate coates; but would haue tore Their shaggy locks, their flowry mantles turn'd Into dire sable weeds, & sate, & mourn'd. Each stone had streight a Niobe become, And wept amaine; then rear'd a costly tombe, T' entombe the lab'ring earth. For surely shee Had died just in her deliuery. But when Ioue's winged heralds this espied, Vpp to th' Almighty thunderer they hied, Relating this sad story. Streight way hee The monster crusht, maugre their midwiferie. And may such Pythons neuer liue to see The Light's faire face, but still abortiue bee.

UPON THE GUNPOWDER-TREASON.

Grow plumpe, leane Death; his Holinesse a feast Hath now praepar'd, & you maist be his guest. Come grimme Destruction, & in purple gore Dye seu'n times deeper than they were before Thy scarlet robes: for heere you must not share A common banquett: noe, heere's princely fare. And least thy blood-shott eyes should lead aside This masse of cruelty, to be thy guide Three coleblack sisters, (whose long sutty haire, And greisly visages doe fright the aire; When Night beheld them, shame did almost turne Her sable cheekes into a blushing morne, To see some fowler than herselfe) these stand, Each holding forth to light the aery brand, Whose purer flames tremble to be soe nigh, And in fell hatred burning, angry dy. Sly, lurking treason is his bosome freind, Whom faint, & palefac't Feare doth still attend. These need noe invitation, onely thou Black dismall Horror, come; make perfect now Th' epitome of Hell: oh lett thy pinions Be a gloomy canopy to Pluto's minions. In this infernall Majesty close shrowd Your selues, you Stygian states; a pitchy clowd Shall hang the roome, & for your tapers bright, Sulphureous flames, snatch'd from aeternall night. But rest, affrighted Muse; thy siluer wings May not row neerer to these dusky rings.[60] Cast back some amorous glances on the cates, That heere are dressing by the hasty Fates, Nay stopp thy clowdy eyes, it is not good, To drowne thy selfe in this pure pearly flood. But since they are for fire-workes, rather proue A phenix, & in chastest flames of loue Offer thy selfe a virgin sacrifice To quench the rage of hellish deities. But dares Destruction eate these candid breasts, The Muses, & the Graces sugred neasts? Dares hungry Death snatch of one cherry lipp? Or thirsty Treason offer once to sippe One dropp of this pure nectar, wch doth flow In azure channells warme through mounts of snow? The roses fresh, conserued from the rage, And cruell ravishing of frosty age, Feare is afraid to tast of: only this, He humbly crau'd to banquett on a kisse. Poore meagre horror streightwaies was amaz'd, And in the stead of feeding stood, & gaz'd. Their appetites were gone at th' uery sight; But yet theire eyes surfett with sweet delight. Only the Pope a stomack still could find; But yett they were not powder'd to his mind. Forth-with each god stept from his starry throne, And snatch'd away the banquett; euery one Convey'd his sweet delicious treasury To the close closet of aeternity: Where they will safely keepe it, from the rude, And rugged touch of Pluto's multitude.

=Secular Poetry.=

I.

THE DELIGHTS OF THE MUSES

(1646).

NOTE.

For the title-page of 'The Delights of the Muses' see Note immediately before the original Preface, and our Preface on the classification of the several poems. G.

MUSICK'S DUELL.[61]

Now Westward Sol had spent the richest beams 1 Of Noon's high glory, when hard by the streams Of Tiber, on the sceane of a greene plat, Vnder protection of an oake, there sate A sweet Lute's-master; in whose gentle aires 5 He lost the daye's heat, and his owne hot cares. Close in the covert of the leaves there stood A Nightingale, come from the neighbouring wood: (The sweet inhabitant of each glad tree, Their Muse, their Syren--harmlesse Syren she!) 10 There stood she listning, and did entertaine The musick's soft report, and mold the same In her owne murmures, that what ever mood His curious fingers lent, her voyce made good: The man perceiv'd his rivall, and her art; 15 Dispos'd to give the light-foot lady sport, Awakes his lute, and 'gainst the fight to come Informes it in a sweet praeludium Of closer straines, and ere the warre begin, He lightly skirmishes on every string, 20 Charg'd with a flying touch: and streightway she Carves out her dainty voyce as readily, Into a thousand sweet distinguish'd tones, And reckons up in soft divisions, Quicke volumes of wild notes; to let him know 25 By that shrill taste, she could do something too. His nimble hands' instinct then taught each string A capring cheerefullnesse; and made them sing To their owne dance; now negligently rash He throwes his arme, and with a long drawne dash 30 Blends all together; then distinctly tripps From this to that; then quicke returning skipps And snatches this again, and pauses there. Shee measures every measure, every where Meets art with art; sometimes as if in doubt 35 Not perfect yet, and fearing to be out, Trayles her plaine ditty in one long-spun note, Through the sleeke passage of her open throat, A cleare unwrinckled song; then doth shee point it With tender accents, and severely joynt it 40 By short diminutives, that being rear'd In controverting warbles evenly shar'd, With her sweet selfe shee wrangles. Hee amazed That from so small a channell should be rais'd The torrent of a voyce, whose melody 45 Could melt into such sweet variety, Straines higher yet; that tickled with rare art The tatling strings (each breathing in his part) Most kindly doe fall out; the grumbling base In surly groans disdaines the treble's grace; 50 The high-perch't treble chirps at this, and chides, Vntill his finger (Moderatour) hides And closes the sweet quarrell, rowsing all, Hoarce, shrill at once; as when the trumpets call Hot Mars to th' harvest of Death's field, and woo 55 Men's hearts into their hands: this lesson too Shee gives him back, her supple brest thrills out Sharpe aires, and staggers in a warbling doubt Of dallying sweetnesse, hovers o're her skill, And folds in wav'd notes with a trembling bill 60 The plyant series of her slippery song; Then starts shee suddenly into a throng Of short, thicke sobs, whose thundring volleyes float And roule themselves over her lubrick throat In panting murmurs, 'still'd out of her breast, 65 That ever-bubling spring; the sugred nest Of her delicious soule, that there does lye Bathing in streames of liquid melodie; Musick's best seed-plot, whence in ripen'd aires A golden-headed harvest fairely reares 70 His honey-dropping tops, plow'd by her breath, Which there reciprocally laboureth In that sweet soyle; it seemes a holy quire Founded to th' name of great Apollo's lyre, Whose silver-roofe rings with the sprightly notes 75 Of sweet-lipp'd angel-imps, that swill their throats In creame of morning Helicon, and then Preferre soft-anthems to the eares of men, To woo them from their beds, still murmuring That men can sleepe while they their mattens sing: 80 (Most divine service) whose so early lay, Prevents the eye-lidds of the blushing Day! There you might heare her kindle her soft voyce, In the close murmur of a sparkling noyse, And lay the ground-worke of her hopefull song, 85 Still keeping in the forward streame, so long, Till a sweet whirle-wind (striving to get out) Heaves her soft bosome, wanders round about, And makes a pretty earthquake in her breast, Till the fledg'd notes at length forsake their nest, 90 Fluttering in wanton shoales, and to the sky Wing'd with their owne wild ecchos, pratling fly. Shee opes the floodgate, and lets loose a tide Of streaming sweetnesse, which in state doth ride On the wav'd backe of every swelling straine, 95 Rising and falling in a pompous traine. And while she thus discharges a shrill peale Of flashing aires; she qualifies their zeale With the coole epode of a graver noat, Thus high, thus low, as if her silver throat 100 Would reach the brazen voyce of War's hoarce bird; Her little soule is ravisht: and so pour'd Into loose extasies, that she is plac't Above her selfe, Musick's Enthusiast. Shame now and anger mixt a double staine 105 In the Musitian's face; yet once againe (Mistresse) I come; now reach a straine my lute Above her mocke, or be for ever mute; Or tune a song of victory to me, Or to thy selfe, sing thine own obsequie: 110 So said, his hands sprightly as fire, he flings And with a quavering coynesse tasts the strings. The sweet-lip't sisters, musically frighted, Singing their feares, are fearefully delighted, Trembling as when Appolo's golden haires 115 Are fan'd and frizled, in the wanton ayres Of his own breath: which marryed to his lyre Doth tune the spheares, and make Heaven's selfe looke higher. From this to that, from that to this he flyes. Feeles Musick's pulse in all her arteryes; 120 Caught in a net which there Apollo spreads, His fingers struggle with the vocall threads. Following those little rills, he sinkes into A sea of Helicon; his hand does goe Those pathes of sweetnesse which with nectar drop, 125 Softer than that which pants in Hebe's cup. The humourous strings expound his learned touch, By various glosses; now they seeme to grutch, And murmur in a buzzing dinne, then gingle In shrill-tongu'd accents: striving to be single. 130 Every smooth turne, every delicious stroake Gives life to some new grace; thus doth h' invoke Sweetnesse by all her names; thus, bravely thus (Fraught with a fury so harmonious) The lute's light genius now does proudly rise, 135 Heav'd on the surges of swolne rapsodyes, Whose flourish (meteor-like) doth curle the aire With flash of high-borne fancyes: here and there Dancing in lofty measures, and anon Creeps on the soft touch of a tender tone; 140 Whose trembling murmurs melting in wild aires Runs to and fro, complaining his sweet cares, Because those pretious mysteryes that dwell In Musick's ravish't soule, he dares not tell, But whisper to the world: thus doe they vary 145 Each string his note, as if they meant to carry Their Master's blest soule (snatcht out at his eares By a strong extasy) through all the spheares Of Musick's heaven; and seat it there on high In th' empyraeum of pure harmony. 150 At length (after so long, so loud a strife Of all the strings, still breathing the best life Of blest variety, attending on His fingers fairest revolution In many a sweet rise, many as sweet a fall) 155 A full-mouth'd diapason swallowes all. This done, he lists what she would say to this, And she, (although her breath's late exercise Had dealt too roughly with her tender throate,) Yet summons all her sweet powers for a noate. 160 Alas! in vaine! for while (sweet soule!) she tryes To measure all those wild diversities Of chatt'ring strings, by the small size of one Poore simple voyce, rais'd in a naturall tone; She failes, and failing grieves, and grieving dyes. 165 She dyes: and leaves her life the Victor's prise, Falling upon his lute: O, fit to have (That liv'd so sweetly) dead, so sweet a grave!

II. AN EPIGRAMME (part 4)

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In our Essay we give the original Latin of this very remarkable poem, that the student may see how CRASHAW has ennobled and transfigured STRADA. Still further to show how much we owe to our Poet, I print here (a) An anonymous translation, which I discovered at the British Museum in Additional MSS. 19.268; never before printed. (b) Sir FRANCIS WORTLEY'S translation from his 'Characters and Elegies' (1646). In the former I have been obliged to leave one or two words unfilled-in as illegible in the MS.

(a) The Musicke Warre between ye Fidler and the Nightingale.

Nowe had greate Sol ye middle orbe forsooke When as a fidler by a slidinge brooke With shadie bowers was guarded from ye aire And on his fidle plaid away his care. A nightingale hid in the leaues there stood The muse and harmeles Syren of the wood; Shee snatcht ye soundes and with an echo prates: What his hand playde her voice reiterates. Perceavinge how ye listninge bird did sit Ye fidler faine would make some sport with it, And neately stroke ye lute; then she began And through those notes ran glib division; Then with quicke hand he strikes ye tremblinge strings, Now with a skilfull negligence he flings His carelesse armes, then softly playes his part: Then shee begins and answers art with art, And now as if vncertaine how to singe Lengthens her notes and choisest art doth bringe, And interminglinge softer notes with shrill Daintily quavers through her trembling bill. Ye fidler wonders such melodious notes Shold haue proceedinges from soe slender throats; Tryes her againe, then loudly spoke ye.... Sometimes graue were ye tones, sometimes.... Then high, then lowe againe, yn sweetly iarrs Just like a trumpet callinge men to warrs. Thus did ye dainty Philomela doe And with hoarse voice sange an alarme too. The fidler blusht, and al in ragg [i.e. rage] he went About to breake his conquered instrument, But yet suspectinge lest ambitious shee Shold to the woods warble her victory; Strikes with inimitable blowes And flies through all the strings, now these, now those, Then tryes the notes, labours in each strayne And then expects if shee replyed agayne. The poore harmonious bird now almost dombe, But impatient, to be overcome Calls her sweet strength together all in vayne, For while shee thinkes to imitate each strayne In pure and natiue language, in this strife And dayntie musicke warre shee left her life, And yeldinge to the gladsome conquerour Falls in his fidle: a fit sepulchere.

(b) From 'Characters and Elegies.' By Francis Wortley, knight and baronet: 1646 (p. 66). A Paraphrase upon the Verses which Famianus Strada made of the Lutanist and Philomell in Contestation.

'When past the middle orbe the parching sun Had downward nearer our horizon run A Lutenist neare Tiber's streames had found Where the eccho did resound. Under a holme a shady bower he made To ease his cares, his severall phancies play'd; The philomell no sooner did the musicke hear But straight-wayes she drew neare. The harmlesse Syren, musicke of the wood, Hid in a leavy-bush, she hearking stood, She ruminates upon the ayers he plaid, And to him answers made. With her shirl voyce doth all his paines requite Lost not one note, but to his play sung right; Well pleased to heare her skil, and envy, he Tryes his variety. And dares her with his severall notes, runs throw Even all the strains his skill could reach unto: A thousand wayes he tryes: she answers all, And for new straynes dares call. He could not touch a string in such a straine, To which she warble and not sung it plaine; His fingers could not reach to greater choice, Then she did with her voyce. The Lutenist admired her narrow throat Could reach so high or fall to any note: But that which he did thinke in her most strange, She instantly could change. Or sharpe or flat, or meane, or quicke, or slow, What ere he plaid, she the like skill would show: And if he inward did his notes recall, She answer made to all. Th' inraged Lutenist, he blusht for shame That he could not this weake corrivall tame: If thou canst answer this I'le breake my lute, And yeild in the dispute. He said no more, but aimes at such a height Of skill, he thought she could not imitate: He shows the utmost cunning of his hand And all he could command. He tryes his strength, his active fingers flye To every string and stop, now low, now high, And higher yet he multiplyes his skill, Then doth his chorus fill. Then he expecting stands to try if she His envy late would yeeld the victory: She would not yeeld, but summons all her force Though tyred out and hoarse. She strives with various strings the lute's bast chest The spirit of man, one narrow throat and chest: Unequal matches, yet she's pleased that she Concludes victoriously. Her spirit was such she would not live to heare The Lutenist bestow on her a jeere, But broken-hearted fall upon the tombe She choose the sweet lute's wombe. The warbling lutes doe yet their triumphs tell (With mournfull accents) of the philomell, And have usurpt the title ever since, Of harmony the prince. The morall this, by emulation wee May much improve both art and industry, Though she deserve the name of Philomell Yet men must her excell.'

A third (anonymous) translation, with the Latin on the opposite pages, I came on in LANSDOWNE MSS. 3910, Pl. lxvi. from which extracts will be found in our Essay.

In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is 'Fidicinis et Philomelae Bellum Musicum. R. CR.' It reads in line 79 'whence' for 'where;' adopted: line 125, 'pathes' for 'parts;' adopted: other variations only orthographic, as is the case with the different editions. I note these: in 1670, line 83 reads 'might you:' line 99, 1646 misprints 'grave:' line 156, our text misprints 'full-mouth,' and so 1646; I adopt 'full-mouth'd' from 1670 and SANCROFT MS. G.

THE PRAISE OF THE SPRING:

OUT OF VIRGIL.[62]

All trees, all leavy groves confesse the Spring 1 Their gentlest friend; then, then the lands begin To swell with forward pride, and feed desire To generation; Heaven's Almighty Sire Melts on the bosome of His love, and powres 5 Himselfe into her lap in fruitfull showers. And by a soft insinuation, mixt With Earth's large masse, doth cherish and assist Her weake conceptions. No lone shade but rings With chatring birds' delicious murmurings; 10 Then Venus' mild instinct (at set times) yields The herds to kindly meetings, then the fields (Quick with warme Zephyre's lively breath) lay forth Their pregnant bosomes in a fragrant birth. Each body's plump and jucy, all things full 15 Of supple moisture: no coy twig but will Trust his beloved blossome to the sun (Growne lusty now): no vine so weake and young That feares the foule-mouth'd Auster or those stormes That the Southwest-wind hurries in his armes, 20 But hasts her forward blossomes, and layes out Freely layes out her leaves: nor doe I doubt But when the world first out of chaos sprang So smil'd the dayes, and so the tenor ran Of their felicity. A Spring was there, 25 An everlasting Spring, the jolly yeare Led round in his great circle; no wind's breath As then did smell of Winter or of Death. When Life's sweet light first shone on beasts, and when From their hard mother Earth, sprang hardy men, 30 When beasts tooke up their lodging in the Wood, Starres in their higher chambers: never cou'd The tender growth of things endure the sence Of such a change, but that the Heav'ns indulgence Kindly supplyes sick Nature, and doth mold 35 A sweetly-temper'd meane, nor hot nor cold.

WITH A PICTURE SENT TO A FRIEND.[63]

I paint so ill, my peece had need to be 1 Painted againe by some good poesie. I write so ill, my slender line is scarce So much as th' picture of a well-lim'd verse: Yet may the love I send be true, though I 5 Send not true picture, nor true poesie. Both which away, I should not need to feare, My love, or feign'd or painted should appeare.

IN PRAISE OF LESSIUS'S RULE OF HEALTH.[64]

Goe now, with some dareing drugg, 1 Baite thy disease, and while they tugg, Thou, to maintaine their cruell strife Spend the deare treasure of thy life: Goe take physicke, doat upon 5 Some big-nam'd composition,-- The oraculous doctors' mistick bills, Certain hard words made into pills; And what at length shalt get by these? Onely a costlyer disease. 10 Goe poore man, thinke what shall bee Remedie 'gainst thy remedie. That which makes us have no need Of phisick, that's phisick indeed. Heark hither, Reader: would'st thou see 15 Nature her own physician be? Would'st see a man all his own wealth, His own musick, his own health? A man, whose sober soul can tell How to wear her garments well? 20 Her garments, that upon her sit, (As garments should do) close and fit? A well-clothed soul, that's not opprest Nor choked with what she should be drest? Whose soul's sheath'd in a crystall shrine, 25 Through which all her bright features shine? As when a piece of wanton lawn, A thin aerial vail is drawn, O're Beauty's face; seeming to hide, More sweetly shows the blushing bride: 30 A soul, whose intellectuall beams No mists do mask, no lazie steams? A happie soul, that all the way To Heav'n, hath a Summer's day? Would'st see a man whose well-warm'd bloud 35 Bathes him in a genuine floud? A man, whose tuned humours be A set of rarest harmonie? Would'st see blithe looks, fresh cheeks beguile Age? Would'st see December smile? 40 Would'st see a nest of roses grow In a bed of reverend snow? Warm thoughts, free spirits, flattering Winter's self into a Spring? In summe, would'st see a man that can 45 Live to be old, and still a man? Whose latest, and most leaden houres, Fall with soft wings, stuck with soft flowres; And when Life's sweet fable ends, His soul and bodie part like friends: 50 No quarrels, murmures, no delay: A kisse, a sigh, and so away? This rare one, Reader, would'st thou see, Heark hither: and thyself be he.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

Besides the reprint of 1646 as supra, this poem appeared in 1648 (pp. 8, 9), 1652 (pp. 126-8), where it is entitled 'Temperance. Of the Cheap Physitian, vpon the Translation of Lessivs (pp. 126-8):' and 1670 (pp. 108-9 and pp. 207-8, being inadvertently printed twice). These variations are noticeable:

Line 1, in 1648 and 1652, 'Goe now and with....'

" 2, in 1670, 'the' for 'thy;' and TURNBULL, as usual, repeats the error.

Line 3, in 1648 'pretious' for 'cruel:' so 1670 in 2d copy.

" 9, ib. 'last' for 'length,' and 1670 'gaine' for 'get' in 2d copy.

Lines 11, 12, this couplet is inadvertently dropped in 1648. I adopt ''gainst' for 'against' from SANCROFT MS. in line 12.

Line 15, ib. 'wilt' for 'wouldst.'

" 18, 'physick' in 1646, 1648 and 1670 (1st copy); but 'musick' is assuredly the finer reading, as in Hygiasticon and 1670 (in 2d copy). Cf. lines 19, 20, onward, which show that 'music' was intended.

Line 25, in all the three editions 'a' for 'whose:' in 1670 (2d copy) 'A soul sheath'd....'

Line 34, in 1646 'hath' for 'rides in,' and so in 1670 (1st copy): 'hath' seems the simpler and better.

Line 35, 1646 and 1670 misinsert 'thou' before 'see.'

" 38, 'set' for 'seat' in the three editions (1670, 1st copy); adopted.

Line 41, in 1648 'Would'st see nests of new roses grow:' so 1670 (2d copy).

Line 46, 1646 and 1670 end here.

Leonard Lessius was a learned Jesuit, born 1st October 1554, and died 15th January 1623-4. He was professor of theology in the University of Louvaine. His 'Hygiasticon, seu vera ratio valetudinis bonae et vitae' is still readable and quick. G.

THE BEGINNING OF HELIODORUS.[65]

The smiling Morne had newly wak't the Day, 1 And tipt the mountaines with a tender ray: When on a hill (whose high imperious brow Lookes downe, and sees the humble Nile below Licke his proud feet, and haste into the seas 5 Through the great mouth that's nam'd from Hercules) A band of men, rough as the armes they wore Look't round, first to the sea, then to the shore. The shore that shewed them, what the sea deny'd, Hope of a prey. There to the maine-land ty'd 10 A ship they saw; no men she had, yet prest Appear'd with other lading, for her brest Deep in the groaning waters wallowed Vp to the third ring: o're the shore was spread Death's purple triumph; on the blushing ground 15 Life's late forsaken houses all lay drown'd In their owne blood's deare deluge: some new dead; Some panting in their yet warme ruines bled, While their affrighted soules, now wing'd for flight Lent them the last flash of her glimmering light. 20 Those yet fresh streames which crawled every where Shew'd that sterne Warre had newly bath'd him there. Nor did the face of this disaster show Markes of a fight alone, but feasting too: A miserable and a monstruous feast, 25 Where hungry Warre had made himself a guest: And comming late had eat up guests and all, Who prov'd the feast to their owne funerall &c.

CUPID'S CRYER:

OUT OF THE GREEKE.[66]

Love is lost, nor can his mother 1 Her little fugitive discover: She seekes, she sighes, but no where spyes him; Love is lost: and thus shee cryes him. O yes! if any happy eye, 5 This roaving wanton shall descry; Let the finder surely know Mine is the wagge; 'tis I that owe The winged wand'rer; and that none May thinke his labour vainely gone, 10 The glad descryer shall not misse, To tast the nectar of a kisse From Venus lipps. But as for him That brings him to me, he shall swim In riper joyes: more shall be his 15 (Venus assures him) than a kisse. But lest your eye discerning slide, These markes may be your judgement's guide; His skin as with a fiery blushing High-colour'd is; his eyes still flushing 20 With nimble flames; and though his mind Be ne're so curst, his tongue is kind: For never were his words in ought Found the pure issue of his thought. The working bees' soft melting gold, 25 That which their waxen mines enfold, Flow not so sweet as doe the tones Of his tun'd accents; but if once His anger kindle, presently It boyles out into cruelty, 30 And fraud: he makes poor mortalls' hurts The objects of his cruell sports. With dainty curles his froward face Is crown'd about: But O what place, What farthest nooke of lowest Hell 35 Feeles not the strength, the reaching spell Of his small hand? Yet not so small As 'tis powerfull therewithall. Though bare his skin, his mind he covers, And like a saucy bird he hovers 40 With wanton wing, now here, now there, 'Bout men and women, nor will spare Till at length he perching rest, In the closet of their brest. His weapon is a little bow, 45 Yet such a one as--Jove knows how-- Ne're suffred, yet his little arrow, Of Heaven's high'st arches to fall narrow. The gold that on his quiver smiles, Deceives men's feares with flattering wiles. 50 But O---too well my wounds can tell-- With bitter shafts 'tis sauc't too well. He is all cruell, cruell all, His torch imperious though but small Makes the sunne--of flames the sire-- 55 Worse than sun-burnt in his fire. Wheresoe're you chance to find him Ceaze him, bring him--but first bind him-- Pitty not him, but feare thy selfe Though thou see the crafty elfe, 60 Tell down his silver-drops unto thee: They'r counterfeit, and will undoe thee. With baited smiles if he display His fawning cheeks, looke not that way. If he offer sugred kisses, 65 Start, and say, the serpent hisses. Draw him, drag him, though he pray Wooe, intreat, and crying say Prethee, sweet, now let me go, Here's my quiver, shafts and bow, 70 I'le give thee all, take all; take heed Lest his kindnesse make thee bleed. What e're it be Loue offers, still presume That though it shines, 'tis fire and will consume.

VPON BISHOP ANDREWS' PICTURE BEFORE HIS SERMONS.[67]

This reverend shadow cast that setting sun, 1 Whose glorious course through our horrizon run, Left the dimme face of this dull hemispheare, All one great eye, all drown'd in one great teare. Whose faire, illustrious soule, led his free thought 5 Through Learning's vniverse, and (vainly) sought Room for her spatious selfe, untill at length Shee found the way home, with an holy strength; Snatch't her self hence to Heaven: fill'd a bright place, 'Mongst those immortall fires, and on the face 10 Of her great Maker fixt her flaming eye, There still to read true, pure divinity. And now that grave aspect hath deign'd to shrinke Into this lesse appearance: If you thinke 'Tis but a dead face, Art doth here bequeath: 15 Looke on the following leaves, and see him breath.

VPON THE DEATH OF A GENTLEMAN.[68]

Faithlesse and fond Mortality! 1 Who will ever credit thee? Fond, and faithlesse thing! that thus, In our best hopes beguilest us. What a reckoning hast thou made, 5 Of the hopes in him we laid! For life by volumes lengthened, A line or two to speake him dead. For the laurell in his verse, The sullen cypresse o're his herse crape 10 For soe many hoped yeares Of fruit, soe many fruitles teares: For a silver-crowned head A durty pillow in Death's bed. For so deare, so deep a trust, 15 Sad requitall, thus much dust! Now though the blow that snatch him hence, Stopt the mouth of Eloquence: Though shee be dumbe e're since his death, Not us'd to speake but in his breath; 20 Leaving his death vngarnished Therefore, because hee is dead Yet if at least shee not denyes, The sad language of our eyes, Wee are contented: for then this 25 Language none more fluent is. Nothing speakes our griefe so well As to speak nothing. Come then tell Thy mind in teares who e're thou be, That ow'st a name to misery. 30 Eyes are vocall, teares have tongues, And there be words not made with lungs; Sententious showres: O let them fall, Their cadence is rhetoricall. Here's a theame will drinke th' expence, 35 Of all thy watry eloquence. Weepe then! onely be exprest Thus much, 'he's dead:' and weep the rest.

VPON THE DEATH OF MR. HERRYS.[69]

A plant of noble stemme, forward and faire, 1 As ever whisper'd to the morning aire, Thriv'd in these happie grounds; the Earth's just pride; Whose rising glories made such haste to hide His head in cloudes, as if in him alone 5 Impatient Nature had taught motion To start from Time, and cheerfully to fly Before, and seize upon Maturity. Thus grew this gratious tree, in whose sweet shade The sunne himselfe oft wisht to sit, and made 10 The morning Muses perch like birds, and sing Among his branches: yea, and vow'd to bring His owne delicious phoenix from the blest Arabia, there to build her virgin nest, To hatch her selfe in; 'mongst his leaves, the Day 15 Fresh from the rosie East, rejoyc't to play; To them shee gave the first and fairest beame That waited on her birth: she gave to them The purest pearles, that wept her evening death; The balmy Zephirus got so sweet a breath 20 By often kissing them. And now begun Glad Time to ripen Expectation: The timorous maiden-blossomes on each bough Peept forth from their first blushes; so that now A thousand ruddy hopes smil'd in each bud, 25 And flatter'd every greedy eye that stood Fixt in delight, as if already there Those rare fruits dangled, whence the golden Yeare His crowne expected: when, (O Fate! O Time! That seldome lett'st a blushing youthfull prime 30 Hide his hot beames in shade of silver age, So rare is hoary Vertue) the dire rage Of a mad storme these bloomy joyes all tore, Ravisht the maiden blossoms, and downe bore The trunke. Yet in this ground his pretious root 35 Still lives, which when weake Time shall be pour'd out Into Eternity, and circular joyes Dance in an endlesse round, again shall rise The faire son of an ever-youthfull Spring, To be a shade for angels while they sing; 40 Meane while who e're thou art that passest here, O doe thou water it with one kind teare.

VPON THE DEATH OF THE MOST DESIRED MR. HERRYS.[70]

Death, what dost? O, hold thy blow, 1 What thou dost thou dost not know. Death, thou must not here be cruell, This is Nature's choycest iewell: This is hee, in whose rare frame 5 Nature labour'd for a name: And meant to leave his pretious feature The patterne of a perfect creature. Ioy of Goodnesse, love of Art, Vertue weares him next her heart. 10 Him the Muses love to follow, Him they call their vice-Apollo. Apollo, golden though thou bee, Th' art not fairer than is hee, Nor more lovely lift'st thy head 15 (Blushing) from thine Easterne bed. The glories of thy youth ne're knew Brighter hopes than his can shew. Why then should it e're be seen That his should fade, while thine is green? 20 And wilt thou (O, cruell boast!) Put poore Nature to such cost? O, twill undoe our common mother, To be at charge of such another. What? thinke me to no other end 25 Gracious heavens do use to send Earth her best perfection, But to vanish, and be gone? Therefore onely given to day To-morrow to be snatch't away? 30 I've seen indeed the hopefull bud Of a ruddy rose that stood Blushing, to behold the ray Of the new-saluted Day: (His tender toppe not fully spread) 35 The sweet dash of a shower new shead, Invited him, no more to hide Within himselfe the purple pride Of his forward flower; when lo, While he sweetly 'gan to show His swelling gloryes, Auster spide him, 40 Cruell Auster thither hy'd him, And with the rush of one rude blast, Sham'd not, spitefully to wast All his leaves, so fresh, so sweet, And lay them trembling at his feet. 45 I've seen the Morning's lovely ray Hover o're the new-borne Day, With rosie wings so richly bright, As if she scorn'd to thinke of Night; When a rugged storme, whose scowle 50 Made heaven's radiant face looke foule Call'd for an untimely night, To blot the newly-blossom'd light. But were the rose's blush so rare, Were the Morning's smile so faire, 55 As is he, nor cloud, nor wind, But would be courteous, would be kind. Spare him Death, ah! spare him then, Spare the sweetest among men: And let not Pitty, with her teares 60 Keepe such distance from thine eares. But O, thou wilt not, can'st not spare, Haste hath never time to heare. Therefore if he needs must go, And the Fates will have it so; 65 Softly may he be possest Of his monumentall rest. Safe, thou darke home of the dead, Safe, O hide his loved head: Keepe him close, close in thine armes, 70 Seal'd vpp with a thousand charmes. For Pittie's sake, O, hide him quite From his mother Nature's sight; Lest for griefe his losse may move All her births abortive proue. 75

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

See our Essay for notice of 'Mr. Herrys.' In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is 'An Elegie on Mr. Herris. R. CR.' It offers these variations: lines 1 and 2, 'doest:' line 18, 'his' for 'he;' adopted: line 29, 'given' for 'give;' adopted: line 36, 'new' for 'now;' adopted from 1648: line 50, the MS. reads 'rugged' for 'ruddy;' adopted: line 58, 'ah' for 'O;' adopted: line 60, 'And let:' lines 70-71 added from the MS., where in the margin is written 'not printed.' G.

ANOTHER.[71]

If ever Pitty were acquainted 1 With sterne Death; if e're he fainted, Or forgot the cruell vigour Of an adamantine rigour; Here, O, here we should have knowne it, 5 Here, or no where, hee'd have showne it. For hee, whose pretious memory Bathes in teares of every eye; Hee, to whom our Sorrow brings All the streames of all her springs; 10 Was so rich in grace, and nature, In all the gifts that blesse a creature; The fresh hopes of his lovely youth Flourish't in so faire a growth; So sweet the temple was, that shrin'd 15 The sacred sweetnesse of his mind; That could the Fates know to relent, Could they know what mercy meant, Or had ever learnt to beare The soft tincture of a teare; 20 Teares would now have flow'd so deepe, As might have taught Griefe how to weepe. Now all their steely operation Would quite have lost the cruell fashion. Sicknesse would have gladly been 25 Sick himselfe to have sav'd him; And his feaver wish'd to prove, Burning onely in his love. Him when Wrath it selfe had seen, Wrath it selfe had lost his spleen. 30 Grim Destruction here amaz'd, In stead of striking, would have gaz'd. Even the iron-pointed pen, That notes the tragick doomes of men, Wet with teares, 'still'd from the eyes 35 Of the flinty Destinies, Would have learn't a softer style, And have been asham'd to spoyle His live's sweet story, by the hast Of a cruell stop, ill plac't. 40 In the darke volume of our fate, Whence each lease of life hath date, Where in sad particulars The totall summe of man appeares, And the short clause of mortall breath, 45 Bound in the period of Death: In all the booke if any where Such a tearme as this, 'Spare here,' Could been found, 'twould have been read, Writ in white letters o're his head: 50 Or close unto his name annext, The faire glosse of a fairer text. In briefe, if any one were free Hee was that one, and onely hee. But he, alas! even hee is dead, 55 And our hope's faire harvest spread In the dust. Pitty, now spend All the teares that Griefe can lend. Sad Mortality may hide In his ashes all her pride; 60 With this inscription o're his head, 'All hope of never dying here is dead.'

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS

The SANCROFT MS. furnishes these variations: line 1, 'was:' line 26, 't' have:' line 34, 'quotes' for 'notes:' l. 42, 'lease' for 'leafe;' adopted: line 49 omits rightly the first 'have' and spells 'bin;' the former adopted: line 50, 'wrote:' line 62, 'is' for 'lyes;' adopted: line 23, 'steely' = hard as steel, or, as we say, iron-hearted. The SANCROFT MS. writes the two poems as one. G.

HIS EPITAPH.[72]

Passenger, who e're thou art 1 Stay a while, and let thy heart Take acquaintance of this stone, Before thou passest further on. This stone will tell thee, that beneath, 5 Is entomb'd the crime of Death; The ripe endowments of whose mind Left his yeares so much behind, That numbring of his vertues' praise, Death lost the reckoning of his dayes; 10 And believing what they told, Imagin'd him exceeding old. In him Perfection did set forth The strength of her united worth. Him his wisdome's pregnant growth 15 Made so reverend, even in youth, That in the center of his brest (Sweet as is the phoenix' nest) Every reconciled Grace Had their generall meeting-place. 20 In him Goodnesse joy'd to see Learning learne Humility. The splendor of his birth and blood Was but the glosse of his owne good. The flourish of his sober youth 25 Was the pride of naked truth. In composure of his face, Liv'd a faire, but manly grace. His mouth was Rhetorick's best mold, His tongue the touchstone of her gold. 30 What word so e're his breath kept warme, Was no word now but a charme: For all persuasive Graces thence Suck't their sweetest influence. His vertue that within had root, 35 Could not chuse but shine without. And th' heart-bred lustre of his worth, At each corner peeping forth, Pointed him out in all his wayes, Circled round in his owne rayes: 40 That to his sweetnesse, all men's eyes Were vow'd Love's flaming sacrifice. Him while fresh and fragrant Time Cherisht in his golden prime; E're Hebe's hand had overlaid 45 His smooth cheekes with a downy shade; The rush of Death's unruly wave, Swept him off into his grave. Enough, now (if thou canst) passe on, For now (alas!) not in this stone 50 (Passenger who e're thou art) Is he entomb'd, but in thy heart.

AN EPITAPH VPON A YOVNG MARRIED COVPLE

DEAD AND BVRYED TOGETHER.[73]

To these, whom Death again did wed, 1 This grave's their second marriage-bed; For though the hand of Fate could force 'Twixt sovl and body, a diuorce, It could not sunder man and wife, 5 'Cause they both liued but one life. Peace, good Reader, Doe not weep. Peace, the louers are asleep. They, sweet turtles, folded ly In the last knott that Loue could ty. 10 And though they ly as they were dead, Their pillow stone, their sheetes of lead; (Pillow hard, and sheetes not warm) Loue made the bed; they'l take no harm; Let them sleep: let them sleep on, 15 Till this stormy night be gone, And the aeternall morrow dawn; Then the curtaines will be drawn And they wake into a light, Whose Day shall neuer sleepe in Night. 20

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is 'Epitaphium Conjugum vna mortuor. et sepultor. R. CR.' It was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (p. 26), where it is entitled as supra, and 1670 (p. 95). Our text is that of 1648, which yields the five lines (11-14), and which ELLIS in his 'Specimens' (iii. 208, 1845) introduced from a MS. copy, but as doubtful from not having appeared in any of the editions; a mistake on his part, as the lines appear in 1648 and 1652. His note is, nevertheless, 'The lines included in brackets are in no printed edition: they were found in a MS. copy, and are perhaps not Crashaw's.' As usual, TURNBULL overlooked them. I add a few slight various readings from 1646.

Line 2, 'the.'

" 5, 'sever.'

" 6, 'Because they both liv'd but one life.'

" 10, I accept 'that' in 1646 and SANCROFT MS. as it is confirmed by HARLEIAN MS. 6917-18, as before.

Line 17, I adopt 'And' for 'Till' from 1648.

" 19, 'waken with that Light,' and so SANCROFT MS.: 1648 reads 'And they wake into that Light:' HARLEIAN MS. as before, 'And they waken with.'

Line 20, 'sleep' for 'dy,' which I adopt as agreeing with the 'wake,' and as being confirmed by HARLEIAN MS. as before. G.

DEATH'S LECTVRE AND THE FVNERAL OF A YOVNG GENTLEMAN.[74]

Dear reliques of a dislodg'd sovl, whose lack 1 Makes many a mourning paper put on black! O stay a while, ere thou draw in thy head And wind thy self vp close in thy cold bed. Stay but a little while, vntill I call 5 A summon's worthy of thy funerall. Come then, Youth, Beavty, Blood! all ye soft powres, Whose sylken flatteryes swell a few fond howres Into a false aeternity. Come man; Hyperbolized nothing! know thy span; 10 Take thine own measure here, down, down, and bow Before thy self in thine idaea; thou Huge emptynes! contract thy bulke; and shrinke All thy wild circle to a point. O sink Lower and lower yet; till thy leane size 15 Call Heaun to look on thee with narrow eyes. Lesser and lesser yet; till thou begin To show a face, fitt to confesse thy kin, Thy neighbourhood to Nothing! Proud lookes, and lofty eyliddes, here putt on 20 Your selues in your vnfaign'd reflexion; Here, gallant ladyes! this vnpartiall glasse (Through all your painting) showes you your true face. These death-seal'd lippes are they dare giue the ly To the lowd boasts of poor Mortality; 25 These curtain'd windows, this retired eye Outstares the liddes of larg-look't Tyranny. This posture is the braue one, this that lyes Thus low, stands vp (me thinkes) thus and defies The World. All-daring dust and ashes! only you 30 Of all interpreters read Nature true.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

These various readings are worthy of record:

Line 7 in our text (1652) is misprinted as two lines, the first ending with 'blood,' a repeated blunder of the Paris printer. It reads also 'the' for 'ye' of 1646. I adopt the latter. I have also cancelled 'and' before 'blood' as a misprint.

Line 8 in 1652 is misprinted 'svlken' for 'sylken.'

" 12, ib. 'thy self,' and so in 1648 and 1670: 'bulke' from 1646 is preferable, and so adopted.

Line 15, 1646 has 'small' for 'lean,' which is inferior.

" 16, our text (1652) misspells 'norrow.'

" 19, in 1646 the readings here are,

'Thy neighbourhood to nothing I here put on Thy selfe in this unfeign'd reflection.'

1648 and our text as given. 'Nothing' is intended to rhyme with 'kin' and 'begin,' and so to form a triplet.

Line 23, our text (1652), 1648 and 1670 read 'Though ye be painted:' 1646 reads 'Through all your painting,' which is much more powerful, and therefore adopted by us. It reminds us (from line 22, 'gallant ladyes') of Hamlet's apostrophe to the skull of poor Yorick.

Line 25, 1646 reads poorly,

'To the proud hopes of poor Mortality.'

" 26, in 1646 reads curiously, 'this selfe-prison'd eye.' G.

AN EPITAPH VPON DOCTOR BROOKE.[75]

A Brooke, whose streame so great, so good, 1 Was lov'd, was honour'd, as a flood: Whose bankes the Muses dwelt upon, More than their owne Helicon; Here at length, hath gladly found 5 A quiet passage under ground; Meane while his loved bankes, now dry The Muses with their teares supply.

ON A FOULE MORNING, BEING THEN TO TAKE A JOURNEY.[76]

Where art thou Sol, while thus the blind-fold Day 1 Staggers out of the East, loses her way Stumbling on Night? Rouze thee illustrious youth, And let no dull mists choake thy Light's faire growth. Point here thy beames: O glance on yonder flocks, 5 And make their fleeces golden as thy locks. Vnfold thy faire front, and there shall appeare Full glory, flaming in her owne free spheare. Gladnesse shall cloath the Earth, we will instile The face of things, an universall smile. 10 Say to the sullen Morne, thou com'st to court her; And wilt command proud Zephirus to sport her With wanton gales: his balmy breath shall licke The tender drops which tremble on her cheeke; Which rarified, and in a gentle raine 15 On those delicious bankes distill'd againe, Shall rise in a sweet Harvest, which discloses Two ever-blushing bed[s] of new-borne roses. Hee'l fan her bright locks, teaching them to flow, And friske in curl'd maeanders: hee will throw 20 A fragrant breath suckt from the spicy nest O' th' pretious phoenix, warme upon her breast. Hee with a dainty and soft hand will trim And brush her azure mantle, which shall swim In silken volumes; wheresoe're shee'l tread, 25 Bright clouds like golden fleeces shall be spread. Rise then (faire blew-ey'd maid!) rise and discover Thy silver brow, and meet thy golden lover. See how hee runs, with what a hasty flight, Into thy bosome, bath'd with liquid light. 30 Fly, fly prophane fogs, farre hence fly away, Taint not the pure streames of the springing Day, With your dull influence; it is for you To sit and scoule upon Night's heavy brow, Not on the fresh cheekes of the virgin Morne, 35 Where nought but smiles, and ruddy joyes are worne. Fly then, and doe not thinke with her to stay; Let it suffice, shee'l weare no maske to day.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In the SANCROFT MS. this is headed 'An Invitation to faire weather. In itinere adurgeretur matutinum coelum tali carmine invitabatur serenitas. R. CR.' In line 12 the MS. reads 'smooth' for 'proud' (TURNBULL here, after 1670, as usual misreads 'demand' for 'command'): line 18 corrects the misreading of all the editions, which is 'To every blushing...:' line 23 reads 'soft and dainty:' line 36, 'is' for 'are:' other orthographic differences only.

The opening lines of this poem seem to be adapted from remembrance of the Friar's in Romeo and Juliet:

'The grey-eyed Morn smiles on the frowning Night ... And flecked Darkness like a drunkard reels From forth Day's path and Titan's burning wheels.' (ii. 3.)

Line 4, in HARLEIAN MS. 6917-18 reads, as I have adopted, 'thy' for 'the.'

Line 5, ib. 'on yond faire.'

" 7, ib. 'Unfold thy front and then....'

" 9, instile is = instill, used in Latinate sense of drop into or upon: HARLEIAN MS., as before, is 'enstile.'

Line 14, HARLEIAN MS., as before, 'thy' for 'her.'

" 16, ib. 'these.'

" 17-18, ib.

... 'and disclose ... the new-born rose.'

See our Essay for critical remarks. G.

TO THE MORNING:

SATISFACTION FOR SLEEPE.[77]

What succour can I hope my Muse shall send 1 Whose drowsinesse hath wrong'd the Muses' friend? What hope, Aurora, to propitiate thee, Vnlesse the Muse sing my apologie? O in that morning of my shame! when I 5 Lay folded up in Sleepe's captivity, How at the sight did'st thou draw back thine eyes, Into thy modest veyle? how didst thou rise Twice dy'd in thine owne blushes! and did'st run To draw the curtaines, and awake the sun! 10 Who, rowzing his illustrious tresses, came, And seeing the loath'd object, hid for shame His head in thy faire bosome, and still hides Mee from his patronage; I pray, he chides: And pointing to dull Morpheus, bids me take 15 My owne Apollo, try if I can make His Lethe be my Helicon: and see If Morpheus have a Muse to wait on mee. Hence 'tis, my humble fancie finds no wings, No nimble rapture starts to Heaven, and brings 20 Enthusiasticke flames, such as can give Marrow to my plumpe genius, make it live Drest in the glorious madnesse of a Muse, Whose feet can walke the milky way, and chuse Her starry throne; whose holy heats can warme 25 The grave, and hold up an exalted arme To lift me from my lazy vrne, to climbe Vpon the stooped shoulders of old Time, And trace Eternity--But all is dead, All these delicious hopes are buried 30 In the deepe wrinckles of his angry brow, Where Mercy cannot find them: but O thou Bright lady of the Morne! pitty doth lye So warme in thy soft brest, it cannot dye. Have mercy then, and when he next shall rise 35 O meet the angry God, invade his eyes, And stroake his radiant cheekes; one timely kisse Will kill his anger, and revive my blisse. So to the treasure of thy pearly deaw, Thrice will I pay three teares, to show how true 40 My griefe is; so my wakefull lay shall knocke At th' orientall gates, and duly mocke The early larkes' shrill orizons, to be An anthem at the Daye's nativitie. And the same rosie-finger'd hand of thine, 45 That shuts Night's dying eyes, shall open mine. But thou, faint God of Sleepe, forget that I Was ever known to be thy votary. No more my pillow shall thine altar be, Nor will I offer any more to thee 50 My selfe a melting sacrifice; I'me borne Againe a fresh child of the buxome Morne, Heire of the sun's first beames. Why threat'st thou so? Why dost thou shake thy leaden scepter? goe, Bestow thy poppy upon wakefull Woe, 55 Sicknesse, and Sorrow, whose pale lidds ne're know Thy downie finger; dwell upon their eyes, Shut in their teares: shut out their miseries.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In 1646, line 1, for 'shall' reads 'will:' ib. in HARLEIAN MS. as before, 'my' for 'the Muse;' which I adopt here, but not in next line: line 9, ib. 'thy:' line 11, illustrious is = lustrous, radiant: HARLEIAN MS. as before, line 19, 'this my humble:' line 20, 1646 misprints 'raptures:' line 27, 1670 has 'and climb:' line 28, 1646 has 'stooped' for 'stooping' of 1648; infinitely superior, and therefore adopted: 1670 misprints 'stopped:' the SANCROFT MS. has 'stooping:' line 45, HARLEIAN MS. as before, 'thy altar.' Further: in the SANCROFT MS. this poem is headed 'Ad Auroram Somnolentiae expiatio. R. CR.,' and it supplies these various readings: line 1, 'will:' line 7, 'call back:' line 16, 'my' for 'mine;' line 20-21, 'winge' and 'bringe:' line 40, 'treasures:' other orthographic differences only. See Essay, as in last poem. G.

LOVE'S HOROSCOPE.[78]

Love, brave Vertue's younger brother, 1 Erst hath made my heart a mother; Shee consults the conscious spheares To calculate her young son's yeares. Shee askes, if sad, or saving powers, 5 Gave omen to his infant howers; Shee askes each starre that then stood by, If poore Love shall live or dy.

Ah, my heart, is that the way? Are these the beames that rule thy day? 10 Thou know'st a face in whose each looke, Beauty layes ope Love's fortune-booke; On whose faire revolutions wait The obsequious motions of man's fate: Ah, my heart, her eyes, and shee, 15 Have taught thee new astrologie. How e're Love's native houres were set, What ever starry synod met, 'Tis in the mercy of her eye, If poore Love shall live or dye. 20

If those sharpe rayes putting on Points of death, bid Love be gon: (Though the Heavens in counsell sate To crowne an uncontrouled fate, Though their best aspects twin'd upon 25 The kindest constellation, Cast amorous glances on his birth, And whisper'd the confederate Earth To pave his pathes with all the good, That warmes the bed of youth and blood) 30 Love hath no plea against her eye: Beauty frownes, and Love must dye.

But if her milder influence move, And gild the hopes of humble Love: (Though Heaven's inauspicious eye 35 Lay blacke on Love's nativitie; Though every diamond in Love's crowne Fixt his forehead to a frowne:) Her eye, a strong appeale can giue, Beauty smiles, and Love shall live. 40 O, if Love shall live, O, where But in her eye, or in her eare, In her brest, or in her breath, Shall I hide poore Love from Death? For in the life ought else can give, 45 Love shall dye, although he live.

Or, if Love shall dye, O, where But in her eye, or in her eare, In her breath, or in her breast, Shall I build his funerall nest? 50 While Love shall thus entombed lye, Love shall live, although he dye.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

In line 16 the heavens are the planets. To 'crown' his fate is to invest it with regal power, and so place it beyond control. It is doubtful whether 'uncontrouled' expresses that state or result of crowning, or whether the clause is hyperbolical, and means to put further beyond control an already uncontrolled fate. 'Twin'd' seems a strange word to use, but refers, I presume, to the apparently irregular and winding-like motions of the planets through the constellations until they result in the favourable aspects mentioned. According to astrology, the beneficence or maleficence of the planetary aspects varies with the nature of the constellation in which they occur. HENRY VAUGHAN, Silurist, uses 'wind' very much as CRASHAW uses 'twin'd:' see s.v. in our edition.

In line 14 we have accepted the reading 'man's' for 'Loves' from the SANCROFT MS.

A SONG:

OUT OF THE ITALIAN.[79]

To thy lover Deere, discover That sweet blush of thine that shameth --When those roses It discloses-- All the flowers that Nature nameth.

In free ayre, Flow thy haire; That no more Summer's best dresses, Bee beholden For their golden Locks, to Phoebus' flaming tresses.

O deliver Love his quiver; From thy eyes he shoots his arrowes: Where Apollo Cannot follow: Featherd with his mother's sparrowes.

O envy not --That we dye not-- Those deere lips whose doore encloses All the Graces In their places, Brother pearles, and sister roses.

From these treasures Of ripe pleasures One bright smile to cleere the weather. Earth and Heaven Thus made even, Both will be good friends together.

The aire does wooe thee, Winds cling to thee; Might a word once fly from out thee, Storme and thunder Would sit under, And keepe silence round about thee.

But if Nature's Common creatures, So deare glories dare not borrow: Yet thy beauty Owes a duty, To my loving, lingring sorrow,

When to end mee Death shall send mee All his terrors to affright mee: Thine eyes' Graces Gild their faces, And those terrors shall delight mee.

When my dying Life is flying, Those sweet aires that often slew mee Shall revive mee, Or reprive mee, And to many deaths renew mee.

OUT OF THE ITALIAN.

Love now no fire hath left him, 1 We two betwixt us have divided it. Your eyes the light hath reft him, The heat commanding in my heart doth sit.[80] O that poore Love be not for ever spoyled, 5 Let my heat to your light be reconciled.

So shall these flames, whose worth Now all obscured lyes: --Drest in those beames--start forth And dance before your eyes. 10 Or else partake my flames (I care not whither) And so in mutuall names Of Love, burne both together.

OUT OF THE ITALIAN.

Would any one the true cause find 1 How Love came nak't, a boy, and blind? 'Tis this: listning one day too long, So th' Syrens in my mistris' song, The extasie of a delight 5 So much o're-mastring all his might, To that one sense, made all else thrall, And so he lost his clothes, eyes, heart and all.

VPON THE FRONTISPEECE OF MR. ISAACKSON'S CHRONOLOGIE.[81]

Let hoary Time's vast bowels be the grave 1 To what his bowels' birth and being gave; Let Nature die, (Phoenix-like) from death Revived Nature takes a second breath; If on Time's right hand, sit faire Historie, 5 If from the seed of emptie Ruine, she Can raise so faire an harvest; let her be Ne're so farre distant, yet Chronologie (Sharp-sighted as the eagle's eye, that can Out-stare the broad-beam'd daye's meridian) 10 Will have a perspicill to find her out, And, through the night of error and dark doubt, Discerne the dawne of Truth's eternall ray, As when the rosie Morne budds into Day. Now that Time's empire might be amply fill'd, 15 Babel's bold artists strive (below) to build Ruine a temple; on whose fruitfull fall History reares her pyramids, more tall Than were th' Aegyptian (by the life these give, Th' Egyptian pyramids themselves must live): 20 On these she lifts the world; and on their base Showes the two termes, and limits of Time's race: That, the creation is; the judgement, this; That, the World's morning; this, her midnight is.

NOTE.

As explained in preceding Note, I add here the poem so long misassigned to CRASHAW.

ON THE FRONTISPIECE OF ISAACSON'S CHRONOLOGIE EXPLAINED.

BY DR. EDWARD RAINBOW, BISHOP OF CARLISLE.

If with distinctive eye, and mind, you looke 1 Vpon the Front, you see more than one Booke. Creation is God's Booke, wherein He writ Each creature, as a letter filling it. History is Creation's Booke; which showes 5 To what effects the Series of it goes. Chronologie's the Booke of Historie, and beares The just account of Dayes, Moneths, and Yeares. But Resurrection, in a later Presse, And New Edition, is the summe of these. 10 The Language of these Bookes had all been one, Had not th' aspiring Tower of Babylon Confus'd the tongues, and in a distance hurl'd As farre the speech, as men, o' th' new fill'd world. Set then your eyes in method, and behold 15 Time's embleme, Saturne; who, when store of gold Coyn'd the first age, devour'd that birth, he fear'd; Till History, Time's eldest child appear'd; And Phoenix-like, in spight of Saturne's rage, Forc'd from her ashes, heyres in every age. 20 From th' Rising Sunne, obtaining by just suit, A Spring's ingender, and an Autumne's fruit. Who in those Volumes at her motion pend, Vnto Creation's Alpha doth extend. Againe ascend, and view Chronology, 25 By optick skill, pulling farre History Neerer; whose Hand the piercing Eagle's eye Strengthens, to bring remotest objects nigh. Vnder whose feet, you see the Setting Sunne, From the darke Gnomon, o're her volumes runne, 30 Drown'd in eternall night, never to rise, Till Resurrection show it to the eyes Of Earth-worne men; and her shrill trumpet's sound Affright the Bones of mortals from the ground. The Columnes both are crown'd with either Sphere, 35 To show Chronology and History beare, No other Culmen than the double Art, Astronomy, Geography, impart.

AN EPITAPH VPON MR. ASHTON,

A CONFORMABLE CITIZEN.[82]

The modest front of this small floore, 1 Beleeve me, Reader, can say more Than many a braver marble can; Here lyes a truly honest man. One whose conscience was a thing, 5 That troubled neither Church nor King. One of those few that in this towne, Honour all Preachers, heare their owne. Sermons he heard, yet not so many As left no time to practise any. 10 He heard them reverendly, and then His practice preach'd them o're agen. His Parlour-Sermons rather were Those to the eye, then to the eare. His prayers took their price and strength, 15 Not from the lowdnesse, nor the length. He was a Protestant at home, Not onely in despight of Rome. He lov'd his Father; yet his zeale Tore not off his Mother's veile. 20 To th' Church he did allow her dresse, True Beauty, to true Holinesse. Peace, which he lov'd in life, did lend Her hand to bring him to his end. When Age and Death call'd for the score, 25 No surfets were to reckon for. Death tore not--therefore--but sans strife Gently untwin'd his thread of life. What remaines then, but that thou Write these lines, Reader, in thy brow, 30 And by his faire example's light, Burne in thy imitation bright. So while these lines can but bequeath A life perhaps unto his death; His better Epitaph shall bee, 35 His life still kept alive in thee.

OUT OF CATULLUS.[83]

Come and let us live my deare, 1 Let us love and never feare, What the sowrest fathers say: Brightest Sol that dyes to day Lives againe as blith to morrow; 5 But if we darke sons of sorrow Set: O then how long a Night Shuts the eyes of our short light! Then let amorous kisses dwell On our lips, begin and tell 10 A thousand, and a hundred score, An hundred and a thousand more, Till another thousand smother That, and that wipe of[f] another. Thus at last when we have numbred 15 Many a thousand, many a hundred, Wee'l confound the reckoning quite, And lose our selves in wild delight: While our joyes so multiply, As shall mocke the envious eye. 20

WISHES.

TO HIS (SUPPOSED) MISTRESSE.[84]

1. Who ere she be, 1 That not impossible she That shall command my heart and me; 2. Where ere she lye, Lock't up from mortall eye, 5 In shady leaves of Destiny;

3. Till that ripe birth Of studied Fate stand forth, And teach her faire steps tread our Earth;

4. Till that divine 10 Idaea, take a shrine Of chrystall flesh, through which to shine;

5. Meet you her, my wishes, Bespeake her to my blisses, And be ye call'd, my absent kisses. 15

6. I wish her, beauty That owes not all its duty To gaudy tire or glistring shoo-ty.

7. Something more than Taffata or tissew can, 20 Or rampant feather, or rich fan.

8. More than the spoyle Of shop, or silkeworme's toyle, Or a bought blush, or a set smile.

9. A face that's best 25 By its owne beauty drest, And can alone commend the rest.

10. A face made up, Out of no other shop Than what Nature's white hand sets ope. 30

11. A cheeke where Youth, And blood, with pen of Truth Write, what their reader sweetly ru'th.

12. A cheeke where growes More than a morning rose: 35 Which to no boxe his being owes.

13. Lipps, where all day A lover's kisse may play, Yet carry nothing thence away.

14. Lookes that oppresse 40 Their richest tires, but dresse Themselves in simple nakednesse.

15. Eyes, that displace The neighbour diamond, and out-face That sunshine, by their own sweet grace. 45

16. Tresses, that weare Iewells, but to declare How much themselves more pretious are.

17. Whose native ray, Can tame the wanton day 50 Of gems, that in their bright shades play.

18. Each ruby there, Or pearle that dares appeare, Be its own blush, be its own teare.

19. A well tam'd heart, 55 For whose more noble smart, Love may be long chusing a dart.

20. Eyes, that bestow Full quivers on Love's bow; Yet pay lesse arrowes than they owe. 60

21. Smiles, that can warme The blood, yet teach a charme, That Chastity shall take no harme.

22. Blushes, that bin The burnish of no sin, 65 Nor flames of ought too hot within.

23. Ioyes, that confesse, Vertue their mistresse, And have no other head to dresse.

24. Feares, fond, and flight, 70 As the coy bride's, when Night First does the longing lover right.

25. Teares, quickly fled, And vaine, as those are shed For a dying maydenhead. 75

26. Dayes, that need borrow, No part of their good morrow, From a fore-spent night of sorrow.

27. Dayes, that in spight Of darknesse, by the light 80 Of a cleere mind are day all night.

28. Nights, sweet as they, Made short by lovers play, Yet long by th' absence of the day.

29. Life, that dares send 85 A challenge to his end, And when it comes say, Welcome friend!

30. Sydnaean showers Of sweet discourse, whose powers Can crown old Winter's head with flowers. 90

31. Soft silken hours; Open sunnes; shady bowers; 'Bove all, nothing within that lowers.

32. What ere delight Can make Daye's forehead bright, 95 Or give downe to the wings of Night.

33. In her whole frame, Haue Nature all the name, Art and ornament the shame.

34. Her flattery, 100 Picture and Poesy, Her counsell her owne vertue be.

35. I wish her store Of worth may leave her poore Of wishes; and I wish----no more. 105

36. Now if Time knowes That her, whose radiant browes Weave them a garland of my vowes;

37. Her whose just bayes, My future hopes can raise, 110 A trophie to her present praise.

38. Her that dares be, What these lines wish to see: I seeke no further: it is she.

39. 'Tis she, and here 115 Lo I uncloath and cleare, My wishes cloudy character.

40. May she enjoy it, Whose merit dare apply it, But Modesty dares still deny it. 120

41. Such worth as this is Shall fixe my flying wishes, And determine them to kisses.

42. Let her full glory, My fancyes, fly before ye, 125 Be ye my fictions; but her story.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

The HARLEIAN MS. 6917-18, as before, gives an admirable reading, corrective of all the editions in st. 3, line 3. Hitherto it has run, 'And teach her faire steps to our Earth:' the MS. as given by us 'tread' for 'to:' ib. st. 5, line 1, reads 'Meete her my wishes;' perhaps preferable: st. 6, I accept 'its' for 'his' from 1670 edition: st. 7, 'than'=then, and is spelled 'then' here and elsewhere in 1646 and 1670: st. 8, line 3, HARLEIAN MS. reads 'Or a bowe, blush, or a set smile;' inferior: st. 9, ib. reads 'commend' for 'command;' adopted: st. 11, ib. 'their' for 'the;' adopted: st. 14, ib. spells 'tyers,' and line 3 reads as we print for 'And cloath their simplest nakednesse,' which is clumsy and poor: st. 15: Here, as in the poem, 'On the bleeding wounds of our crucified Lord' (st. 6), where we read 'The thorns that Thy blest brows encloses,' and elsewhere, we have an example of the Elizabethan use of 'that' as a singular (referring to and thus made a collective plural) taken as the governing nominative to the verb. So in this poem of 'Wishes' we have 'Eyes that bestow,' 'Joys that confess,' 'Tresses that wear.' But it must be stated that the HARLEIAN MS., as before, reads not as in 1646 and 1648 'displaces,' 'out-faces' and 'graces,' but as printed by us on its authority; certainly the rhythm is improved thereby: st. 18, line 2, ib. 'dares' for 'dare;' adopted: st. 24, looking to 'tears quickly fled' of next stanza, I think 'flight' is correct, and not a misprint for 'slight.' Accordingly I have punctuated with a comma after fond, flight being = the shrinking-away of the bride, like the Horatian fair lady, a fugitive yet wishful of her lover's kiss: st. 31, HARLEIAN MS. as before, 'Open sunn:' st. 42, line 3, 'be you my fictions, she my story.' G.

TO THE QUEEN:

AN APOLOGIE FOR THE LENGTH OF THE FOLLOWING PANEGYRICK.[85]

When you are mistresse of the song, 1 Mighty queen, to thinke it long, Were treason 'gainst that majesty Your Vertue wears. Your modesty Yet thinks it so. But ev'n that too 5 --Infinite, since part of you-- New matter for our Muse supplies, And so allowes what it denies. Say then dread queen, how may we doe To mediate 'twixt your self and you? 10 That so our sweetly temper'd song Nor be too sort, nor seeme to[o] long. Needs must your noble prayses' strength That made it long excuse the length.

TO THE QUEEN,

VPON HER NUMEROUS PROGENIE: A PANEGYRICK.[86]

Britain! the mighty Ocean's lovely bride! 1 Now stretch thy self, fair isle, and grow: spread wide Thy bosome, and make roome. Thou art opprest With thine own glories, and art strangely blest Beyond thy self: for (lo!) the gods, the gods 5 Come fast upon thee; and those glorious ods Swell thy full honours to a pitch so high As sits above thy best capacitie. Are they not ods? and glorious? that to thee Those mighty genii throng, which well might be 10 Each one an Age's labour? that thy dayes Are gilded with the union of those rayes Whose each divided beam would be a sunne To glad the sphere of any Nation? Sure, if for these thou mean'st to find a seat, 15 Th' hast need, O Britain, to be truly Great. And so thou art; their presence makes thee so: They are thy greatnesse. Gods, where-e're they go, Bring their Heav'n with them: their great footsteps place An everlasting smile upon the face 20 Of the glad Earth they tread on: while with thee Those beames that ampliate mortalitie, And teach it to expatiate and swell To majestie and fulnesse, deign to dwell, Thou by thy self maist sit, (blest Isle) and see 25 How thy great mother Nature dotes on thee. Thee therefore from the rest apart she hurl'd, And seem'd to make an Isle, but made a World.

Time yet hath dropt few plumes since Hope turn'd Joy, And took into his armes the princely boy, 30 Whose birth last blest the bed of his sweet mother, And bad us first salute our prince, a brother.

The Prince and Duke of York.

Bright Charles! thou sweet dawn of a glorious Day! Centre of those thy grandsires (shall I say, Henry and James? or, Mars and Phoebus rather? 35 If this were Wisdome's god, that War's stern father; 'Tis but the same is said: Henry and James Are Mars and Phoebus under diverse names): O thou full mixture of those mighty souls Whose vast intelligences tun'd the poles 40 Of Peace and War; thou, for whose manly brow Both lawrels twine into one wreath, and woo To be thy garland: see (sweet prince), O see, Thou, and the lovely hopes that smile in thee, Art ta'n out and transcrib'd by thy great mother: 45 See, see thy reall shadow; see thy brother, Thy little self in lesse: trace in these eyne The beams that dance in those full stars of thine. From the same snowy alabaster rock Those hands and thine were hewn; those cherries mock 50 The corall of thy lips: thou wert of all This well-wrought copie the fair principall.

Lady Mary.

Iustly, great Nature, didst thou brag, and tell How ev'n th' hadst drawn that faithfull parallel, And matcht thy master-piece. O then go on, 55 Make such another sweet comparison. Seest thou that Marie there? O teach her mother To shew her to her self in such another. Fellow this wonder too; nor let her shine Alone; light such another star, and twine 60 Their rosie beams, that so the Morn for one Venus, may have a constellation.

Lady Elizabeth.

These words scarce waken'd Heaven, when--lo!--our vows Sat crown'd upon the noble infant's brows. Th' art pair'd, sweet princesse: in this well-writ book 65 Read o're thy self; peruse each line, each look. And when th' hast summ'd up all those blooming blisses, Close up the book, and clasp it with thy kisses. So have I seen (to dresse their mistresse May) Two silken sister-flowers consult, and lay 70 Their bashfull cheeks together: newly they Peep't from their buds, show'd like the garden's eyes Scarce wak't: like was the crimson of their joyes; Like were the tears they wept, so like, that one Seem'd but the other's kind reflexion. 75

The new-borne Prince.

And now 'twere time to say, sweet queen, no more. Fair source of princes, is thy pretious store Not yet exhaust? O no! Heavens have no bound, But in their infinite and endlesse round Embrace themselves. Our measure is not their's; 80 Nor may the pov'rtie of man's narrow prayers Span their immensitie. More princes come: Rebellion, stand thou by; Mischief, make room: War, blood, and death--names all averse from Ioy-- Heare this, we have another bright-ey'd boy: 85 That word's a warrant, by whose vertue I Have full authority to bid you dy. Dy, dy, foul misbegotten monsters! dy: Make haste away, or e'r the World's bright eye Blush to a cloud of bloud. O farre from men 90 Fly hence, and in your Hyperborean den Hide you for evermore, and murmure there Where none but Hell may heare, nor our soft aire Shrink at the hatefull sound. Mean while we bear High as the brow of Heaven, the noble noise 95 And name of these our just and righteous joyes, Where Envie shall not reach them, nor those eares Whose tune keeps time to ought below the spheres. But thou, sweet supernumerary starre, Shine forth; nor fear the threats of boyst'rous Warre. 100 The face of things has therefore frown'd a while On purpose, that to thee and thy pure smile The World might ow an universall calm; While thou, fair halcyon, on a sea of balm Shalt flote; where while thou layst thy lovely head, 105 The angry billows shall but make thy bed: Storms, when they look on thee, shall straigt relent; And tempests, when they tast thy breath, repent To whispers, soft as thine own slumbers be, Or souls of virgins which shall sigh for thee. 110 Shine then, sweet supernumerary starre, Nor feare the boysterous names of bloud and warre: Thy birth-day is their death's nativitie; They've here no other businesse but to die.

To the Queen.

But stay; what glimpse was that? why blusht the Day? 115 Why ran the started aire trembling away? Who's this that comes circled in rayes that scorn Acquaintance with the sun? what second morn At midday opes a presence which Heaven's eye Stands off and points at? Is't some deity 120 Stept from her throne of starres, deignes to be seen? Is it some deity? or is't our queen? 'Tis she, 'tis she: her awfull beauties chase The Day's abashed glories, and in face Of noon wear their own sunshine. O thou bright 125 Mistresse of wonders! Cynthia's is the Night; But thou at noon dost shine, and art all day (Nor does thy sun deny't) our Cynthia. Illustrious sweetnesse! in thy faithfull wombe, That nest of heroes, all our hopes find room. 130 Thou art the mother-phenix, and thy brest Chast as that virgin honour of the East, But much more fruitfull is; nor does, as she, Deny to mighty Love, a deitie. Then let the Eastern world brag and be proud 135 Of one coy phenix, while we have a brood, A brood of phenixes: while we have brother And sister-phenixes, and still the mother. And may we long! Long may'st thou live t'increase The house and family of phenixes. 140 Nor may the life that gives their eye-lids light E're prove the dismall morning of thy night: Ne're may a birth of thine be bought so dear To make his costly cradle of thy beer. O may'st thou thus make all the year thine own, 145 And see such names of joy sit white upon The brow of every month! and when th' hast done, Mayst in a son of his find every son Repeated, and that son still in another, And so in each child, often prove a mother. 150 Long may'st thou, laden with such clusters, lean Vpon thy royall elm (fair vine!) and when The Heav'ns will stay no longer, may thy glory And name dwell sweet in some eternall story!

Pardon (bright Excellence,) an untun'd string, 155 That in thy eares thus keeps a murmuring. O speake a lowly Muse's pardon, speake Her pardon, or her sentence; onely breake Thy silence. Speake, and she shall take from thence Numbers, and sweetnesse, and an influence 160 Confessing thee. Or (if too long I stay,) O speake thou, and my pipe hath nought to say: For see Apollo all this while stands mute, Expecting by thy voice to tune his lute.

But gods are gracious; and their altars make 165 Pretious the offrings that their altars take. Give then this rurall wreath fire from thine eyes, This rurall wreath dares be thy sacrifice.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

This poem was originally entitled (as supra) 'Upon the Duke of York's Birth.' As new children were born additions were made to it and the title altered. Cf. the Latin poem in our vol. ii. ad Reginam.

The children celebrated were the following: Charles James, born May 13, 1628, died the same day; the Queen's first child: Charles II., born May 29, 1630: James, who is placed before his sister Mary, who was older than he; born Oct. 14, 1633; afterwards James II.: Princess Mary, born Nov. 4, 1631, afterwards mother of William III.: Princess Elizabeth, born Dec. 28, 1635; died of grief at her father's tragical end, Sept. 8, 1650; was buried in the church at Newport, Isle of Wight, where her remains were found in 1793. Vaughan the Silurist has a fine poem to her memory (our edition, vol. ii. pp. 115-17): Anne, born March 17, 1636-7; she died Dec. 8, 1640 (Crashaw from first to last keeps Death out of his poem): Henry, born July 8, 1640, afterwards Duke of Gloucester and Earl of Cambridge. Henrietta Anne, born June 16, 1644, is not named.

The title in 1646 is 'Vpon the Duke of Yorke his Birth: a Panegyricke;' and so in 1670, which throughout agrees with that very imperfect text, except in one deplorable blunder of its own left uncorrected by TURNBULL, as noted below. The heading in the SANCROFT MS. is 'A Panegyrick vpon the birth of the Duke of Yorke. R. CR.'

Line 7, in 1646 'glories' for 'honours.' In the SANCROFT MS. line 8 reads 'As sitts alone ....'

Line 15, ib. 'O' for 'Sure.'

" 16, ib. 'Th' art.'

" 29-32 restored from 1648. Not in SANCROFT MS.

" 33. These headings here and onward omitted hitherto.

" 34, in 1646 'great' for 'bright.'

" 43, our text (1648) misprints 'owne' for 'one' of Voces Votivae.

Line 50, 1646 oddly misprints 'these Cherrimock.'

Line 52, 1646, 'art' for 'wert.'

" 54, ib. 'may'st' for 'did'st.'

" 55, ib. 'th' art' for 'th' hadst.'

" 64-70 restored from 1648. Not in SANCROFT MS.

" 74, 1646, 'pearls' for 'tears.' So the SANCROFT MS.

" 78-118, all these lines--most characteristic---restored from 1648. TURNBULL overlooked them. Not in the SANCROFT MS.

Line 140, 1670 drops a line here, and thus confuses,

'A brood of phenixes, and still the mother: And may we long: long may'st thou live t' encrease The house,' &c.

PEREGRINE PHILLIPS in his selections from CRASHAW (1785), following the text of 1670, says in a foot-note, 'A line seems wanting, but is so in the original copy.' TURNBULL follows suit and says, 'Here a line seems deficient.' If either had consulted the 'original' editions, which both professed to know, it would have saved them from this and numerous kindred blunders.

line 145, 1646, 'light' for 'life.'

" 151, ib. 'that's.'

" 170, ib. 'their' for 'the offerings.'

In line 27 'Thee therefore &c.' is a thought not unfrequent with the panegyrists of James. BEN JONSON makes use of it at least twice. In the Masque of Blackness we have,

'With that great name Britannia, this blest isle Hath won her ancient dignity and style; A world divided from a world, and tried The abstract of it, in his general pride.'

SHAKESPEARE used the same thought more nobly when he made it the theme of that glorious outburst of patriotism from the lips of the dying Gaunt. G.

VPON TWO GREENE APRICOCKES SENT TO COWLEY BY SIR CRASHAW.[87]

Take these, Time's tardy truants, sent by me 1 To be chastis'd (sweet friend) and chide by thee. Pale sons of our Pomona! whose wan cheekes Have spent the patience of expecting weekes, Yet are scarce ripe enough at best to show 5 The redd, but of the blush to thee they ow. By thy comparrison they shall put on More Summer in their shame's reflection, Than ere the fruitfull Phoebus' flaming kisses Kindled on their cold lips. O had my wishes 10 And the deare merits of your Muse, their due, The yeare had found some fruit early as you; Ripe as those rich composures Time computes Blossoms, but our blest tast confesses fruits. How does thy April-Autumne mocke these cold 15 Progressions 'twixt whose termes poor Time grows old! With thee alone he weares no beard, thy braine Gives him the morning World's fresh gold againe. 'Twas only Paradice, 'tis onely thou, Whose fruit and blossoms both blesse the same bough. 20 Proud in the patterne of thy pretious youth, Nature (methinks) might easily mend her growth. Could she in all her births but coppie thee, Into the publick yeares proficiencie, No fruit should have the face to smile on thee 25 (Young master of the World's maturitie) But such whose sun-borne beauties what they borrow Of beames to day, pay back again to morrow, Nor need be double-gilt. How then must these Poor fruites looke pale at thy Hesperides! 30 Faine would I chide their slownesse, but in their Defects I draw mine own dull character. Take them, and me in them acknowledging, How much my Summer waites upon thy Spring.

ALEXIAS:

THE COMPLAINT OF THE FORSAKEN WIFE OF SAINTE ALEXIS.[88]

THE FIRST ELEGIE.

I late the Roman youth's loud prayse and pride, 1 Whom long none could obtain, though thousands try'd; Lo, here am left (alas!) For my lost mate T' embrace my teares, and kisse an vnkind fate. Sure in my early woes starres were at strife, 5 And try'd to make a widow ere a wife. Nor can I tell (and this new teares doth breed) In what strange path, my lord's fair footsteppes bleed. O knew I where he wander'd, I should see Some solace in my sorrow's certainty: 10 I'd send my woes in words should weep for me, (Who knowes how powerfull well-writt praires would be.) Sending's too slow a word; myselfe would fly. Who knowes my own heart's woes so well as I? But how shall I steal hence? Alexis thou, 15 Ah thou thy self, alas! hast taught me how. Loue too that leads the way would lend the wings To bear me harmlesse through the hardest things. And where Loue lends the wing, and leads the way, What dangers can there be dare say me nay? 20 If I be shipwrack't, Loue shall teach to swimme: If drown'd, sweet is the death indur'd for him: The noted sea shall change his name with me, I'mongst the blest starres, a new name shall be. And sure where louers make their watry graues, 25 The weeping mariner will augment the waues. For who so hard, but passing by that way Will take acquaintance of my woes, and say Here 'twas the Roman maid found a hard fate, While through the World she sought her wandring mate 30 Here perish't she, poor heart; Heauns, be my vowes As true to me, as she was to her spouse. O liue, so rare a loue! liue! and in thee The too frail life of femal constancy. Farewell; and shine, fair soul, shine there aboue 35 Firm in thy crown, as here fast in thy loue. There thy lost fugitiue th' hast found at last: Be happy; and for euer hold him fast.

THE SECOND ELEGIE.

Though all the ioyes I had, fled hence with thee, 1 Vnkind! yet are my teares still true to me: I'm wedded o're again since thou art gone; Nor couldst thou, cruell, leaue me quite alone. Alexis' widdow now is Sorrow's wife, 5 With him shall I weep out my weary life. Wellcome, my sad-sweet mate! Now haue I gott At last a constant Loue, that leaues me not: Firm he, as thou art false; nor need my cryes Thus vex the Earth and teare the beauteous skyes. 10 For him, alas! n'ere shall I need to be Troublesom to the world thus as for thee: For thee I talk to trees; with silent groues Expostulate my woes and much-wrong'd loues; Hills and relentlesse rockes, or if there be 15 Things that in hardnesse more allude to thee, To these I talk in teares, and tell my pain, And answer too for them in teares again. How oft haue I wept out the weary sun! My watry hour-glasse hath old Time's outrunne. 20 O I am learned grown: poor Loue and I Haue study'd ouer all Astrology; I'm perfect in Heaun's state; with euery starr My skillfull greife is grown familiar. Rise, fairest of those fires; what'ere thou be 25 Whose rosy beam shall point my sun to me. Such as the sacred light that e'rst did bring The Eastern princes to their infant King, O rise, pure lamp! and lend thy golden ray That weary Loue at last may find his way. 30

THE THIRD ELEGIE.

Rich, churlish Land! that hid'st so long in thee 1 My treasures; rich, alas! by robbing mee. Needs must my miseryes owe that man a spite Who e're he be was the first wandring knight. O had he nere been at that cruell cost 5 Natvre's virginity had nere been lost; Seas had not bin rebuk't by sawcy oares But ly'n lockt vp safe in their sacred shores; Men had not spurn'd at mountaines; nor made warrs With rocks, nor bold hands struck the World's strong barres, 10 Nor lost in too larg bounds, our little Rome Full sweetly with it selfe had dwell't at home. My poor Alexis, then, in peacefull life Had vnder some low roofe lou'd his plain wife; But now, ah me! from where he has no foes 15 He flyes; and into willfull exile goes. Cruell, return, O tell the reason why Thy dearest parents have deseru'd to dy. And I, what is my crime, I cannot tell, Vnlesse it be a crime t' haue lou'd too well. 20 If heates of holyer loue and high desire, Make bigge thy fair brest with immortall fire, What needes my virgin lord fly thus from me, Who only wish his virgin wife to be? Witnesse, chast Heauns! no happyer vowes I know 25 Then to a virgin grave vntouch't to goe. Loue's truest knott by Venus is not ty'd, Nor doe embraces onely make a bride. The queen of angels (and men chast as you) Was maiden-wife and maiden-mother too. 30 Cecilia, glory of her name and blood, With happy gain her maiden-vowes made good: The lusty bridegroom made approach; young man Take heed (said she) take heed, Valerian! My bosome's guard, a spirit great and strong, 35 Stands arm'd, to sheild me from all wanton wrong; My chastity is sacred; and my Sleep Wakefull, her dear vowes vndefil'd to keep. Pallas beares armes, forsooth; and should there be No fortresse built for true Virginity? 40 No gaping Gorgon, this: none, like the rest Of your learn'd lyes. Here you'll find no such iest. I'm your's: O were my God, my Christ so too, I'd know no name of Loue on Earth but you. He yeilds, and straight baptis'd, obtains the grace 45 To gaze on the fair souldier's glorious face. Both mixt at last their blood in one rich bed Of rosy martyrdome, twice married. O burn our Hymen bright in such high flame, Thy torch, terrestriall Loue, haue here no name. 50 How sweet the mutuall yoke of man and wife, When holy fires maintain Loue's heaunly life! But I (so help me Heaun my hopes to see) When thousands sought my loue, lou'd none but thee. Still, as their vain teares my firm vowes did try, 55 Alexis, he alone is mine (said I). Half true, alas! half false, proues that poor line, Alexis is alone; but is not mine.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

The heading in 1648 omits 'Sainte.' These variations from 1648 are interesting:

1st Elegy: Line 9, 'would' for 'should.'

Line 17, our text (1652) drops 'way' inadvertently. TURNBULL tinkers it by reading 'thee' for 'the,' instead of collating the texts.

Line 23, 'its' for 'his.'

" 25, 'when' for 'where.'

" 37, I have adopted 'th'' for 'thou' of our text (1652). 2d Elegy: Line 1, our text (1652) misspells 'fleed.' Line 3, ib. misprints 'I' am.'

" 10, ib. drops 'beauteous' inadvertently. TURNBULL, for a wonder, wakes up here to notice a deficient word; but again, instead of collating his texts, inserts without authority 'lofty.' Had he turned to 1648 edition, he would have found 'beauteous.'

Line 20, I have adopted 'Time's' for 'Time.'

" 23, as in line 17 in 1st Elegy.

" 30, a reference to the 'Love will find out the way,' in the old song 'Over the mountain.' 'Weary' is misprinted 'Wary' in 1670.

3d Elegy: Line 7, 'with' for 'by.'

Line 17, our text (1652) misprints 'Or' for 'O.'

" 20, I accept 't'' for 'to.'

" 29, 'The Blessed Virgin' for 'The queen of angels.'

" 41, 'facing' for 'gaping.'

" 43, as in line 17 in 1st Elegy.

" 50, 'hath' for 'haue.'

" 51, 'sweet's' for 'sweet.'

" 54, our text (1652) misprints 'thousand.' G.

Secular Poetry.

II.

AIRELLES.

NOTE.

See Note on page 184 for reference on the title here and elsewhere of 'Airelles.' G.

UPON THE KING'S CORONATION.[89]

Sound forth, coelestiall organs, let heauen's quire Ravish the dancing orbes, make them mount higher With nimble capers, & force Atlas tread Vpon his tiptoes, e're his siluer head Shall kisse his golden curthen. Thou glad Isle, That swim'st as deepe in joy, as seas, now smile; Lett not thy weighty glories, this full tide Of blisse, debase thee; but with a just pride Swell: swell to such an height, that thou maist vye With heauen itselfe for stately majesty. Doe not deceiue mee, eyes: doe I not see In this blest earth heauen's bright epitome, Circled with pure refined glory? heere I view a rising sunne in this our sphere, Whose blazing beames, maugre the blackest night, And mists of greife, dare force a joyfull light. The gold, in wch he flames, does well praesage A precious season, & a golden age. Doe I not see joy keepe his revels now, And sitt triumphing in each cheerfull brow? Vnmixt felicity with siluer wings Broodeth this sacred place: hither Peace brings The choicest of her oliue-crownes, & praies To haue them guilded with his courteous raies. Doe I not see a Cynthia, who may Abash the purest beauties of the day? To whom heauen's lampes often in silent night Steale from their stations to repaire their light. Doe I not see a constellation, Each little beame of wch would make a sunne? I meane those three great starres, who well may scorn Acquaintance with the vsher of the morne. To gaze vpon such starres each humble eye Would be ambitious of astronomie Who would not be a phoenix, & aspire To sacrifice himselfe in such sweet fire? Shine forth, ye flaming sparkes of Deity, Yee perfect emblemes of divinity. Fixt in your spheres of glory, shed from thence, The treasures of our liues, your influence, For if you sett, who may not justly feare, The world will be one ocean, one great teare.

UPON THE KING'S CORONATION.

Strange metamorphosis! It was but now The sullen heauen had vail'd its mournfull brow With a black maske: the clouds with child by Greife Traueld th' Olympian plaines to find releife. But at the last (having not soe much power As to refraine) brought forth a costly shower Of pearly drops, & sent her numerous birth (As tokens of her greife) vnto the Earth. Alas, the Earth, quick drunke with teares, had reel'd From of her center, had not Ioue vpheld The staggering lumpe: each eye spent all its store, As if heereafter they would weepe noe more: Streight from this sea of teares there does appeare Full glory naming in her owne free sphere. Amazed Sol throwes of his mournfull weeds, Speedily harnessing his fiery steeds, Vp to Olympus' stately topp he hies, From whence his glorious rivall hee espies. Then wondring starts, & had the curteous night Withheld her vaile, h' had forfeited his sight. The joy full sphaeres with a delicious sound Afright th' amazed aire, and dance a round To their owne musick, nor (untill they see This glorious Phoebus sett) will quiet bee. Each aery Siren now hath gott her song, To whom the merry lambes doe tripp along The laughing meades, as joy full to behold Their winter coates couer'd with naming gold. Such was the brightnesse of this Northerne starre, It made the virgin phoenix come from farre To be repair'd: hither she did resort, Thinking her father had remou'd his Court. The lustre of his face did shine soe bright, That Rome's bold egles now were blinded quite; The radiant darts shott from his sparkling eyes, Made euery mortall gladly sacrifice A heart burning in loue; all did adore This rising sunne; their faces nothing wore, But smiles, and ruddy joyes, and at this day All melancholy clouds vanisht away.

II. AN EPIGRAMME (part 5)

VPON THE BIRTH OF THE PRINCESSE ELIZABETH.[90]

Bright starre of Majesty, oh shedd on mee, A precious influence, as sweet as thee. That with each word, my loaden pen letts fall, The fragrant Spring may be perfum'd withall. That Sol from them may suck an honied shower, To glutt the stomack of his darling flower. With such a sugred livery made fine, They shall proclaime to all, that they are thine. Lett none dare speake of thee, but such as thence Extracted haue a balmy eloquence. But then, alas, my heart! oh how shall I Cure thee of thy delightfull tympanie? I cannot hold; such a spring-tide of joy Must haue a passage, or 'twill force a way. Yet shall my loyall tongue keepe this command: But giue me leaue to ease it with my hand. And though these humble lines soare not soe high, As is thy birth; yet from thy flaming eye Drop downe one sparke of glory, & they'l proue A praesent worthy of Apollo's loue. My quill to thee may not praesume to sing: Lett th' hallowed plume of a seraphick wing Bee consecrated to this worke, while I Chant to my selfe with rustick melodie. Rich, liberall heauen, what hath yor treasure store Of such bright angells, that you giue vs more? Had you, like our great sunne, stamped but one For earth, t' had beene an ample portion. Had you but drawne one liuely coppy forth, That might interpret our faire Cynthia's worth, Y' had done enough to make the lazy ground Dance, like the nimble spheres, a joyfull round. But such is the coelestiall excellence, That in the princely patterne shines, from whence The rest pourtraicted are, that 'tis noe paine To ravish heauen to limbe them o're againe. Wittnesse this mapp of beauty; euery part Of wch doth show the quintessence of art. See! nothing's vulgar, every atome heere Speakes the great wisdome of th' artificer. Poore Earth hath not enough perfection, To shaddow forth th' admired paragon. Those sparkling twinnes of light should I now stile Rich diamonds, sett in a pure siluer foyle; Or call her cheeke a bed of new-blowne roses; And say that ivory her front composes; Or should I say, that with a scarlet waue Those plumpe soft rubies had bin drest soe braue; Or that the dying lilly did bestow Vpon her neck the whitest of his snow; Or that the purple violets did lace That hand of milky downe; all these are base; Her glories I should dimme with things soe grosse, And foule the cleare text with a muddy glosse. Goe on then, Heauen, & limbe forth such another, Draw to this sister miracle a brother; Compile a first glorious epitome Of heauen, & Earth, & of all raritie; And sett it forth in the same happy place, And I'le not blurre it with my paraphrase.

VPON A GNATT BURNT IN A CANDLE.

Little, buzzing, wanton elfe Perish there, and thanke thy selfe. Thou deseru'st thy life to loose, For distracting such a Muse. Was it thy ambitious aime By thy death to purchase fame? Didst thou hope he would in pitty Haue bestow'd a funerall ditty On thy ghoast? and thou in that To haue outliued Virgill's gnatt? No! The treason thou hast wrought Might forbid thee such a thought. If that Night's worke doe miscarry, Or a syllable but vary; A greater foe thou shalt me find, The destruction of thy kind. Phoebus, to revenge thy fault, In a fiery trapp thee caught; That thy winged mates might know it, And not dare disturbe a poet. Deare and wretched was thy sport, Since thyselfe was crushed for't; Scarcely had that life a breath, Yet it found a double death; Playing in the golden flames, Thou fell'st into an inky Thames; Scorch'd and drown'd. That petty sunne A pretty Icarus hath vndone.

FROM PETRONIUS.[91]

Ales Phasiacis petita Colchis, &c.

The bird that's fetch't from Phasis floud, Or choicest hennes of Africk-brood; These please our palates; and why these? 'Cause they can but seldome please. Whil'st the goose soe goodly white, And the drake, yeeld noe delight, Though his wings' conceited hewe Paint each feather, as if new. These for vulgar stomacks be, And rellish not of rarity. But the dainty Scarus, sought In farthest clime; what e're is bought With shipwrack's toile, oh, that is sweet, 'Cause the quicksands hansell'd it. The pretious barbill, now growne rife, Is cloying meat. How stale is wife? Deare wife hath ne're a handsome letter, Sweet mistris sounds a great deale better. Rose quakes at name of cinnamon. Unlesse't be rare, what's thought vpon?

FROM HORACE.

Ille et ne fasto te posuit die, &c.

Shame of thy mother soyle! ill-nurtur'd tree! Sett, to the mischeife of posteritie! That hand (what e're it wer) that was thy nurse, Was sacrilegious (sure) or somewhat worse. Black, as the day was dismall, in whose sight Thy rising topp first stain'd the bashfull light. That man---I thinke--wrested the feeble life From his old father, that man's barbarous knife Conspir'd with darknes 'gainst the strangers throate; (Whereof the blushing walles tooke bloody note) Huge high-floune poysons, eu'n of Colchos breed, And whatsoe're wild sinnes black thoughts doe feed, His hands haue padled in; his hands, that found Thy traiterous root a dwelling in my ground. Perfidious totterer! longing for the staines Of thy kind Master's well-deseruing braines. Man's daintiest care, & caution cannot spy The subtile point of his coy destiny, Wch way it threats. With feare the merchant's mind Is plough'd as deepe, as is the sea with wind, (Rowz'd in an angry tempest), Oh the sea! Oh! that's his feare; there flotes his destiny: While from another (vnseene) corner blowes The storme of fate, to wch his life he owes; By Parthians bow the soldier lookes to die, (Whose hands are fighting, while their feet doe flie.) The Parthian starts at Rome's imperiall name, Fledg'd with her eagle's wing; the very chaine Of his captivity rings in his eares. Thus, o thus fondly doe wee pitch our feares Farre distant from our fates, our fates, that mocke Our giddy feares with an vnlook't for shocke. A little more, & I had surely seene Thy greisly Majesty, Hell's blackest Queene; And Oeacus on his tribunall too, Sifting the soules of guilt; & you, (oh you!) You euer-blushing meads, where doe the blest Farre from darke horrors home appeale to rest. There amorous Sappho plaines vpon her lute Her loue's crosse fortune, that the sad dispute Runnes murmuring on the strings. Alcaeus there In high-built numbers wakes his golden lyre To tell the world, how hard the matter went, How hard by sea, by warre, by banishment. There these braue soules deale to each wondring eare Such words, soe precious, as they may not weare Without religious silence; aboue all Warre's ratling tumults, or some tyrant's fall. The thronging clotted multitude doth feast: What wonder? when the hundred-headed beast Hangs his black lugges, stroakt with those heavenly lines; ears The Furies' curl'd snakes meet in gentle twines, And stretch their cold limbes in a pleasing fire. Prometheus selfe, and Pelops sterved sire Are cheated of their paines; Orion thinkes Of lions now noe more, or spotted linx.

EX EUPHORMIONE.

O Dea, siderei seu tu stirpe alma tonantis, &c.

Bright goddesse (whether Joue thy father be, Or Jove a father will be made by thee) Oh crowne these praiers (mov'd in a happy bower) But with one cordiall smile for Cloe. That power Of Loue's all-daring hand, that makes me burne, Makes me confess't. Oh, doe not thou with scorne, Great nymph, o'relooke my lownesse. Heau'n you know And all their fellow-deities will bow Eu'n to the naked'st vowes. Thou art my fate; To thee the Parcae haue given vp of late My threds of life: if then I shall not live By thee, by thee yet lett me die; this giue, High Beautie's soveraigne, that my funerall flames May draw their first breath from thy starry beames. The phoenix' selfe shall not more proudly burne, That fetcheth fresh life from her fruitfull vrne.

AN ELEGY VPON THE DEATH OF MR. STANNINOW,

FELLOW OF QUEENE'S COLLEDGE.[92]

Hath aged winter, fledg'd with feathered raine, To frozen Caucasus his flight now tane? Doth hee in downy snow there closely shrowd His bedrid limmes, wrapt in a fleecy clowd? Is th' Earth disrobed of her apron white, Kind Winter's guift, & in a greene one dight? Doth she beginne to dandle in her lappe Her painted infants, fedd with pleasant pappe, Wch their bright father in a pretious showre From heaven's sweet milky streame doth gently poure Doth blith Apollo cloath the heavens with joye, And with a golden waue wash cleane away Those durty smutches, wch their faire fronts wore, And make them laugh, wch frown'd, & wept before? If heaven hath now forgot to weepe; o then What meane these shoures of teares amongst vs men? These cataracts of griefe, that dare eu'n vie With th' richest clowds their pearly treasurie? If Winters gone, whence this vntimely cold, That on these snowy limmes hath laid such hold? What more than winter hath that dire art found, These purple currents hedg'd with violets round. To corrallize, wch softly wont to slide In crimson waueletts, & in scarlet tide? If Flora's darlings now awake from sleepe, And out of their greene mantletts dare to peepe O tell me then, what rude outragious blast Forc't this prime flowre of youth to make such hast? To hide his blooming glories, & bequeath His balmy treasure to the bedd of death? 'Twas not the frozen zone; one sparke of fire, Shott from his flaming eye, had thaw'd its ire, And made it burne in loue: 'twas not the rage, And too vngentle nippe of frosty age: 'Twas not the chast, & purer snow, whose nest Was in the modest nunnery of his brest: Noe, none of these ravish't those virgin roses, The Muses, & the Graces fragrant posies. Wch, while they smiling sate vpon his face, They often kist, & in the sugred place Left many a starry teare, to thinke how soone The golden harvest of our joyes, the noone Of all our glorious hopes should fade, And be eclipsed with an envious shade. Noe 'twas old doting Death, who stealing by, Dragging his crooked burthen, look't awry, And streight his amorous syth (greedy of blisse) Murdred the Earth's just pride with a rude kisse. A winged herald, gladd of soe sweet a prey, Snatch't vpp the falling starre, soe richly gay, And plants it in a precious perfum'd bedd, Amongst those lillies, wch his bosome bredd. Where round about hovers with siluer wing A golden Summer, an aeternall Spring. Now that his root such fruit againe may beare, Let each eye water't with a courteous teare.

UPON THE DEATH OF A FREIND.

Hee's dead! Oh what harsh musick's there Vnto a choyce, and curious eare! Wee must that Discord surely call, Since sighs doe rise and teares doe fall. Teares fall too low, sighes rise too high, How then can there be harmony? But who is he? him may wee know That jarres and spoiles sweet consort soe? O Death, 'tis thou: you false time keepe, And stretch'st thy dismall voice too deepe. Long time to quavering Age you giue, But to large Youth, short time to liue. You take vpon you too too much, In striking where you should not touch. How out of tune the world now lies, Since youth must fall, when it should rise! Gone be all consort, since alone He that once bore the best part's gone. Whose whole life, musick was; wherein Each vertue for a part came in. And though that musick of his life be still, The musick of his name yett soundeth shrill.

AN ELEGIE ON THE DEATH OF DR. PORTER.[93]

Stay, silver-footed Came, striue not to wed Thy maiden streames soe soone to Neptune's bed; Fixe heere thy wat'ry eyes upon these towers, Vnto whose feet in reuerence of the powers, That there inhabite, thou on euery day With trembling lippes an humble kisse do'st pay. See all in mourning now; the walles are jett, With pearly papers carelesly besett. Whose snowy cheekes, least joy should be exprest, The weeping pen with sable teares hath drest. Their wronged beauties speake a tragoedy, Somewhat more horrid than an elegy. Pure, & vnmixed cruelty they tell, Wch poseth Mischeife's selfe to parallel. Justice hath lost her hand, the law her head; Peace is an orphan now; her father's dead. Honestie's nurse, Vertue's blest guardian, That heauenly mortall, that seraphick man. Enough is said, now, if thou canst crowd on Thy lazy crawling streames, pri'thee be gone, And murmur forth thy woes to euery flower, That on thy bankes sitts in a uerdant bower, And is instructed by thy glassy waue To paint its perfum'd face wth colours braue. In vailes of dust their silken heads they'le hide, As if the oft-departing sunne had dy'd. Goe learne that fatall quire, soe sprucely dight In downy surplisses, & vestments white, To sing their saddest dirges, such as may Make their scar'd soules take wing, & fly away. Lett thy swolne breast discharge thy strugling groanes To th' churlish rocks; & teach the stubborne stones To melt in gentle drops, lett them be heard Of all proud Neptune's siluer-sheilded guard; That greife may crack that string, & now vntie Their shackled tongues to chant an elegie. Whisper thy plaints to th' Ocean's curteous eares, Then weepe thyselfe into a sea of teares. A thousand Helicons the Muses send In a bright christall tide, to thee they send, Leaving those mines of nectar, their sweet fountaines, They force a lilly path through rosy mountaines. Feare not to dy with greife; all bubling eyes Are teeming now with store of fresh supplies.

VERSE-LETTER

TO

THE COUNTESS OF DENBIGH

(1652).

NOTE.

To the volume of 1652 ('Carmen Deo Nostro' &c.) was prefixed a Verse-letter to the COUNTESS OF DENBIGH, illustrated with an engraving of a 'locked heart,' as reproduced in our quarto edition. In 1653 ('Sept. 23, 1653'), as appears from a contemporary marking in the unique copy in the British Museum, the following was printed: 'A Letter from MR. CRASHAW to the Countess of Denbigh. Against Irresolution and Delay in matters of Religion. London, n.d.'(4to). Collation: title-page and 3 pages, page 1st on reverse of title-page (British Museum E. 220. 2.). The Paris copy is very imperfect from some unexplained reason (68 as against 90 lines), and it would seem that some friend of the deceased poet, dissatisfied with it, and having in his (or her) possession a fuller MS., printed, if not published it. We give the enlarged text--never before noticed, having been only named, without taking the trouble to consult and compare it, by TURNBULL; and for the student add the abbreviated form from 1652 'Carmen,' as it, in turn, has lines and words not in the other. See our Essay for more on this most characteristic poem, and relative to the Countess of Denbigh. G.

AGAINST IRRESOLUTION AND DELAY IN MATTERS OF RELIGION.

What Heav'n-besieged heart is this 1 Stands trembling at the Gate of Blisse: Holds fast the door, yet dares not venture Fairly to open and to enter? Whose definition is, A Doubt 5 'Twixt life and death, 'twixt In and Out. Ah! linger not, lov'd soul: a slow And late consent was a long No. Who grants at last, a great while try'de And did his best, to have deny'de 10 What magick-bolts, what mystick barrs Maintain the Will in these strange warrs? What fatall, yet fantastick, bands Keep the free heart from his own hands? Say, lingring Fair, why comes the birth 15 Of your brave soul so slowly forth? Plead your pretences (O you strong In weaknesse!) why you chuse so long In labour of your self to ly, Not daring quite to live nor die. 20 So when the Year takes cold we see Poor waters their own prisoners be: Fetter'd and lock'd up fast they lie In a cold self-captivity. Th' astonish'd Nymphs their Floud's strange fate deplore, 25 find themselves their own severer shoar. Love, that lends haste to heaviest things, In you alone hath lost his wings. Look round and reade the World's wide face, The field of Nature or of Grace; 30 Where can you fix, to find excuse Or pattern for the pace you use? Mark with what faith fruits answer flowers, And know the call of Heav'n's kind showers: Each mindfull plant hasts to make good 35 The hope and promise of his bud. Seed-time's not all; there should be harvest too. Alas! and has the Year no Spring for you? Both winds and waters urge their way, And murmure if they meet a stay. 40 Mark how the curl'd waves work and wind, All hating to be left behind. Each bigge with businesse thrusts the other, And seems to say, Make haste, my brother. The aiery nation of neat doves, pure 45 That draw the chariot of chast Loves, Chide your delay: yea those dull things, Whose wayes have least to doe with wings, Make wings at least of their own weight, And by their love controll their Fate. 50 So lumpish steel, untaught to move, Learn'd first his lightnesse by his love. What e're Love's matter be, he moves By th' even wings of his own doves, Lives by his own laws, and does hold 55 In grossest metalls his own gold. All things swear friends to Fair and Good Yea suitours; man alone is wo'ed, Tediously wo'ed, and hardly wone: Only not slow to be undone. 60 As if the bargain had been driven So hardly betwixt Earth and Heaven; Our God would thrive too fast, and be Too much a gainer by't, should we Our purchas'd selves too soon bestow 65 On Him, who has not lov'd us so. When love of us call'd Him to see If wee'd vouchsafe His company, He left His Father's Court, and came Lightly as a lambent flame, 70 Leaping upon the hills, to be The humble king of you and me. Nor can the cares of His whole crown (When one poor sigh sends for Him down) Detain Him, but He leaves behind 75 The late wings of the lazy wind, Spurns the tame laws of Time and Place, And breaks through all ten heav'ns to our embrace. Yield to His siege, wise soul, and see Your triumph in His victory. 80 Disband dull feares, give Faith the day: To save your life, kill your Delay. 'Tis cowardise that keeps this field; And want of courage not to yield. Yield then, O yield, that Love may win 85 The Fort at last, and let Life in. Yield quickly, lest perhaps you prove Death's prey, before the prize of Love. This fort of your fair self if't be not wone, He is repuls'd indeed, but you'r undone. 90

FINIS.

FROM 'CARMEN DEO NOSTRO' (1652).

Non vi.

''Tis not the work of force but skill To find the way into man's will. 'Tis loue alone can hearts unlock; Who knowes the Word, he needs not knock.'

To the noblest and best of Ladyes, the Countesse of Denbigh, perswading her to Resolution in Religion, and to render her selfe without further delay into the Communion of the Catholick Church.

What heau'n-intreated heart is this 1 Stands trembling at the gate of blisse? Holds fast the door, yet dares not venture Fairly to open it, and enter. Whose definition is a doubt 5 'Twixt life and death, 'twixt in and out. Say, lingring Fair! why comes the birth Of your brave soul so slowly forth? Plead your pretences (O you strong In weaknes!) why you choose so long 10 In labor of your selfe to ly, Nor daring quite to liue nor dy? Ah! linger not, lou'd soul! a slow And late consent was a long no; Who grants at last, long time try'd 15 And did his best to haue deny'd: What magick bolts, what mystick barres Maintain the will in these strange warres? What fatall yet fantastick, bands Keep the free heart from its own hands? 20 So when the year takes cold, we see Poor waters their own prisoners be: Fetter'd and lockt vp they ly In a sad selfe-captivity. The astonisht nymphs their flood's strange fate deplore, 25 To see themselues their own seuerer shore. Thou that alone canst thaw this cold, And fetch the heart from its strong-hold; Allmighty Love! end this long warr, And of a meteor make a starr. 30 O fix this fair Indefinite! And 'mongst Thy shafts of soueraign light Choose out that sure decisiue dart Which has the key of this close heart, Knowes all the corners of't, and can controul 35 The self-shutt cabinet of an vnsearcht soul. O let it be at last, Loue's hour! Raise this tall trophee of Thy powre; Come once the conquering way; not to confute But kill this rebell-word 'irresolute,' 40 That so, in spite of all this peeuish strength Of weaknes, she may write 'resolv'd' at length. Vnfold at length, vnfold fair flowre And vse the season of Loue's showre! Meet His well-meaning wounds, wise heart, 45 And hast to drink the wholsome dart. That healing shaft, which Heaun till now Hath in Loue's quiuer hid for you. O dart of Loue! arrow of light! O happy you, if it hitt right! 50 It must not fall in vain, it must Not mark the dry, regardless dust. Fair one, it is your fate; and brings Aeternal worlds upon its wings. Meet it with wide-spread armes, and see 55 Its seat your soul's iust center be. Disband dull feares; giue faith the day; To saue your life, kill your delay. It is Loue's seege, and sure to be Your triumph, though His victory. 60 'Tis cowardise that keeps this feild And want of courage not to yeild. Yeild then, O yeild, that Loue may win The fort at last, and let life in. Yeild quickly, lest perhaps you proue 65 Death's prey, before the prize of Loue. This fort of your faire selfe, if't be not won, He is repulst indeed; but you are vndone.

END OF VOL. I.

LONDON: ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] TURNBULL in line 19 misprints 'Diseased his ...' making nonsense. Disease is = dis-ease, discompose, as used by PHINEAS FLETCHER: cf. vol. iii. p. 194 et alibi.

[2] TURNBULL again misprints in line 3 'But' for 'Best,' once more making nonsense.

[3] Edition of 1834, p. 295; of 1839, vol. i. p. 301. TURNBULL adds not one iota to our knowledge, and repeats all WILLMOTT'S erroneous dates, &c.

[4] The present eminent Head of 'Charterhouse,' Dr. HAIG-BROWN, strove to find earlier documents in vain for me.

[5] As before, vol. ii. p. 302.

[6] I feel disposed to think that it must have been some other RICHARD CRASHAW, albeit attendance at both Universities was not uncommon. WOOD'S words are, that he was 'incorporated' in 1641 at Oxford; and his authority 'the private observation of a certain Master of Arts, that was this year living in the University;' and he adds, 'afterwards he was Master of Arts, in which degree it is probable he was incorporated' (Fasti, s. n.).

[7] I owe very hearty thanks to my good friend Mr. W. Aldis Wright, M.A., Trinity College, Cambridge, and to the Masters and other authorities of Pembroke and Peterhouse, for unfailing attention to my inquiries and the most zealous aid throughout.

[8] My 'document' was an extract from an old Register of the Church. I lent it to the late Mr. ROBERT BELL (who intended to include CRASHAW in his 'Poets'), and somehow it got astray. My priest-correspondent at Loretto was dead when I applied for another copy, and the Register has disappeared. Of the fact, however, that CRASHAW died in 1650 there can be no doubt.

[9] Life of COWLEY, in Lives of the Poets.

[10] Works, vol. i. (1707) pp. 44-7. Line 3 by a strange oversight is misprinted in all the editions I have seen 'The hard, and rarest....' I accept WILLMOTT'S correction.

[11] Query, the legal term 'seized' = taken possession of? So VAUGHAN, Silurist,

'O give it ful obedience, that so seiz'd Of all I have, I may not move thy wrath' (i. 154),

and

'Thou so long seiz'd of my heart' (ib. p. 289). G.

[12] = Iamblichus, the celebrated Neo-Platonic philosopher, author of {peri Pythagorou haireseus}, concerning the Philosophy of Pythagoras. G.

[13] Cf. poem on Lessius, lines 18 and 38. G.

[14] See our Memorial-Introduction and Essay, for remarks on HERBERT'S relation to CRASHAW. G.

[15] 'Seven shares and a halfe.' The same phrase occurs in Ben Jonson's Poetaster. The player whom Captain Tucca bullied and fleeced, was one of Henslowe's company, as shown by Tucca's stinging taunt that they had 'fortune and the good year on their side;' the facts being that the Fortune theatre had just been built, and that the year had been an exceptionally bad one with the hitherto prosperous players. To call attention tacitly to the allusion 'fortune' is, in the original editions, printed in italics. Various other players having been mimicked, ridiculed, and reviled, Tucca then bids farewell to his new acquaintance with--'commend me to seven shares and a half;' a remark which by its position seems to point to the chief men of the company. But a great part of the office of a manager like Henslowe was, as exhibited in Henslowe's own Diary, just such as is depreciatingly described in our text. He had various dramatic authors, poetasters, and others in his pay and debt. Hence as the Poetaster was written in 1601, and this preface in 1646, it may be concluded, that 'seven shares and a half' was the established proportion taken by, and therefore a theatrical cant name for, the Manager. It follows also that as the Player was one of Henslowe's company, the seven shares and a half alluded to by Jonson was Henslowe himself, from whom he had seceded, and with whom he had probably quarrelled. The question, however, yet remains open, whether seven shares and a half was the proportion received by a manager, or that taken by a proprietor-manager, such as Henslowe was. Malone has conjectured that Henslowe drew fifteen shares; if so, the other seven and a half may have been as rent, and out of one of the two halves may have come the general expenses of the house. G.

[16] 'Sixpenny soule, a suburb sinner.' This was the ordinary town courtesan, who, eschewing the penny and twopenny rabble of the pit and gallery, frequented the cheapest of the better-class seats, or main body of the house. G.

[17] = swollen. G.

[18] = as taught by Lessius, whose praise CRASHAW sang. See the Poem in its place in the 'Delights.' G.

[19] = drinkers of Canary (wine)? G.

[20] On the authorship of this Preface see our Preface. G.

[21] This couplet appeared first in 1648 edition of the 'Steps to the Temple;' but it properly belongs to the engraving in 'Carmen Deo Nostro' of 1652, which is reproduced in our illustrated 4to edition. G.

[22] 'The Weeper' appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 1-5): was reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 1-6), 1652 (pp. 85-92), 1670 (pp. 1-5). For reasons stated in our Preface, our text follows that of 1652; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem for details of various readings, &c. &c., and our Essay for critical remarks on it from POPE to DR. GEORGE MACDONALD. G.

[23] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 7-9): reprinted in 1652 and 1670. As before, our text is that of 1652 (pp. 55-61); but see Notes and Illustrations at close. The illustration, engraved by MESAGER, is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition. G.

[24] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 6-7): reprinted in 1648 (pp. 9-11) and 1670 editions. As it does not appear in 'Carmen Deo Nostro,' &c. (1652), our text follows that of 1648; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[25] Most of 'The Office of the Holy Crosse' appeared in the 'Steps' of 1648, but in a fragmentary form. First came a piece 'Upon our B. Saviour's Passion,' which included all the Hymns. Then 'the Antiphona,' which was the last so called here; then 'the Recommendation of the precedent Hymn;' then 'a Prayer;' and lastly, 'Christ's Victory,' including three other of the verses, called 'the Antiphona.' Our text is from 'Carmen Deo Nostro' &c. of 1652, as before (pp. 31-48)--the engraving in which is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition. See Notes and Illustrations at close of this composition. G.

[26]

Mors et vita duello Conflixero mirando: Dux vitae mortuus, regnat vivus.

Latin Sequence 12th-13th century: Vict. Pasch. G.

[27] The engraving of our text (1652) here, is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition. For the Latin 'Expostulatio' belonging thereto, see our vol. ii. G.

[28] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 30-1): reprinted in 1652 (pp. 49-51) and 1670 (pp. 174-6). Our text is that of 1652, as before. See Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[29] Originally appeared in 'Steps' of 1646 (p. 15): was reprinted in editions 1648 (pp. 21-2) and 1670 (p. 15). Our text is that of 1648: but there are only slight orthographic differences in the others. G.

[30] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (p. 21): was reprinted in 1648 (p. 29) and 1670 (p. 22). Our text is that of 1648, but the others are the same except in the usual changes of orthography. The SANCROFT MS. in line 7 reads 'Then shall He drink;' line 9, 'My paines are in their nonage: my young feares;' line 10 I have adopted, instead of 'Are yet both in their hopes, not come to yeares,' which isn't English; line 12, 'are tender;' line 14, 'a towardnesse.' I have arranged these poems in numbered couplets as in the SANCROFT MS. I insert 'd,' dropped by misprint in 1648, but found in 1646 (line 13). G.

[31] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 21, 22): was reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 29, 30) and 1670 (pp. 22, 23). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree save in usual orthographic slight changes. In 1646 stanza ii. line 2 spells 'too' as 'two.' The SANCROFT MS. varies only, as usual, in the orthography. G.

[32] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 23, 24): was reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 32, 33), 1652 (pp. 61-63) and 1670 (pp. 24, 25). Our text is that of 1652, as before, but with an entire stanza from 1646 overlooked. See Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[33] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 33-40); was reprinted in 1652 (pp. 1-9) and 1670 (pp. 146-153). Our text is that of 1652, as before, and its engraving here is reproduced in our illustrated 4to edition. See Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[34] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 25-27): was reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 40-42) and 1670 (pp. 26-28). Our text is that of 1648: but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[35] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 27, 28): reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 42, 43) and 1670 (pp. 28, 29). Our text is that of 1648, with which the others agree, except in usual slight changes of orthography, and the following adopted from the SANCROFT MS.: line 7, a second 'they' inserted; line 17, 'than' for 'then;' line 21 'vnpearch't' = without perch or support. G.

[36] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 28-31): reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 43-47), 1652 (pp. 10-16) and 1670 (pp. 29-32). Our text is that of 1652, as before, and its engraving here, is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition. See Notes and Illustrations at close of this composition. G.

[37] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 94, 95), where it is headed 'An Himne for the Circumcision day of our Lord:' reprinted in edition of 1648 (pp. 47, 48) with 'A' for 'An' in heading, and in the 'Carmen &c.' of 1652 (pp. 17, 18), being there entitled simply 'New Year's Day,' and in the edition of 1670 (pp. 72-74). Our text is that of 1652, as before, but there are only slight differences besides the usual orthographical ones, in any. See Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[38] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 48-55), reprinted in 'Carmen' &c. of 1652 (pp. 19-28) and in 1670 (pp. 153-161). Our text is that of 1652, as before: but see close for Notes and Illustrations. In our illustrated quarto edition we reproduce the engraving here of 1652. G.

[39] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 55, 56): reprinted in editions of 1652 (pp. 29, 30) and 1670 (pp. 161, 162). Our text is that of 1652, as before: but see Notes at close of the poem. G.

[40] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 22, 23): reprinted in 1648 (pp. 56, 57) and in 1670 (pp. 23, 24). Our text is that of 1648, with the exception of reading in line 10, 'live' for 'lives,' from 1646 (and so in 1670). Other slight differences are simply in orthography, and not noted. In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is 'Vpon Christ's Resurrection.' G.

[41] For critical remarks on the present very striking expansion and interpretation rather than translation of MARINO, the Reader is referred to our Essay. The SANCROFT MS. must have contained this poem, for it is inserted in the index; but unfortunately the pages of the MS. containing it have disappeared. It was first published in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 51-73), and was reprinted in the editions of 1648 and 1670: and separately, with a brief introduction, a few years since. Our text is that of 1648 (pp. 57-74); but it differs from the edition of 1646 only in slight changes of spelling, e.g. 'hee' for 'he,' 'guild' for 'gild,' and the like--not calling for record. The edition of 1670, in st. i. line 3, misprints 'so what' for 'O what,' and TURNBULL repeats the error, and of himself misreads in st. xxii. 'Who thunders on a throne of stars above' for 'Who in a throne of stars thunders above,' and in like manner in st. xxiv. line 8 substitutes 'getting' for 'finding,' and in st. xxvi. line 3 'serve' for 'serves.' Again in st. li. first line of which is left partially blank, from (probably) the illegibility of CRASHAW'S MS., TURNBULL tacitly fills in, 'By proud usurping Herod now was borne,' and in line 3 misprints 'lineage' for 'image'--fetching it from the 'linage' of 1670--a plausible reading, yet scarcely in keeping with the verb 'worn.' So too, besides lesser orthographic alterations, in st. xxxvi. line 2 he does not detect the stupid misprint 'whose' for 'my,' nor that of 'fight' for 'sight' in st. xlvii. line 8, while in st. lxi. he drops 'all,' which even the 1670 edition does not do, any more than is it responsible for a tithe of TURNBULL'S mistakes here and throughout. G.

[42] Appeared first in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 74-75): was reprinted in 1652 (pp. 66-69) and 1670 (pp. 185-187). Our text is that of 1652: but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem, and our Essay for critical remarks. The engraving of 1652 is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition. G.

[43] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 76-78), where the title is 'A Hymne on the B. Sacrament:' reprinted in 1652 (pp. 70--73) and 1670 (pp. 187-190). Our text is that of 1652; but see Notes at close of the poem. G.

[44] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 74-78), where it is headed 'On a prayer booke sent to Mrs. M.R.:' was reprinted in 1648 (pp. 78-82), where the title differs from that of 1652 (pp. 108-112) in leaving out 'Prayer' and 'little,' and in 1670 as in 1646. Our text is that of 1652; but see Notes and Illustrations at close and on M.R. in our Essay. G.

[45] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 82-84), and was reprinted in 1670 (pp. 198-200). Our text is that of 1648; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[46] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 84-5): reprinted in 1652 (pp. 121-2) and 1670 (pp. 204-5). Out text is that of 1652, as before; but see Notes at close of the poem. G.

[47] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (p. 78): reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 88-9) and 1670 (p. 60). Our text is that of 1648, with a few adopted readings as noted onward. See our Essay on Crashaw's relation to Herbert. In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is 'Vpon Herbert's Temple, sent to a Gentlewoman. R. CR.' Line 3 in the MS. spells 'fire,' and has 'faire' before 'eyes;' adopted: line 5th, books were used to be tied with strings: line 6th, 1646, 'you have ... th':' line 7th, MS. reads 'would' for 'will;' adopted: line 8th, 'to waite on your chast.' G.

[48] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 79-84): reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 89-94), 1652 (pp. 93-100), and 1670 (pp. 61-67). Our text is that of 1652, as before, and its engraving of the Saint's portrait, and French lines here, are reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition. See Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem, and our Essay on Teresa and Crashaw. G.

[49] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 85-6): reprinted in editions of 1648 (pp. 97-8) and 1670 (pp. 67-8). Our text is that of 1648. See our Essay for the biographic interest of this poem, and also Notes at its close. G.

[50] Appeared originally in 1648 'Steps' (pp. 94-6): reprinted in editions of 1652 (pp. 103-107) and 1670 (pp. 194-7). Our text is that of 1652, as before. G.

[51] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (p. 98): reprinted in 1652 (p. 107) and 1670 (pp. 197-8). Our text is that of 1652, as before; but the only difference in the others is (except the usual slight changes in orthography), that in 1648, 2d part, line 5 reads 'longing' for 'louing,' which I have adopted, as pointing back to the 'longing' of the 1st part, line 2. The title I take from 1648, as in 1652 it is simply 'A Song.' G.

[52] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 90-1): reprinted in 1648 (pp. 99-101), 1652 (pp. 81-3), 1670 (pp. 70-2). Our text is that of 1652, as before; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[53] From 'Five Piovs and Learned Discourses:

1. A Sermon shewing how we ought to behave our selves in God's house.

2. A Sermon preferring holy Charity before Faith, Hope and Knowledge.

3. A Treatise shewing that God's Law now qualified by the Gospel of Christ, is possible, and ought to be fulfilled of us in this life.

4. A Treatise of the Divine attributes.

5. A Treatise shewing the Antichrist not to be yet come.

By Robert Shelford, of Ringsfield in Suffolk, Priest. Printed by the printers to the Universitie of Cambridge. 1635 [quarto].' See Note at close of the poem, and our Essay, for more on Shelford. G.

[54] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 106-7), where it is headed 'A Hymne in Meditation of the Day of Judgement:' reprinted 1652 (pp. 74-78), 1670 (pp. 191-4). Our text is that of 1652, and its engraving here is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition. See our Essay for critical remarks on this great version of a supreme hymn. G.

[55] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 107-9): reprinted 1652 (pp. 52-54) and 1670 (pp. 176-8). Our text is that of 1652, as before. In 1648 lines 1 and 2 read 'you' for 'thee;' and line 33 'Thou' for 'you,' the latter adopted. G.

[56] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1648 (pp. 109-110): reprinted 1652 (pp. 79-80) and 1670 (pp. 194-5). Our text is that of 1652, as before, and its engraving here is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition in two forms (one hitherto unknown) from the Bodleian copy. G.

[57] Appeared first in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 96-9): reprinted in 1648 (pp. 111-113), 1652 (pp. 128-131), and 1670 (pp. 74-77). Our text is that of 1652, as before; with the exception of better readings from 1646, as noted below. See our Memorial Introduction and Essay for notices of the friendship of Cowley and Crashaw. G.

[58] As with Cowley's lines: see foot-note ante. G.

[59] See our Essay for critical remarks on this and related poems. G.

[60] May be 'kings;' but the MS. doubtful. G.

[61] Appeared originally in 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 103-7): was reprinted in 1648 (pp. 1-5), and 1670 (pp. 81-6). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but all agree. See Notes and Illustrations at close of this poem for other two earlier translations, and our Essay for the original Latin, with critical remarks. In our illustrated quarto edition will be found a pathetic and daintily-rendered illustration, done expressly for us by Mrs. Blackburn of Glasgow, and engraved by W.J. Linton, Esq. G.

[62] Appeared originally in the 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 110-1), and was reprinted in editions 1648 (pp. 7-8) and 1670 (pp. 106-7). Our text is that of 1648, as before, with the exception of 'gentlest' for 'gentle' from 1646 edition (line 2d), which is confirmed by the SANCROFT MS. The MS. in line 10 reads 'chatting:' line 16, I have corrected the usual reading of 'bosome' by 'blosome,' from the SANCROFT MS. The heading of the MS. is 'E Virg. Georg. particula. In laudem Veris. R. Cr.' i.e. Georg. ii. 323-345. G.

[63] Appeared originally in the 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 111): was reprinted in 1648 (p. 8) and 1670 (p. 107). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but all agree. G.

[64] Our text is from the 'Hygiasticon' of LESSIUS in the English translation of 1636, the title-page of which is as follows: 'Hygiasticon: or the right course of preserving Life and Health unto extream old Age: Together with soundnesse and integritie of the Senses, Iudgement, and Memorie. Written in Latine by LEONARD LESSIUS, and now done into English. The third Edition. Cambridge, 1636.' [42mo.] It is there entitled 'To the Reader, upon the Book's intent,' and begins at line 15; these opening lines being taken from the 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 112-3). See our Essay for remarks on this poem, and at close Notes and various readings. G.

[65] Appeared originally in 'Delights' of 1646 (p. 114): was reprinted in 1648 (p. 10) and 1670 (pp. 109-110). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. Our Poet has turned the prose of the original into verse (Aethiopica, lib. i. cap. 1). There was an early English translation of the whole, as follows: 'Heliodorus, his Aethiopian History: Done out of Greeke, and compared with other Translations. 1622' [quarto]. In line 2, 1646 and 1670 read 'in' for 'with:' line 7, 1646 misprints 'thy' for 'they.' The heading in the SANCROFT MS. is 'The faire Aethiopian, R. Cr.' TURNBULL perpetuates 1670's misprint of 'in' for 'with' in line 2, and adds one of his own in line 26, by misprinting 'guest' for 'guests.' G.

[66] Appeared originally in the 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 115-117): was reprinted 1648 (pp. 11-13) and 1670 (pp. 110-112). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree, save as follows: 1646 misprints 'cease' for 'ceaze' = seize, in line 17 from end; and 1670, line 8 from beginning, misprints 'own' for 'owe;' the latter perpetuated by TURNBULL. The poem is an interpretation of the first Idyll of Moschus. Line 5, 'O yes' = the legal oyiez: line 8, 'owe' = own. G.

[67] The first edition of Bishop Andrewes' Sermons was published in 1629. Its title was 'XCVI Sermons by the Right Honourable and Reverend Father in God, Launcelot Andrewes, late Lord Bishop of Winchester.' It is dedicated to the King by Laud and Buckeridge, Bishop of Ely, the latter adding a funeral sermon. It has no frontispiece. LOWNDES, as other bibliographers, does not seem to have known the edition of 1629. He calls that of 1631 the first, while it was the second; and he says it had a frontispiece, which is incorrect, if I may judge from a number of copies personally examined. The third edition (1635) I have not seen: but in the quarto (1641) appears a frontispiece-portrait, having the lines above, but no name or initials. Line 8 TURNBULL misprints 'and, with holy.' G.

[68] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 31-2): was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (pp. 18-19) and 1670 (pp. 86-7). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. The SANCROFT MS. gives us the name of the 'gentleman' celebrated, being thus headed, 'In obitum desideratissimi Mri Chambers, Coll. Reginal. Socij. R. CR.;' and in the margin in the archbishop's hand, 'The title and Name not in ye print.' The same MS. supplies us with lines 11-12 and 21-22, never before printed. This MS. in line 23 reads 'If yet at least he' ... and in line 32, 'are' for 'be.' Only other slight orthographic differences. G.

[69] Appeared originally in the 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 32-3): was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (pp. 19-20) and 1670 (pp. 87-9). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. See our Essay, as before, for notice of HERRYS or HARRIS. In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is 'In ejusdem praematur. obitu. Allegoricum. R. CR.;' and line 9 reads 'tree' for 'plant;' adopted. For a short Latin poem added here, see our vol. ii. G.

[70] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 33-5): was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (pp. 20-2) and 1670 (pp. 89-91). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[71] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 36-7): was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (pp. 23-4) and 1670 (pp. 91-3). Our text is that of 1648; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[72] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 38-9): was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (pp. 24-6) and 1670 (93-4). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. The SANCROFT MS. is headed 'Epitaphium in eundem R. CR.' Line 31, TURNBULL misprints 'breast' for 'breath.' G.

[73] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 39-40), where it is headed 'An Epitaph vpon Husband and Wife, which died and were buried together.' G.

[74] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 40-1), where it is headed 'Vpon Mr. Staninough's Death:' was reprinted in the 'Delights' of 1648 (p. 27), with the simple inscription, 'At the Funerall of a young Gentleman,' and in 1652 (pp. 24-5), as 'Death's Lectvre and the Fvneral of a yovng Gentleman,' and in 1670 (bis), viz. p. 96 and pp. 206-7. Our text is that of 1652, as before; but see Notes at close of the poem. G.

[75] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (p. 40): was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (p. 28) and 1670 (p. 95). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is 'In obitum Dris Brooke. R. CR.' It reads 'banck' for 'bankes' in line 7. See our Essay for notice of Dr. Brooke. G.

[76] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 45-6): was reprinted in 'Delights' of 1648 (pp. 28-9) and 1670 (pp. 101-2). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[77] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 47-8): was reprinted in 1648 'Delights' (pp. 30-1) and 1670 (pp. 102-4). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[78] Appeared originally in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 49-50): was reprinted in 'Delights' of 1648 (pp. 32-3) and 1670 (pp. 104-6). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[79] Appeared originally in the 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 123-4), along with the other two (pp. 125-6): reprinted in 1648 (pp. 35-7) and 1670 (pp. 117-19). Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. G.

[80] TURNBULL glaringly misprints 'The heart commanding in my heart,' and in line 15, 'O love;' the latter after 1670 as usual, the former his own. G.

[81] Appeared originally, without signature, in the work celebrated, which is a great folio. It was preceded by another, which, having been inserted in the 'Steps' of 1646 and the other editions (1652 excepted), has been continued to be reprinted as CRASHAW'S. It really belonged to Dr. EDWARD RAINBOW, Bishop of Carlisle, for whom, so late as 1688, it was first claimed by his biographer, Banks. This was pointed out in Notes and Queries by Rev. J.E.B. Mayor, M.A. of St. John's College, Cambridge (2d s. vol. iv. p. 286). One is thankful to have the claim confirmed by the non-presence of the poem in the SANCROFT MS., where only the above shorter one appears as by CRASHAW. Lines 5-8 of RAINBOW'S poem it was simply impossible for our singer to have written. I add the other at close of CRASHAW'S, as some may be curious to read it: but as the details of the grotesque 'Frontispiece' are celebrated by RAINBOW, not CRASHAW, I have departed from my intention of reproducing it in our illustrated quarto edition, the more readily in that I have much increased otherwise therein the reproductions announced. RAINBOW contributed to the University Collections along with CRASHAW, MORE, BEAUMONT, E. KING, &c. &c. See our Essay on Life and Poetry. G.

[82] Appeared originally in 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 130-1): was reprinted in 1648 (pp. 40-1) and 1670 (pp. 122-3). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but all agree. G.

[83] Appeared originally in 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 132-3), and was reprinted in 1648 (p. 42); but not in 1670. Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. The original is found in Carm. v. = 2. The SANCROFT M.S. reads line 4 'Blithest:' line 9 'numerous:' line 12 'A:' line 17 'our.' G.

[84] Appeared originally in 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 134-8): was reprinted in 1648 (pp. 43-7) and 1670 (pp. 124-8). Our text is that of 1648, as before; but see Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[85] Appeared originally in 'Voces Votivae ab Academicis Cantabrigiensibus pro novissimo Carolo et Mariae principe filio emissae. Cantabrigiae: apud Rogerum Daniel. MDCXL.' This poem did not appear in the edition of 1646; but it did in that of 1648 (p. 48). Not having been reprinted in 1670, it was overlooked by TURNBULL. Our text is from 1648; but the only variation from the original in 'Voces Votivae' is in line 7, 'to' instead of 'for.' G.

[86] Appeared as in last piece: 1648 (pp. 49-53), 1670 (pp. 97-100). Our text is that of 1648, as before, which corrects TURNBULL in many places as well in errors of commission as of omission; the latter extending to no fewer than forty-nine entire lines, in addition to the 'Apologie' of fourteen lines. See Notes and Illustrations at close of the poem. G.

[87] Appeared originally in 1648 'Delights;' but is not given in 1670 edition. Line 14 is an exquisitely-turned allusion to COWLEY'S title-page of his juvenile Poems, 'Poetical Blossoms,' 1633. 'Apricocks' = apricots. So HERRICK in the 'Maiden Blush,'

'So cherries blush, and kathern peares, And apricocks, in youthfull yeares.'

(Works, by HAZLITT, vol. ii. p. 287.) G.

[88] Appeared originally in the 'Delights' of 1648 (pp. 67-8): was reprinted in 1652 (pp. 115-120) and 1670 (pp. 200-4). Our text is that of 1652, as before; but see various readings at close of the poems. See also our Essay for critical remarks. Our poet translates from the Latin of FRANCIS REMOND. G.

[89] Charles I. See our Essay on this and kindred poems, and their relation to the Latin royal poems. G.

[90] See our Notes to Panegyric on the Queen's 'numerous progenie.' G.

[91] Petronius, Satyricon, cap. 93. G.

[92] See notice of Staninough in our Essay, as before. G.

[93] See our Essay, as before, for notice of PORTER. G.

# Project Gutenberg #38550

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Transcriber' note:

A character following a carat is supercripted (example: y^e). When two or more characters are superscripted they are enclosed in curly brackets (example: D^{ris}).

The Fuller Worthies' Library.

THE COMPLETE WORKS OF RICHARD CRASHAW.

In Two Volumes.

VOL. II.

ESSAY ON LIFE AND WRITINGS.

EPIGRAMMATA ET POEMATA LATINA: TRANSLATED FOR THE FIRST TIME. GLOSSARIAL INDEX.

London: Robson and Sons, Printers, Pancras Road, N.W.

The Fuller Worthies' Library.

THE COMPLETE WORKS OF RICHARD CRASHAW.

For the First Time Collected and Collated with the Original and Early Editions, and Much Enlarged with

I. Hitherto unprinted and inedited Poems from Archbishop Sancroft's MSS. &c. &c. II. Translation of the whole of the Poemata et Epigrammata. III. Memorial-Introduction, Essay on Life and Poetry, and Notes. IV. In Quarto, reproduction in facsimile of the Author's own Illustrations of 1652, with others specially prepared.

Edited by the

REV. ALEXANDER B. GROSART,

St. George's, Blackburn, Lancashire.

In Two Volumes.

VOL. II.

Printed for Private Circulation. 1873.

156 copies printed.

PREFACE.

In our Essay and Notes in the present Volume we so fully state such things as it seemed expedient to state on the specialties of our collection of Crashaw's Latin and Greek Poetry, in common with our like collection of his English Poetry in Vol. I., that little remains for preface here, beyond our wish renewedly to express our gratitude and obligations to our fellow-workers on the Translations now submitted. The names given at p. 4 herein, and the markings on the margin of the Contents, will show how generously my own somewhat large proportion of the task of love has been lightened by them; and throughout I have been aided and animated by the cordiality with which the friends have responded to my demands, or spontaneously sent their contributions. Preeminently I owe thanks to my 'brother beloved,' the Rev. RICHARD WILTON, M.A., Londesborough Rectory, Market Weighton.

On the text of the Latin and Greek I refer to the close of our Essay; but I must acknowledge willing and scholarly help, on certain points whereon I consulted them, from Rev. Dr. HOLDEN, Ipswich, Rev. Dr. JESSOPP, Norwich, and W. ALDIS WRIGHT, Esq. M.A. Cambridge (as before); albeit the inevitable variety of suggested emendations, as onward, compelled me to limit myself to as accurate a reproduction as possible of the text of Crashaw himself, obvious misprints excepted.

I have now to record the various University Collections wherein Crashaw's earliest poetical efforts appeared--all showing a passionate loyalty, which indeed remained with him to the end.

(a) Anthologia in Regis exanthemata; seu gratulatio Musarum Cantabrigiensium de felicissime conservata Regis Caroli valetudine, 1632.

(b) Ducis Eboracensis Fasciae a Musis Cantabrigiensibus raptim contextae, 1633.

(c) Rex Redux; sive Musa Cantabrigiensis Voti ... et felici reditu Regis Caroli post receptam coronam comitaque peracta in Scotia, 1633.

(d) Carmen Natalitium ad cunas illustrissimae Principis Elizabethae decantatum intra Nativitatis Dom. solemnia per humiles Cantabrigiae Musas, 1635.

(e) {Synodia}, sive Musarum Cantabrigiensium concentus et congratulatio ad serenissimum Britanniarum Regem Carolum de quinta sua sobole clarissima Principe sibi nuper felicissime nata, 1637.

(f) Voces votivae ab Academicis Cantabrigiensibus pro novissimo Caroli et Mariae Principe Filio emissae, 1640.

It is a noticeable fact, that Crashaw while still so young should have been invited to contribute to these University Collections along with Wren, Henry More, Edward King ('Lycidas'), Joseph Beaumont, Edward Rainbow, and kindred. His pieces in each are recorded in the places in our Volumes. They invite critical comment; but our space is fully exhausted.

By the liberality of F. MADOX-BROWN, Esq. R.A. I am enabled to furnish (in the 4to) in this our Second Volume an admirable photograph, by Hollyer of London, of his cartoon for the memorial-window in Peterhouse, Cambridge. Peterhouse is at late-last doing honour to some of her sons thus. Professor Ward, of Owens' College, Manchester, has the praise, as the privilege, of presenting the Crashaw portion of the fine Window. The figure is full of dignity and impressiveness; we may accept the creation of the Painter's genius for a Portrait. The accessories are suggestive of familiar facts in the life and poetry of Crashaw. Vignette-illustrations from W.J. LINTON, Esq. and Mrs. BLACKBURN again adorn our volume (in 4to). I regard that to the 'Captive Bird' (p. xxi.) as a gem. Finally, I cannot sufficiently acknowledge the cultured sympathy with which Mr. CHARLES ROBSON (of my Printers), one of the old learned school, has cooperated with me in securing accuracy. To 'err is human,' but I believe our Volumes will be found as little blemished as most. One misprint, however, caught our eye, just when our completed Vol. I. was sent out, which troubled us as much as ever it would have done Ritson, viz. 'anchor' for 'arrow' in Cowley's 'Hope' (p. 176, l. 23). Gentle Reader, be so good as correct this at once.

A.B.G.

Park View, Blackburn, Lancashire, March 4, 1873.

P.S. Three small overlooked items bearing on Crashaw having been recovered from a missing Note-book, I add them here.

(a) The 1670 edition of the 'Steps,' &c. (whose title-page is given in Vol. I. xliv.) was re-issued with an undated title-page as 'The Third Edition. London, Printed for Richard Bently, Jacob Tonson, Francis Saunders, and Tho. Bennett.' It is from the same type, and identical in every way except the fresh title-page, with the (so-called) '2d Edition.'

(b) In Thomas Shipman's 'Carolina, or Loyal Poems' (1683) there is a somewhat scurril piece entitled 'The Plagiary, 1658. Upon S.C., Presbyterian Minister and Captain, stealing forty-eight lines from Crashaw's Poems, to patch-up an Elegy for Mr. F. P[ierpont].' A very small specimen must suffice:

'Soft, sir,--stand! You are arraign'd for theft; hold up your hand. Impudent theft as ever was exprest, Not to steal jewels only, but the chest; Not to nib bits of gold from Crashaw's lines, But swoop whole strikes together from his mynes.'

Another piece, 'The Promise. To F.L. Esq., with Crashaw's Poems (1653),' has nothing quotable.

(c) In Aylett's Poems, 'Peace with her Fowre Gardens,' &c. (1622), there are three little commendatory poems signed 'R.C.,' and these have been assigned to Crashaw; but '1622' forbids this, as he was then only in his 9-10th year. G.

CONTENTS.

As neither Crashaw nor his early Editors furnished Contents to the Epigrammata et Poemata, we are left free to decide thereon; and inasmuch as (a) our translations are intended to make Vol. II. as generally accessible and understood as Vol. I, and as (b) very few of those here first printed have headings, or the Scripture-texts only--we have deemed it expedient to give as Contents the subjects in English. The Scholar-student will find the Latin headings of the Author in their places. In the right-hand margin the initials of the respective Translators are given; on which see pp. 4-5, and Notes to the successive divisions. [*] on left-hand margin indicates there is a Greek version also: [+] printed for first time: [x] translated for first time. G.

I. SACRED EPIGRAMS, 1-164. 1634-1670. TRANS. PAGE

I. SACRED EPIGRAMS, 1-164. 1634-1670.

TRANS. PAGE

Note 2

x Dedication: Latin, pp. 7-11; English G., CL. 11

x To the Reader: Latin, pp. 16-22; English G. 22

* 1. Two went up into the Temple to pray CR., B. 35

2. Upon the asse that bore our Saviour CR., G. 36

3. The Lord 'despised and rejected' by His own people B. 37

x 4. The cripple at the Pool of Bethesda CL., G. 37

x 5. Christ to Thomas CL., A. 38

6. Whosoever will lose his life for My sake shall find it A., CR. 39, 206

x 7. Mary Magdalene early, when it was yet dark, cometh unto the sepulchre G. 40

x 8. On the miracle of multiplyed loaves G. 40

9. On the baptized Ethiopian CR., B. 41

10. The publican standing afar off, smote on his breast G. 42

*x 11. The widow's mites CR. 43

x 12. Mary, which also sat at Jesus' feet, and heard His word G. 43

x 13. The descent of the Holy Spirit G. 44

14. On the Prodigall CR. 45

15. I am ready not to be bound only, but to dye[1] CR., G. 45

x 16. On Herod worshipped as a god, eaten of worms CL. 46

x 17. When he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid, &c. G. 46

x 18. He offered them money CL. 47

x 19. The shadow of St. Peter heals the sick G. 47

20. The dumbe healed, and the people enjoyned silence CR., G. 48

21. And a certaine priest comming that way looked on him, &c. CR., G., A. 49

x 22. The ungrateful lepers G. 50

x 23. Be ye not fretted about to-morrow G., A. 51

x 24. Matthew called from the receipt of custom R. WI. 52

x 25. The dead son re-delivered to his mother CL. 52

26. It is better to go into heaven with one eye, &c. CR., G. 53

x 27. The man ill of dropsy cured G. 54

x 28. There was no room for them in the Inn G. 55

29. Upon Lazarus his teares CR., G. 55

x 30. Caiphas angry that Christ confesses He is the Christ G. 56

x 31. But though He had done so many miracles, &c. CL. 56

x 32. To S. Andrew, fisherman G. 57

x 33. I am the voice G. 57

x 34. The chains spontaneously fall off G. 58

x 35. On All-Saints' Day R. WI. 58

36. Upon the Powder-day CR. 59

x 37. God in the Virgin's womb R. WI. 59

x 38. To the Jews, murderers of St. Stephen G. 61

x 39. St. John in exile G. 61

40. To the infant martyrs CR., B. 62

x 41. The blessed Virgin seeks Jesus G. 63

42. I am not worthy, &c. CR. 63

43. And He answered them nothing CR., G. 64

x 44. Now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace CL. 65

x 45. The Word among thorns G. 65

x 46. The Judaic and Christian Sabbath G. 66

47. The blind cured by the word of our Saviour CR. 67

x 48. My burden is light G. 67

49. On the miracle of loaves CR., R. WI. 67

x 50. Now we know Thee to have a devil G. 68

51. On the blessed Virgin's bashfulness CR. 69

x 52. On the wounds of our crucified Lord R. WI. 69

x 53. Wherefore eateth your Master with Publicans? G. 71

* 54. Come, see the place where the Lord lay Vpon the sepulchre of our Lord CR. 72

x 55. The unthankful lepers. (Where are the nine?) G. 72

56. On the still-surviving markes of our Saviour's wounds CR., G. 73

57. The sick implore St. Peter's shadow CR., G. 74

x 58. Why are ye troubled? Behold My hands, &c. G. 75

x 59. The chains spontaneously fell from Peter, &c. G. 75

x 60. From his body there were brought ... handkerchiefs, &c. R. WI. 76

x 61. Christ the Vine to the Vinedresser-Father G. 76

x 62. Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian. CL. 77

63. But men loved darkness rather than light CR., B., G. 77

64. Dives asking a drop CR. 78

x 65. How can a man be born when he is old? R. WI. 79

x 66. The tree dried up by the word of Christ G. 80

x 67. Zacharias incredulous CL. 80

68. On the water of our Lord's baptisme CR., B. 81

x 69. The bowed-down woman healed by the Lord, &c. G. 81

x 70. Neither durst any man ... ask Him any more questions G. 82

71. St. John and his mother B. 82

72. If Thou be the Son of God, cast Thyself down B. 83

73. The Lord weeping over the Jews B. 83

x 74. Nor even as this publican G. 84

x 75. On Saul blinded with too much light R. WI. 84

76. Blessed are the eyes which see B., G. 85

x 77. Her son is delivered to his mother from the bier R. WI. 85

x 78. On the wise of this world R. WI. 86

x 79. The Jews seeking to cast Christ headlong from a precipice G. 87

x 80. The casting down of the dragon G. 87

x 81. The blessed Virgin believing G. 87

x 82. Is it lawful to give tribute to Caesar? G. 88

x 83. The minstrels and crowd making a noise about the dead G. 89

84. The fishermen called B., G., A. 89

85. Give to Caesar ... and to God CR., G. 90

86. The Lord borne on the ass B., R. WI. 90

x 87. They shall see the Son of Man coming in a cloud G. 91

x 88. Except I shall put my fingers, &c. G. 91

x 89. To the Jews stoning Stephen G. 92

x 90. To St. John the beloved disciple G. 92

91. Upon the infant martyrs CR., G. 93

x 92. God with us G. 93

93. The circumcision of Christ: Vol. I. pp. 48-9; and CR. 94

x 94. The Epiphany of our Lord CL. 94

x 95. Lo, we have sought Thee, &c. G. 95

96. Water turned into wine G., CL., A. 96

x 97. The Lord at a distance heals the absent servant, &c. G. 97

98. Why are ye so fearful? B. 97

x 99. Now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace CL. 98

x 100. Good seed in the field G. 99

101. She began to wash His feet, &c. CR., CL. 99

x 102. What seekest that I do to thee? G. 100

x 103. The silence of Christ to the woman of Canaan G. 101

104. Blessed be the paps which Thou hast sucked CR. 101

x 105. Christ the Vine (including the branches) G. 102

106. Verily I say unto you, Yee shall weep and lament CR. 102

107. Christ the good Shepherd B., CL. 103

108. On the wounds of the crucified Lord CR., G. 104

x 109. The paralytic healed G. 104

x 110. Then took they up stones G. 105

x 111. On the Resurrection of the Lord R. WI. 105

x 112. But some doubted R. WI. 106

x 113. The scars of the wounds which the Lord showed, &c. G. 106

x 114. John sends to Jesus, &c. CL. 107

115. On St. Peter cutting off Malchus his eare CR. 108

116. The withered hand healed G., B. 108

117. To Pontius washing his hands CR., B. 108

x 118. The stater-giving fish G. 109

119. I have overcome the world B., A. 110

x 120. On the ascension of our Lord R. WI. 111

*x 121. The descent of the Holy Spirit G. 112

x 122. God so loved the world, that He gave His ... Son R. WI. 112

x 123. I have bought five yoke of oxen G. 113

x 124. St. Paul healing the lame man with a word, &c. R. WI. 113

* 125. To the sacred Dove alighting on the head of Christ W. 114

x 126. The doors of the prison self-opening to Peter G. 115

127. The Pharisees murmured, &c. G., B. 116

x 128. On the beam of the Pharisee R. WI. 116

x 129. They determined ... he should be put out of the synagogue A. 117

130. Concerning the prayer of the sons of Zebedee CL., B. 117

x 131. To the guests at the miraculous supper of the five loaves R. WI. 118

x 132. Christ overcoming the world G. 119

133. The Grecian disputants go about to kill St. Paul R. WI. 119

x 134. He that is greatest among you, let him be as the younger B. 120

x 135. He beheld the city, and wept over it R. WI. 120

136. Christ in Egypt R. WI. 121

x 137. The blind confessing Christ, &c. G., B. 121

138. If any man will come after Me, &c. G. 122

139. And he left all ... and followed Him B., G. 122

140. Ye build the sepulchres of the Prophets CR., G. 123

x 141. The man with the withered hand, &c. G. 123

x 142. Luke the beloved physician B., A. 124

143. The dropsical man thirsting now for Christ G. 125

144. To the assembly of all the S W., A. 125

x 145. Christ heals in absence CL. 127

x 146. The man born blind B., A. 127

x 147. And they laughed at Him G. 127

x 148. The wisdom of the world CL. 128

*x 149. On the stable where our Lord was born A. 128

x 150. St. Stephen to his friends, to raise no monument CL. 130

x 151. On St. John, whom Domitian cast into a caldron, &c. CL. 130

x 152. The infant-martyrs G. 131

x 153. They brought unto Him all sick people, &c. R. WI. 131

x 154. A sword shall pierce through thy own soul G. 132

x 155. On the blood of the Lord's circumcision R. WI. 133

x 156. The Child Jesus among the doctors R. WI. 134

157. To our Lord, upon the water made wine CR., G. 135

x 158. The Infant Christ is presented to the Father in the Temple R. WI. 135

x 159. The leper beseeching G. 136

160. Why are ye afraid? CR., B. 137

x 161. They teach customs, &c. R. WI. 138

*x 162. Command that this stone become a loaf G. 139

163. The woman of Canaan R. WI. 139

164. Upon the dumbe devill cast out, &c. CR. 140

x 165. They said, This is of a truth that Prophet R. WI. 141

x 166. It was winter, and Jesus walked in Solomon's porch R. WI. 141

x 167. They gave large money to the soldiers R. WI. 142

x 168. To the blessed Virgin: concerning the angelic salutation R. WI. 143

169. To Pontius washing his blood-stained hands CR. 144

x 170. On the day of the Lord's Passion R. WI. 144

x 171. On the day of the Lord's Resurrection, &c. A. 146

x 172. On the scars of the Lord still remaining R. WI. 147

x 173. My peace I give unto you R. WI. 149

x 174. Paul's conversion and blindness CL. 149

x 175. I am the Way, &c. R. WI. 150

x 176. On the night and winter journey of the Infant Lord R. WI. 150

x 177. I do not say that I will pray the Father for you A. 157

*x 178. On the day of the Lord's Ascension R. WI. 159

*x 179. The blind man implores Christ R. WI. 160

*x 180. What man of you having an hundred sheep, &c. R. WI. 161

*x 181. To Herod beheading St. James R. WI. 162

*x 182. The blind men having received their sight, &c. R. WI. 163

* 183. Zaccheus in the sycamore-tree R. WI. 164

184. On our crucified Lord, naked and bloody CR. 164

185. Sampson to his Dalilah CR. 164

SECULAR EPIGRAMS, 165-6.

1. Upon Ford's two Tragedyes, 'Love's Sacrifice' and 'The Broken Heart' 165

2. Vpon the Faire Ethiopian, &c. 165

3. On marriage 165

4. On Nanus mounted upon an ant 165

5. Vpon Venus putting-on Mars his armes 166

6. Vpon the same 166

7. Out of Martiall 166

II. SACRED EPIGRAMS, NEVER BEFORE PRINTED, 167-205.

+x 1. St. Paul and the viper G. 169

+x 2. The miracle of the loaves G. 169

+x 3. Of the tears of the suffering Christ G. 170

+x 4. The sepulchre of the Lord G. 171

+x 5. The parting words of Love G. 172

+x 6. Herod devoured of worms G. 172

+x 7. It is good to be here G. 173

+x 8. Look on the lilies, &c. R. WI. 173

+x 9. The deaf healed R. WI. 173

+x 10. The modesty of the blessed Virgin G. 174

+x 11. I send you as lambs, &c. G. 174

+x 12. Christ carried by the devil G. 175

+x 13. St. John the Baptist a voice G. 175

+x 14. John the Voice, Christ the Word G. 176

+x 15. On the birth of the Lord, &c. G. 176

+x 16. Of the 'blue-blood' pride of the Athenians G. 177

+x 17. I am the True Vine G. 178

+x 18. The departure of Christ lamented, &c. G. 178

+x 19. On the descent of the Holy Spirit R. WI. 179

+x 20. Life and Death G. 179

+ 21. I am the Doore CR., G. 180

+ 22. Upon the thornes taken downe from our Lord's head, &c. CR., G. 181

+x 23. Nicodemus G. 181

+x 24. To Domitian, concerning St. John, &c. R. WI. 183

+x 25. The voice of the Baptist G. 183

+x 26. On St. Peter loosed by the angel R. WI. 184

+ 27. On St. Peter casting away his nets, &c. CR., G. 184

+x 28. The Lamb of God, &c. G. 185

+x 29. The miraculous draught of fishes G. 186

+x 30. Lord, not my feet only, &c. G. 186

+x 31. Though they beheld so many miracles, &c. G. 186

+x 32. On the cloud which received the Lord R. WI. 187

+x 33. He saw the city, and wept over it G. 188

+x 34. Nor even as this publican R. WI. 189

+x 35. His Disciples came and awoke Him R. WI. 189

+x 36. The woman of Canaan G. 189

+x 37. Wherefore sitteth your Master with sinners, &c. G. 191

+x 38. Miracles of healing, &c. G. 191

+x 39. To St. Luke the physician R. WI. 192

+x 40. He bears His own cross G. 193

+ 41. Upon our Lord's last comfortable discourse, &c. CR., G. 194

+x 42. And they spat upon Him G. 194

+x 43. He besought that He would go with him, &c. G. 194

+x 44. For dread came upon him, &c. G. 196

+ 45. But now they have seen and hated CR., G. 196

+x 46. The blind suppliant G. 197

+x 47. The Pharisees insidiously watching, &c. G. 199

+x 48. Touched the hem of His garment, &c. R. WI. 200

+x 49. The departing Saviour R. WI. 200

+x 50. Paul unfearing [page 45, and] G. 201

+x 51. The message of the Baptist to Christ R. WI. 202

+x 52. Gifts to Jesus R. WI. 202

+x 53. On the blessed Virgin's easy parturition R. WI. 203

+ 54. Upon our Saviour's tombe, &c. CR., G. 204

+x 55. On the Holy Spirit descending, &c. R. WI. 205

+ 56. Life for death CR. 205

+x 57. On the Divine love CR. 205

III. LATIN POEMS. PART FIRST: SACRED. HITHERTO UNCOLLECTED, 207-218.

x Faith, which alone justifies, exists not without hope and love G. 209

x Baptism cancels not after-sins CL. 216

IV. LATIN POEMS. PART FIRST: SACRED. NEVER BEFORE PRINTED, 219-242.

+ Psalm 1. 221

+x Wrath of the judgment-whirlwind R. WI. 221

+x Even so: come, Lord Jesus R. WI. 223

+x Circumcision of Christ R. WI. 225

+x The Virgin Mary, on losing the Child Jesus R. WI. 229

+x War in heaven R. WI. 231

+x We do not receive, but make, a short life R. WI. 233

+x Martyrs R. WI. 235

+x Hope R. WI. 237

+x On Stephen's crown R. WI. 239

x Jesus Christ's expostulation with an ungrateful world R. WI. 241

LATIN POEMS. PART SECOND: SECULAR, 243-92.

I. From 'Steps to the Temple' and 'Delights of the Muses.'

x The Bubble G. 247

x Peace of mind, under the similitude of a captive song-bird G. 258

x Gain out of loss G. 263

x Description of human life R. WI. 266

x On Pygmalion A., G. 269

x Arion G. 273

x On Apollo pining for Daphne G. 279

x Aeneas the bearer of his father G. 283

x Of the generation and regeneration of the Phoenix G. 284

x Epitaph A., G. 286

x Elegy R. WI. 289

x Woman a treasury of evils G. 290

LATIN POEMS. PART SECOND: SECULAR. NEVER BEFORE PRINTED, 293-330.

II. Miscellaneous and Commemorative.

+x The beautiful not lasting G. 296

+x A hymn to Venus G. 300

+x A description of Spring R. WI. 303

+x Priscianus beaten and being beaten R. WI. 308

+x To a Tractate on this subject, &c. R. WI. 315

+ Purgation 317

+x To my most estimable preceptor ... R. Brooke R. WI. 319

x On death of Rev. Dr. Mansell R. WI. 323

x To the Right Hon. Lord Robert Heath, on being made a judge, &c. R. WI. 326

+ Ode on Horace, Lib. ii. 13, in Greek 329

LATIN POEMS. PART SECOND: SECULAR, 331-84.

III. Royal and Academical.

x The Return of the King A. 333

x To the royal Infant not yet born R. WI. 335

x To the King on recovery from small-pox R. WI. 337

x To her serene Majesty child-bearing in winter R. WI. 339

x To the Queen CL. 342

x To the Queen ... from the university R. WI. 345

x On birth of Princess Mary CL. 346

+x On the same R. WI. 350

x To the Queen R. WI. 354

x The prayer of Peterhouse for the House of God [=its chapel] S.S. 357

x A groan on occasion of the difficult parturition of the remaining works of Peterhouse R. WI., G. 362

x To the venerable man, Master Tournay, &c. CL. 371

x To Master Brooke R. WI. 374

x Epitaph on Dr. Brooke R. WI. 376

x Epitaph on William Herries G. 378

x On the same R. WI. 383

x On the Portrait of Bishop Andrewes CR. 384

Glossarial Index 385

ILLUSTRATIONS IN VOL. II. 4TO.

Photograph of the Cartoon for the memorial-window to Crashaw in Peterhouse, by F. Madox-Brown, Esq. R.A. facing title-page.

The captive Song-bird, by Mrs. Blackburn vignette to Essay.

Vignette illustrations, by W.J. Linton, Esq. pp. 96, 242, 251, 295, 329, 350, 373, 377.

ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND POETRY OF CRASHAW.[2]

In our Memorial-Introduction (vol. i. p. xxvi.) we make two promises, which fall now to be redeemed:

(a) A STUDY OF THE LIFE AND POETRY OF RICHARD CRASHAW.

(b) A MEMOIR OF WILLIAM CRASHAW, B.D., HIS FATHER.

The latter is in so many ways elucidative and illuminative of the former, outwardly and inwardly, that I deem it well to give it first.

I. MEMOIR OF WILLIAM CRASHAW, B.D.

The late laborious and accurate Joseph Hunter, in his MS. collections yclept Chorus Vatum, which by rare good fortune are preserved in the British Museum (Addl. MSS. 24.487, pp. 34-39), thus begins, s.n.

'I am here introducing a name which may be said to be hitherto unknown in the regions of Poetry, and which has been unaccountably passed over by biographical writers of every class; yet one who has just claims on our attention of his own as well as in being the father of Richard Crashaw, whose merits are admitted;' and he continues with a pleasant egotism that one can readily pardon, 'and he has particular claims upon me, as having been a native of the part of the kingdom from which I spring, and bearing a name which is that of a numerous family from whom I descend.'

We shall find onward, that the elder Crashaw had a unique gift of Poetry; but independent of that, a somewhat prolonged acquaintance with his numerous books enables us emphatically to ratify the 'claims' of 'his own' otherwise--though in strong, even fierce, antagonism as Divine and Writer to his gentle-natured son's after-opinions.

Hitherto, in the brief and meagre notices of his son, and of the paternal Crashaw, it has simply been stated that he was a 'Yorkshireman.' This is mentioned incidentally in various places. We are now enabled by the interest in our researches of local Antiquaries, together with aid from the Hunter and Cole MSS., to give for the first time family-details. Handsworth, sometimes spelled Hansworth, near Sheffield, one of the hamlets of England in the 'Black Country'--once couched among green fields and hedge-row 'lanes,' though now blighted and begrimed--was the 'nest' of the Crashaws; and there and in the neighbourhood the name is met with until comparatively recent times.[3] The Church-Register goes back to 1558, and under Baptisms, Aug. 24th, 1568, is this entry, 'Thomas, son of Richard Crawshaw, baptised;' and, alas, under the following 'November 14th,' 'Thomas, son of Richard Crawshaw, buried.' Next comes our Worthy:

'1572, October 26th, WILL., son of Richard Crawshaw, baptised.' There follow: January 12th, 1574, 'Francis;' November 24th, 1577, 'Ann'--both baptised; April 26th 1585, 'Richard,' son of Richard, buried; 1591, 'Robert Eairl [sic] and Dorothy Crawshaw married;' 1608, November 20th, 'Hellen Crawshaw, widow, buried.' Then in 1609, 1611, 1613, 1615, 1619, 1623, 1627, entries concerning the 'Francis' of 1574 and his household. The name does not reappear until 1682, January 1st, when 'William, son of William Crawshaw, is 'baptised;' and so the usual record of the light and shadow of 'Births and Marriages and Deaths' goes on until July 22d, 1729.

It appears from these Register-data that the father of our William Crashaw was named 'Richard,' and that he died in April 1585, when Master William was passing his 13th year. It also appears that his mother was named 'Hellen,' and that she died as 'a widow' in November 1608. In addition to these entries, I have discovered that this 'Hellen' was daughter of John Routh, of Waleswood; a name of mark in Yorkshire, in itself and through marriages.[4] That we are right in all this is made certain by his Will, wherein our Crashaw (pater) leaves 'to the parishe of Hansworth, in Com. Ebor., where I was borne, my owne works, all to be bounde together, to lye in the churche; and fourty shillings in monye to the stocke of the poor of that parishe.'[5] So far as I can gather from several family-tables which have been furnished to me, the Richard Crashaw, father of our William Crashaw, was son of another Richard Crashaw, who in turn was Rector of Aston, next parish to Handsworth, in 1539. Thus, if not of 'blue blood' in the heraldic sense, the Crashaws must have been well-to-do; for they are found not only intermarrying with good Yorkshire families, but also occupying considerable social status: e.g. a son of Francis--described as of Hansworth-Woodhouse, a hamlet of Hansworth--brother of William, was admitted to the freedom of the Cutlers' Company of Sheffield in 1638, and was Master in 1675. I have lineal descents brought down to the present year; and the annals of the House may hold their own in family-histories.[6] Our Worthy had life-long intercourse and life-long friendships with the foremost in Yorkshire, as his Will genially and quaintly testifies.

Fatherless in his 13th-14th year, his widowed mother must have been in circumstances pecuniarily that enabled her to have William, at least, 'prepared' for the University. He was of renowned 'St. John's,' Cambridge, designated by him his 'deere nurse and spirituall mother.'[7] A MS. note by Thomas Baker, in his copy of 'Romish Forgeries and Falsifications' (1606), now in the Library of St. John's, furnishes almost the only definite notice of his University career that I have met with, as follows: 'Guil. Crashawe Eboracensis admissus socius Coll. Jo. pro Dna Fundatrice, authoritate Regia, sede vacante Epi. Elien. 19 Jan. 1593.'[8] Such is the 'entry' as given by Baker; but in the original it is as follows: 'Gulielmus Chrashawe Eboracensis admissus sum sisator pro Mr. Alveye Maij 1, 1591.' The Master and each senior Fellow chose sizars at this date. Again: 'Ego Gulielmus Crashawe Eboracensis admissus sum socius huius Collegij pro domina fundatrice, Authoritate regia, sede vacante Episcopi Eliensis, 19 Januarij 1593' [i.e. 1593-4]. The Bishop of Ely had the right of nominating one Fellow.[9] The See of Ely was vacant from the death of Bishop Richard Cox, 22d July 1581, to the occupancy of Martin Heton in 1598-9. Hence it came that the Queen presented Crashaw to the fellowship of St. John's. (See Baker's St. John's, by Mayor (vol. i. p. 438), for more details.) This was somewhat late. How he obtained the patronage of Elizabeth does not appear. The entry in 'White Vellum Book' of the College Treasury runs simply, 'Being crediblie informed of the povertie and yet otherwise good qualities and sufficiencie of Wm. Crashaw, B.A.' &c. The opening paragraphs of his Will characteristically recount his successive ecclesiastical appointments and preferments, and hence will fittingly come in here. 'In the name of the true and everlivinge God, Amen. I William Crashawe, Bachelor in Divinitie, Preacher of God's Worde. Firste at Bridlington, then at Beverley in Yorkshire. Afterwards at the Temple; since then Pastor of the Churche of Ag[nes] Burton, in the diocese of Yorke; nowe Pastor of that too greate Parishe of White-Chappell in the suburbs of London: the unworthye and unprofitable servante of God, make and ordaine this my last Will and Testament.' Previous to the death of Elizabeth he had been 'deprived' of a 'little vicarage' ('A Discourse on Popish Corruptions requiring a Kingly Reformation:' MS. in Royal Library). Inquiries at Bridlington, formerly Burlington, and the several places named, have resulted in nothing, from the destruction of muniments, &c. In the earlier he must have been 'Curate' only. His many legacies of his 'owne workes,' which were to 'lye' in many churches, have all perished, or at least disappeared; and equally so his various 'monyes' for the 'poore.' It is sorrowful to find how so very often like provisions are discovered to have gone out of sight, to an aggregate few indeed suspect.

With Agnes Burton he had closer relations, inasmuch as one 'item' of his Will runs: 'The next avoydance of Ag. Burton, taken in my brother's name (for which he knoweth what hath byn offered), I give and bequeathe the same to my said brother Thomas, to be by him disposed to some worthy man.'

He describes 'Mr. Henry Alvay,' 'the famous Puritan,' as his 'ffather in Christ,' in bequeathing him 'one siluer pott with a cover loose, parcell guilt, of about 13 ounces.'[10] When, or from whom, he received 'orders' and ordination does not appear, but what our Worthy became as a Preacher his 'Sermons' remain to attest. They attest his evangelical fervour even to passion, his intense convictions, his wistful tenderness alternated with the most vehement rebuke of fashionable sins and worldliness, his deep personal love for the Lord Jesus, and a strangely pathetic yearning for all men to be 'safe' in Him. He had a kind of holy ubiquity of zeal in occupying pulpits where 'witness' was to be borne 'for the Truth.' His motto, found in a copy of Valerius Maximus, and elsewhere, was 'Servire Deo regnare est' (Notes and Queries, 3d S. vii. 111). America ought to prize his Sermon 'Preached in London before the Right Honourable the Lord Lawarre, Lord Governour and Captaine Generall of Virginia, and others of his Maiestie's Counsell for that Kingdome, and the rest of the Adventurers in that Plantation. At the said Lord Generall his leaue-taking of England, his natiue countrey, and departure for Virginia, February 21, 1609. By W. Crashaw, Bachelar of Divinitie, and Preacher at the Temple. Wherein both the lawfulnesse of that Action is maintained, and the necessity thereof is also demonstrated, and so much out of the grounds of Policie, as of Humanity, Equity and Christianity. Taken from his mouth, and published by direction.' 1610. The running heading is 'A New Yeere's Gift to Virginea.' The text is St. Luke xxii. 32: 'I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not: and when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren.' There is no nobler Sermon than this of the period; and it is only one of various equally eloquent, impressive, and powerful. Politically the Preacher saw far ahead, and his patriotism is chivalrous as Sidney's. Dr. Donne later preached for the same Virginia Company. He had 'sought' to go as secretary in the outset.

Our Worthy was twice married. Of his first wife--mother of Richard, our 'sweet Singer'--I have failed utterly to get so much as her name. Of his second wife there remains a privately-printed tractate entitled 'The Honovr of Vertve, or the Monument erected by the sorowfull Husband, and the Epitaphes annexed by learned and worthy men, to the immortall memory of that worthy gentlewoman Mrs. Elizabeth Crashawe. Who dyed in child-birth, and was buried in Whit-Chappell, October 8, 1620. In the 24 yeare of her age.' Of inconceivable interest would this remarkable tractate have been, had this been the Poet's mother; but the date shows that Hunter, in his 'Chorus Vatum,' and others, are mistaken in their statement that she was such. Richard Crashaw was born in 1612-3, while the 'Epitaphes' and other allusions touchingly inform us that this fatal 'child-birth' was, 'as she most surely expected,' of her only child. The great Usher preached her funeral-sermon, 'at which Sermon and Funerall was present one of the greatest Assemblies that ever was seene in man's memorie at the burial of any priuate person.' The illustrious Preacher--who 'vseth,' the Memorial says, 'to be very wary and modeste in commendation'--is very full and articulate in his praises of the dead. One bit we read with wet eyes; for among other traits Usher praises 'her singular motherly affection to the child of her predecessor--a rare vertue [as he noted] in step-mothers at this day.'[11] One can scarcely avoid a sigh that such a 'step-mother' was not spared to such a 'child.' No 'quick' name is found to any of the Verse, nor is the Verse intrinsically very memorable, except for its wealth of sympathy towards the Widower.[12]

Of our Worthy's numerous Writings I have made out a careful enumeration, inasmuch as the usual bibliographical authorities (as Lowndes and Hazlitt) are exceedingly empty; but I must utilise it elsewhere, seeing that such a catalogue of (for the most part) violent invective against Popery were incongruous in an edition of the Poetry of his so opposite-minded son. These three out of our collection will show that Popery was the supreme object of his aversion; and even the full title-pages give but a poor idea of the out-o'-way learning--for he was a scholar among scholars--the grave wit, the sarcasm, the shrewd sense, and, alas, the uncharity of these and kindred sermons and books. The first is this, but from a later edition, for a reason that will appear: 'Loyola's Disloyalty; or the Iesvites' open Rebellion against God and His Church. Whose Doctrine is Blasphemie, in the highest degree, against the blood of Christ, which they Vilifie, and under-valew, that they might uphold their Merits. By Consequent, encouraging all Traytors to kill their lawfull Kings and Princes. With divers other Principles and Heads of their damnable and erronious Doctrine. Worthy to be written and read in these our doubtfull and dangerous times. 1643' (4to). This was originally issued as 'The Iesvites' Gospell' (1610), and in 1621 and 1641 as 'The Bespotted Jesuit.' Be it specially noted that Crashaw himself must not be made responsible for the after title-pages.[13] Next is this: 'The Parable of Poyson. In Five Sermons of Spirituall Poyson, &c. Wherein the poysonfull Nature of Sinne, and the Spirituall Antidotes against it, are plainely and brefely set downe. Begun before the Prince his Highnesse. Proceeded in at Greye's Inne and the Temple, and finished at St. Martin's in the fields. By William Crashaw, Batcheler of Diuinity, and Preacher of God's word. 1618' (4to). The Epistle-dedicatory is dated from Agnes Burton, Yorkshire. 'The ioyfull 5 of Nouember, the day neuer to be forgotten.' The third is this: 'The New Man, or a Svpplication from an vnknowne Person, a Roman Catholike, vnto Iames, the Monarch of Great Brittaine, and from him to the Emperour, Kings, and Princes of the Christian World. Touching the causes and reasons that will argue a necessity of a Generall Councell to be fortwith assembled against him that now vsurps the Papall Chaire vnder the name of Paul the fifth. Wherein are discouered more of the secret Iniquities of that Chaire and Court, then hitherto their friends feared, or their very aduersaries did suspect. Translated into English by William Crashaw, Batchelour in Diuinity, according to the Latine Copy, sent from Rome into England. 1622' (4to). Other of these controversial tractates, or 'Flytings' (Scotice), are more commonly known, and need not detailed notice from us. That the 'ruling passion' was 'strong' to the end, appears by the already repeatedly named Will, the opening of which has been given, and which thus continues: 'For my religion, I professe myself in lief and deathe a Christian, and the crosse of Jesus Christ is my glorye, and His sufferings my salvation. I renounce and abhorre Atheisme, Iudaisme, Turcisme, and all heresies against the Holy and Catholike faithe, oulde and newe, and (namelye) Poperie, beinge as nowe it is established by the canons of Trent and theyr present allowed decrees and doctors, lyke a confused body of all heresies.' And again: 'I accounte Poperie (as it nowe is) the heape and chaos of all heresies, and the channell whereunto the fowlest impieties and heresies that have bene in the Christian worlde have runne and closelye emptied themselves. I beleeve the Pope's seate and power to be the power of the greate Antichrist, and the doctrine of the Pope (as nowe it is) to be the doctrine of Antichrist; yea, that doctrine of devills prophesied of by the Apostles, and that the trve and absolute Papist, livinge and dyeinge, debarres himself of salvation for oughte that we knowe. And I beleve that I am bounde to separate myself from that sinagogue of Rome if I wil be saved. And I professe myselfe a member of the true Catholike Churche, but not of the Roman Churche (as nowe it is), and to looke for salvation, not by that faith nor doctrine which that Churche nowe teacheth, but that which once it had, but now falne from it.' And then follow 'groundes' in burning and 'hard' words, intermingled with strange outbursts of personal humiliation before God and an awful sense of His scrutiny.

These Title-pages and Will-extracts must suffice to indicate the Ultra-Protestantism of the elder Crashaw. To qualify them--in addition to our note of the intensified after title-pages by others--it must be remembered that the Armada of 1588 flung its scaring shadow across his young days, and that undoubtedly the descendants of Loyola falsified their venerable Founder's intentions by political agitations and plottings. These coloured our ecclesiastical polemique's whole ways of looking at things. His Will and codicil are dated in 1621-2, and during these years and succeeding, his most fiery and intense 'Sermons' and tractates were being published. Richard was then growing up into his teens, and without his 'second' mother. As Crashaw senior died in 1626--his Will having been 'proved' 16th October in that year--our Poet-saint was only about 13-14 when he lost his father, scarcely ten when appointed by him executor, the words being: 'I ordaine and make Mr. Robert Dixon and my sonne Richarde executors of my Will' (10th June 1622).[14]

His Epistles-dedicatory and private Letters (several of which are preserved in the British Museum, and of which I have copies--one very long to Sir Julius Caesar on his brother's illness) and his Will, make it plain that our Worthy mingled in the highest society, and was consulted in the most delicate affairs. His dedication of one of his most pronounced books, 'Consilium quorundam Episcop. Bononiae &c.' (1613), to Shakespeare's Earl of Southampton, as to a trusted friend, settles, to my mind, the (disputed) fact as to the Earl having become a Protestant. So too the translation of Augustine's 'City of God' (1620, 2d edition) is dedicated to William Earl of Pembroke, the Earl of Arundel, and the Earl of Montgomery.

The last matter to be touched on is the Verse of the paternal Crashaw, which has a unique character of its own. It consists of translations from the Latin. His 'Loyola's Disloyalty' is based on a rendering of a Latin poem in super-exaltation of the Virgin Mary by Clarus Bonarscius (= Carolus Scribanius); and Crashaw animadverts on such 'pointes' as these: 'That the milke of Mary may come into comparison with the blood of Christ;' 'that the Christian man's faith may lawfully take hold of both as well as one;' 'that the best compound for a sicke soule is to mix together her milke and Christ's blood;' 'that Christ is still a little child in His mother's armes, and so may be prayed unto;' 'that a man shall often-times be sooner heard at God's hand in the mediation of Mary than Jesus Christ;' and so on. I give the opening, middle, and closing lines.

TO OUR LADY OF HALL AND THE CHILD JESUS.

'My thoughts are at a stand, of milke and blood, Delights of brest and side, which yeelds most good; And say, when on the teates mine eyes I cast, O Lady, of thy brest I beg a taste. But if mine eyes upon the wounds doe glide, Then, Jesu, I had rather sucke Thy side. Long have I mused, now knowe I where to rest; For with my right hand I will graspe the brest, If so I may presume: as for the wounds, With left He catch them; thus my zeale abounds.'

Again:

'Mother and Son, give eare to what I crave, I beg this milke, that bloud, and both would have. Youngling, that in Thy mother's armes art playing, Sucking her brest sometimes, and sometimes staying, Why dost Thou view me with that looke of scorne? 'Tis forceless envie that 'gainst Thee is borne. Oft hast Thou said, being angry at my sinne, Darest thou desire the teates My food lyes in? I will not, oh I dare not, golden Child; My mind from feare is not so farre exild: But one, even one poore drop I doe implore From Thy right hand or side, I ask no more. If neither, from Thy left hand let one fall; Nay from Thy foot, rather than none at all: If I displease Thee, let Thy wounds me wound, But pay my wage if I in grace be found.'

Finally:

'But ah, I thirst; ah, droght my breath doth smother, Quench me with blood, sweet Son; with milk, good mother Say to Thy mother, See My brother's thirst; Mother, your milke will ease him at the first. Say to thy Son, Behold Thy brother's bands; Sweet Son, Thou hast his ransome in Thy hands. Shew Thy redeeming power to soules opprest, Thou Sonne, if that Thy blood excel the rest. And shew Thyselfe justly so stilde indeed, Thou mother, if thy brests the rest exceed. Ah, when shall I with these be satisfi'd? When shall I swimme in joyes of brest and side? Pardon, O God, mine eager earnestnesse, If I Thy lawes and reason's bounds transgresse; Where thirst o're-swayes, patience is thrust away: Stay but my thirst, and then my cryes will stay. I am better then Thy nailes; yet did a streame Of Thy deere bloud wash both the lance and them. More worthy I then clouts; yet them a flood Moistened of mother's milke and of Son's blood.'

Rhythm, epithet, and the whole ring of these Verses remind us of the younger Crashaw. But the most remarkable Verse-production of the elder Crashaw is his translation of the 'Querela, sive Dialogvs Animae et Corporis damnati,' ascribed to St. Bernard. It originally appeared in 1616, and has been repeatedly reprinted since. Those of 1622 and 1632 are now before me, and the English title-page runs: 'The Complaint, or Dialogve betwixt the Soule and the Bodie of a damned man. Each laying the fault vpon the other. Supposed to be written by S. Bernard, from a nightly vision of his; and now published out of an ancient manuscript copie. By William Crashaw.' The Dialogue thus opens:

'In silence of a Winter's night, A sleeping yet a walking spirit; A livelesse body to my sight Methought appeared, thus addight.

In that my sleepe I did descry A Soule departed but lately From that foule body which lay by; Wailing with sighes, and loud did cry.

Fast by the body, thus she mones And questions it, with sighes and grones; O wretched flesh, thus low who makes thee lye, Whom yesterday the world had seene so high?

Was't not but yesterday the world was thine, And all the countrey stood at thy devotion? Thy traine that followed thee when thy sunne did shine Have now forsaken thee: O dolefull alteration!

Those turrets gay of costly masonry, And larger palaces, are not now thy roome; But in a coffin of small quantity Thou lyest interred in a little tombe. . . . . . O wretched flesh, with me that art forlorne, If thou couldst know how sharpe our punishment; How justly mightest thou wish not to be borne, Or from the wombe to tombe to have been hent! . . . . . How lik'st thou now, poor foole, thy latter lodging, The roofe whereof lyes even with thy nose? Thy eyes are shut, thy tongue cannot be cogging; Nothing of profit rests at thy dispose. . . . . . Thy garments, wretched fool, are farre from rich; Thy upper garment hardly worth a scute; A little linnen shrouds thee in thy ditch, No rents nor gifts men bring, nor make their suite.'

Again, st. 79-81:

'If I be clad in rich array, And well attended every day, Both wise and good I shal be thoght, My kinred also shall be sought. I am, say men, the case is cleere, Your cosen, sir, a kinsman neere. But if the world doe change and frowne, Our kinred is no longer knowne; Nor I remembred any more By them that honoured me before. O vanity! vile love of mucke, Foule poyson, wherefore hast thou stucke Thyselfe so deepe, to raise so high Things vanishing so suddenly?'

In a 'Manvall for true Catholicks, or a Handfvll, or rather a Heartfull of holy Meditations and Prayers, gathered out of certaine ancient Manuscripts, written 300 yeeres agoe, or more,' which is usually bound up with the 'Querela,' there is no little striking thought and word-painting, combined with a parsimony of epithet, and a naked and yet imaginative echo of the monkish Latin, singularly impressive. Passing the 'Orthodoxall Confessions of God the Father' and 'Sonne' and 'Holy Ghost,' though all have many memorable things--I would close our specimens with one complete poem from the 'Manvall.' It is entitled 'The Conclusion, with a devout and holy prayer;' the word 'prayer' reminding us that in his Prayers herein and in his 'Milke for Babes' (1618, and several later), Crashaw is lowly and devout, and simply a sinner holding the Christian's hope. The remark applies also to much of his celebration of 'Carraciolo,' the Italian convert and 'Second Moses' (1608).

'This is Christian faith unfained, Orthodoxall, true, unstained. As I teach, all understand, Yeelding unto neither hand. And in this my soule's defence, Reiect me not for mine offence: Thogh Death's slave, yet desperation I fly in death to seek salvation. I have no meane Thy love to gain, But this faith which I maintaine. This Thou seest, nor will I cease By this to beg for a release. Let this sacred salve be bound Vpon my sores, to make them sound. Though man be carried forth, and lying In his grave, and putrifying: Bound and hid from mortall eyes; Yet if Thou bid, he must arise. At Thy will the grave will open, At Thy will his bonds are broken. And forth he comes without delay, If Thou but once bid, Come away! In this sea of dread and doubt My poore barke is tost about; With storms and pirats far and wide, Death and woes on every side. Come, thou Steer's-man ever blest, Calme these winds that me molest; Chase these ruthlesse pyrats hence, And show me some safe residence. My tree is fruitles, dry, and dead, All the boughs are withered; Downe it must, and to the fire, If desert have his due hire. But spare it, Lord, another yeare. With manuring it [yet] may beare. If it then be dead and dry, Burne it; alas, what remedy! Mine old foe assaults me sore With fire and water, more and more. Poore I, of all my strength bereft, Onely unto Thee am left. That my foe may hence be chased, And I from Ruin's clawes released, Lord, vouchsafe me every day Strength to fast, and faith to pray: These two meanes Thyself hast taught To bring temptation's force to noght. Lord, free my soule from sin's infection By repentance's direction. Be Thy feare in me abiding, My soule to true salvation guiding. Grant me faith, Lord, hope, and love, Zeale of heaven and things above. Teach mee prize the world at nought; On Thy blisse be all my thought. All my hopes on Thee I found, In Whom all good things abound. Thou art all my dignitie: All I have I have from Thee. Thou art my comfort in distresse, Thou art my cure in heavinesse; Thou art my music in my sadnes, Thou art my medicine in my madnesse. Thou my freedom from my thral, Thou my raiser from my fall. In my labour Thou reliev'st me; Thou reform'st whatever grieves me. Al my wrongs Thy hand revengeth, And from hurt my soul defendeth. Thou my deepest doubts revealest, Thou my secret faults concealest. O do Thou stay my feet from treading In paths to hel and horror leading, Where eternal torment dwels, With fears and tears and lothsome smels; Where man's deepest shame is sounded, And the guilty still confounded; Where the scourge for ever beateth, And the worme that alwaies eateth; Where all those endless do remain, Lord, preserve us from this paine. In Sion lodge me, Lord, for pitty-- Sion, David's kingly citty, Built by Him that's onely good; Whose gates be of the Crosse's wood; Whose keys are Christ's undoubted word; Whose dwellers feare none but the Lord; Whose wals are stone, strong, quicke and bright; Whose Keeper is the Lord of Light: Here the light doth never cease, Endlesse Spring and endles peace; Here is musicke, heaven filling, Sweetnesse evermore distilling; Here is neither spot nor taint, No defect, nor no complaint; No man crooked, great nor small, But to Christ conformed all. Blessed towne, divinely graced, On a rocke so strongly placed, Thee I see, and thee I long for; Thee I seek, and thee I grone for. O what ioy thy dwellers tast, All in pleasure first and last! What full enioying blisse divine, What iewels on thy wals do shine! Ruby, iacinth, chalcedon, Knowne to them within alone. In this glorious company, In the streets of Sion, I With Iob, Moses, and Eliah, Will sing the heauenly Alleviah. Amen.

Surely this is a very noteworthy transfusion of old Latin pieties into vivid English. 'Visions' of Jerusalem the Golden transfigure even the austere words towards the close. One can picture Master Richard's eyes kindling over his Father's verses when he was gone.

So endeth what I have thought it needful to tell of the elder Crashaw. As hitherto almost nothing has been told of him, even our compressed little Memorial--keeping back many things and notices that have gathered in our note-books--may be welcome to some. I pass now to